The hydrogues are not destroyed, but they are finished. We will contain and control them.
Warm rain spattered Cesca’s face, running down her skin. “I still don’t understand what the original war was about. Is the conflict resolved?”
Answers bubbled forth, revealing information that neither of them had heard or understood before. We four manifestations—wentals, verdani, faeros, hydrogues—battle to determine the course of the universe, bending space, time, and physical law to set the cosmos on its future course. We decide whether the universe will expand forever, cool off, and die . . . or eventually draw itself together and collapse.
Shall the universe be the abode of life, organization, and growth—or energy, chaos, and dissipation? That fundamental battle is fought from the nucleus of an atom to the largest galactic supercluster. Life fights beside life, chaos beside chaos.
“So if we destroy the beings of chaos—the faeros and hydrogues—we’ll win?” Jess asked.
Chaos can only be controlled, whereas life can be destroyed. The stakes are unequal.
“But life can be renewed,” Cesca said.
And that is what saves you. Most of the hydrogues are bound within their gas giants. If the faeros can be similarly contained, then the balance will be struck again. The universe can return to harmony.
Jess and Cesca could move on with their strange new lives—lives different from what they had ever dreamed. When she had undergone the deep changes in order to save her life, she had known that she was sacrificing all hope of living normally among humans and did not regret it. Cesca had willingly given that up to be with Jess.
Yet she missed the Roamers.
Later—they did not know the specific passage of time here—the two of them stood together on a water-slick black rock as the waves danced a joyous ballet around them. By sharing emotions and memories, Jess and Cesca had told the watery elementals what they intended to do. This was what their Guiding Star had shown them.
“It’s not at all how I imagined our wedding,” Jess said in a gentle voice. “No gathering of clan leaders, no elegant clothes, no officials—either legal or religious. Are you disappointed?”
Her heart full to overflowing, Cesca gazed into his eyes. “How can I be?” She would have liked to share this day with Speaker Okiah, who had wanted to preside at Cesca’s wedding. But that had been to a different man—Jess’s brother. Both Ross Tamblyn and Cesca’s subsequent fiancé, Reynald of Theroc, had been murdered by the hydrogues. Even then, Jess and Cesca hadn’t dared to admit their love for each other to their families. And once the wentals saved Jess’s life by transforming him, it had been too late. Cesca gave him a tremulous smile. “There were times I didn’t think our Guiding Stars would ever bring us together.”
“This time, nothing will stop us.”
Without words, an understanding passed between Jess and Cesca: The wentals would be their witnesses, and no human “official” had more power to bind them to each other than what they themselves possessed.
Moisture-laden clouds tumbled overhead, not ominous thunderheads, but swollen congregations of liquid force. Energized spray and mist defied the gravity of Charybdis, rising up in gauzy tangles like a wedding veil. Golden beams of sunlight broke through gaps in the clouds to create brilliant rainbows. Cesca knew the wentals were intentionally staging this exquisite display.
They faced each other, palms held outward, touching. Wental liquid glistened on their skin, clothing them in sparkling splendor. She spoke the traditional words she had long ago memorized. “I am pledged to you, Jess Tamblyn. I am meant for you. I give you my heart and my promise.”
Jess could not take his eyes from her. “I am pledged to you, Cesca Peroni. I am meant for you. I give you my heart and my promise. Though the universe changes around us, we will always be together in our minds and in our souls.”
“Yes, in our minds and souls. The Guiding Star will show us the way.”
Pillars of water girdled with mist rose from the oceans, a whole congregation of wentals. The air hummed with static electricity. Fresh ozone filled their nostrils.
The clouds burst, and cool, refreshing rain poured down. The wentals shed countless droplets of themselves, symbolizing not tears, but blessings for the seeds of all the wentals that Jess and his water bearers had helped to spread.
28 KING PETER
Our major priority must be to defend ourselves, and our biggest concern is Chairman Basil Wenceslas,” Peter said in a discussion with several advisers. Such impromptu conferences were common now and included any experts he could gather at a moment’s notice. Representatives came and went, bringing trade goods, offering support and suggestions, delivering Confederation delegates from colonies or clans.
“Now that the treeships are gone,” a very pregnant Queen Estarra said, “Theroc doesn’t even have a hint of a space navy, and the Roamers don’t have battleships.”
“If General Lanyan knew how unprotected we were, we’d be in deep trouble,” said Tasia Tamblyn, who had traded in her EDF uniform for a comfortable Roamer jumpsuit. Tasia and Robb Brindle intended to find passage back to Plumas, where they would assist her uncles in rebuilding the water mines. Since learning all the details of the political turmoil, Tasia had become quite outspoken in offering advice.
Robb sighed. “Well he’s bound to find out soon—thanks to my father, if nothing else.”
When flying away in his EDF transport, Lieutenant Commander Brindle had ignored orders to return to Theroc, but Peter hadn’t been willing to order the ship shot down. As King, he hoped he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
“Fortunately for us, the compy revolt and the hydrogues severely weakened the EDF,” Estarra said. “They won’t be launching military strikes anytime soon.”
Peter wasn’t so sure. “Don’t expect Basil to let an opportunity slide by.”
“But we’re traders, not soldiers,” Denn Peroni said. “We’re not equipped to fly military vessels.”
“But Roamers are adaptable,” Tasia said. “That’s our hallmark.”
Peter nodded. “We’ve all got to change the way we do things, show ourselves to our enemies in a new light. Hide-and-seek isn’t good enough anymore.”
Alarmed, Yarrod voiced reservations on behalf of many fellow green priests. “Theroc has never needed a military before. We cooperated with the Hansa, and we stayed independent.”
“There’s no more cooperating with the Hansa. And there’s no more calm independence. You saw the Chairman declare war on innocent Roamer clans. He’ll try to destroy the Confederation the moment he sees an opening.”
Robb, having clearly changed his mind about the EDF and the Hansa, said, “I still can’t believe all of us in the Forces just followed orders that got crazier and crazier, day after day. That’s not the EDF I signed up for.”
“We hoped that at least some members of the military would follow their King rather than the Chairman. Even a handful of defections would have given us some battleships.” Peter shook his head. “But that hasn’t happened.”
Estarra put her hand across her swollen belly, winced, then relaxed her expression. “Wishful thinking.”
Peter was determined, though. “If we can’t recruit EDF battleships, then we’ll build our own. I need your help—all of you. We’ll need Roamer industries converted to produce armaments. Mr. Peroni, I understand that Del Kellum has put you in charge of the new Osquivel shipyards?”
Denn crossed his arms over his chest, making his zippers and ringlets jingle. “Just give me the specs.”
Peter turned to Tasia and Robb. “And you two are the most well versed in how the EDF thinks and works.”
“That’s not very encouraging.” Tasia chuckled, and Robb looked embarrassed. “We’ve both been out of the loop for quite a while.”
“Even so, you’re the best the Confederation has. I know you hoped to go to Plumas, but I’m asking you to accept a special assignment first. Go to the Osquivel shipyards and show the
m how we need to arm our ships. Refit as many of the vessels as we already have. Work miracles for me.”
Robb looked at Tasia. “If she’s up for it, so am I.”
“I wouldn’t do it without you, Brindle.” Peter watched an expression of acceptance and practicality settle on Tasia’s face. “Does this job at least come with a living wage?”
In an open meadow, the Teacher compy stood rigid, his optical sensors glowing brightly even in the daylight. Peter paced next to him. “This is a turnabout, isn’t it, OX—me being the teacher and you the student?”
“I believe your observation to be factually correct. However, you are the King, and it is not necessary for you to spend valuable time assisting me. From data uploads and selected programming packs, I can relearn any diplomatic, political, and historical information you require.”
“What I require, OX, is you. You taught me the subtle difference between data and knowledge. They’re not at all the same things. In the Whisper Palace, I had enemies and I had allies, and each of them had biases and agendas. You were the only one I could count on to give me rational, objective advice.”
“I will continue to do my best, King Peter.”
Estarra sat near them on the soft grass. They had all come out to the meadow where the small hydrogue derelict had landed. Each time Peter saw the derelict and OX—who was no longer OX—he was reminded of how much the old compy had given up in order to help Peter and Estarra escape. Would it have been kinder if OX had simply been destroyed in battle? The compy didn’t even know what he had lost. Fortunately, one of the Roamer engineers had upgraded the ancient Teacher compy’s memory capacity, allowing him room to acquire and retain new memories without deleting the advanced programming he had needed to guide the alien vessel.
“We’re going to spend at least an hour a day together, OX—you and I and Queen Estarra. We’ll help you relearn the things you need to know.”
The Teacher compy had been a valuable historical and political asset for centuries. Peter hoped that Basil Wenceslas had grasped the value of such a resource. So much firsthand knowledge of Hansa history had resided within OX’s memory core. Basil must have kept a backup somewhere.
OX turned his head as two people approached. “Greetings, Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle.”
Tasia had been watching the royal couple with OX. Her expression, normally brash and confident, revealed a deep hurt. “I had a Listener compy named EA. I think it was the Chairman himself who tried to interrogate her—and triggered her memory wipe. EA was in my family for years, and I tried like hell to replace those memories, telling her stories of my childhood, adventures we’d had together.” Her lips quirked in a sad smile. “It started to work, too. We were making new memories together, even if I couldn’t restore everything she’d lost.”
“And what was the result, Tasia Tamblyn?” OX asked. “Were you ultimately successful? I am most interested.”
“Never got the chance to find out. Those damned black robots tore EA apart.” Her voice hitched and her shoulders trembled. Robb rested a comforting hand on her neck, but Tasia composed herself and took a step away from him, trying to look tough.
“So we share two enemies in common,” Peter pointed out. “Chairman Wenceslas and the Klikiss robots.”
“For starters, yes.”
Robb cleared his throat. “We just wanted to let you know we’re heading to Osquivel. Denn Peroni is going to take us back to the shipyards. Thank you for trusting us with this responsibility. We won’t let you down.”
“A ruler’s job is to make the right choices,” Estarra said, “and you two are certainly a good choice.”
“The best,” Tasia answered with a smile, recapturing her good humor. “Before you know it, we’ll be sending well-armed and well-armored ships back here to protect Theroc from the Big Goose.”
“I wish I could offer you more time,” Peter said, “but I’m afraid we don’t have that luxury.”
“Don’t worry.” Robb’s tone held a note of irony. “We can handle the pressure.”
“Good luck,” OX said, surprising them.
29 MARGARET COLICOS
Always an outsider, Margaret leaned against one of the freshly erected towers. The resin cement still held an unnatural spit-and-rancid-oil odor that would eventually fade as it cured in the dry air and sunlight.
Margaret could come and go as she liked from the walled-in colony settlement, but no one else seemed to have the nerve. The rest of the colonists remained inside, intimidated by the insect creatures toiling around the stockade. Margaret had never been able to decide if the Klikiss ignored her out of respect because they feared her “special music,” or if they simply dismissed her.
Judging from what she had learned among the Klikiss, Margaret knew that the breedex was currently obsessed with destroying the black robots wherever it might find them. This morning the first massive assault force had marched through the transportal to Wollamor. Once the robots posed no further threat, all the breedexes from the new subhives would battle to exterminate one another.
Although the Klikiss were preoccupied with taking vengeance, Margaret knew they would turn on the colonists sooner or later.
DD turned his optical sensors in the direction of her gaze. “What are you observing, Margaret?”
“I’m watching those poor colonists. They don’t understand.”
“I would be happy to explain any matter to them, if you tell me the subject.”
“No. You can’t. I’ve got to figure out a way to help, or at least warn them.”
Unexpectedly, she saw a dark-skinned man leave the stockade through one of the openings in the wall and walk away, carefully evading the Klikiss; Margaret was not particularly surprised to see that they paid him no heed. From the top of the thick wall, several colonists including Orli Covitz stared after him in amazement as he cautiously approached the hive city.
The man picked his way toward her, and Margaret hurried to intercept him before he inadvertently stepped in the wrong direction. “Davlin Lotze, what are you doing?”
“Testing just how much leeway the bugs give us.” His sharp eyes darted from side to side as two warriors lumbered past without challenging him. In a constant rustle of pointed legs and exoskeletons, the Klikiss continued to move about, making their endless chirping and clicking noises. “And I was coming to see you. Let’s get out of this traffic.”
“You’ve got nerves of steel, Davlin. Not many other colonists would have risked doing what you just did.”
“That’s why I had to do it. Now that I’ve satisfied myself as to the possibility, it gives me a host of options.”
When Margaret led him into the lee of an ancient, weathered tower, he hauled out a small datapad from his shirt. “I’ve slipped out three times now on brief recon missions. Also, from an observation point on the wall, I’ve managed to compile full image sets of the various sub-breeds around us. I need your help to identify them.” He began showing her images. “Can you tell me what each type of bug does?”
She had done much the same in her early days among them, trying to classify and categorize the Klikiss. But Davlin’s interest did not seem scientific, as hers had been. “Do you intend to submit a technical paper when we get back to the Hansa?”
He regarded her without any readable expression. “It’s for our defense. We have to identify which sub-breeds are a threat and which ones can be ignored. I am assessing our opponent and formulating potential plans.”
She looked at the images. He had even gotten a shot of one type near the Klikiss ruins that had a pale carapace and a horrifyingly human face, but it had not stayed still enough to let Davlin get a clear image. She shuddered as she remembered the origin of those sub-breeds. Poor Howard Palawu.
“Let me show you how to break down the genetic map of the Klikiss.” Identifying the sub-breeds for him, Margaret rattled off information she had stored up in her mind over the course of many years. Davlin listened, made notes, and seemed to
be memorizing every word she said. This was the first time they had spoken closely together, and she found the man very impressive. Because he had long ago been sent to Rheindic Co to find her, he already knew a great deal about her. It was clear as he pressed her for details about the Klikiss that he had no capricious curiosity, but a genuine drive to help the colonists.
“What are all those people corralled inside the wall supposed to live on?” He looked at her. “Can we eat Klikiss food?”
“I did.” She remembered the first time she’d gotten hungry enough to taste the mashed, mealy mixture. “It kept me alive.”
On Llaro, Klikiss “biomass gathering swarms” had continued to fly out, using nets like giant butterfly catchers to scoop up any airborne creatures. Gatherers returned from distant rivers and lakes with bins full of marsh-weed, jellyfish, and flopping, scaly swimmers. The Klikiss dumped everything together and processed it into a homogeneous mealy substance. Huge quantities of it were stored in newly built silos next to the breedex hive.
“So, will the Klikiss provide the humans with food, now that they’ve harvested everything in the vicinity?”
“I doubt very much the breedex even thinks of such things.”
“How do we change that? Those colonists have a few hidden supplies, but they won’t last forever.”
She hesitated, looking him in the eyes, then abruptly stepped away from the uneven wall of the tower. Without showing—or feeling—any fear, Margaret placed herself directly in front of a marching worker. Since the hive mind controlled all the creatures, Margaret could talk directly to the breedex by speaking to any one of the ungainly insects. “You!” She clapped her hands.
The yellow-and-black creature paused. She launched into a tongue-twisting, throat-scraping series of clicks and guttural noises that conveyed the general concepts of nourishment and how the colonists, as members of her subhive, needed to be fed.
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