These ships were the first of the newly commissioned vessels. Tabitha Huck and her engineers had cemented the Ildiran construction crews, making the best use of the unlimited labor and materials to build warliners. Tabitha had twenty more ships under construction and another ten in the initial phases. At this rate, within a decade the Solar Navy would be restored to its previous glory.
The skyparade proved only a temporary distraction, however; Jora’h could not drive back the uneasiness, the blank cold in the thism web that was spreading across his Empire again. Though she was happy that these warliners were going off to help colonists trapped by the Klikiss, Nira noted the change in his mood. She didn’t need thism to read him so clearly. “What is it? Has something happened?”
“It has been happening for a long while. I feel a dark stain, as if I am going blind in certain portions of my vision. Not pain, just an indefinable loss.”
Daro’h stiffened, as if he knew what his father meant. “You are losing parts of the thism—or they are being taken from you.”
“Yes, it must be. I feel I have lost Dzelluria and several other worlds in the Horizon Cluster—not entirely unlike when Rusa’h formed his own thism web and took all those people away from me. But this seems more complete. It is as if whole parts of my Empire simply are not there.”
“Like I felt when I didn’t have a tree,” Nira said, and he could hear the pain in her voice.
Five warliners roared overhead, and the people cheered, but Jora’h did not take his gaze from Nira’s beautiful face. “Yes. Like that.”
The Prime Designate turned to Jora’h, his healing face full of conviction. “The faeros are the cause of this. Rusa’h warned that he was coming for us.”
46 FAEROS INCARNATE RUSA’H
Resplendent in vivifying flames, Rusa’h returned to Hyrillka, the heart of his domain. His fireball ship was alive with attendant faeros, shooting toward the planet he intended either to reclaim or incinerate in the process.
Back in his human incarnation, he had done holy work all around the Horizon Cluster. Starting with Dzelluria, he had kindled a fire of epic proportions, burning corruption from the Ildiran psyche and establishing his own thism web. Rusa’h had saved part of the Ildiran race by giving them the true soul-threads and untangling their knotted misunderstandings.
And all of that had been stolen from him by Jora’h, his own brother.
He had thought he’d lost everything, until he plunged into a living manifestation of the Lightsource. Baptized in the flames and then reforged, he had been transformed into this new persona of elemental energy.
And he had come back. Recently, he had felt the exhilaration of liberating the soulfires of every Ildiran on Dzelluria. The battle-weakened faeros had drawn vitally needed new energy by consuming those people, their bodies, their minds, their lives. Because Rusa’h had already laid down his pathways of thism there, he had found it easy to cut Dzelluria off from the false Mage-Imperator. When he reopened the thism web, the Dzelluria populace became combustible fuel, seeds for new faeros, to help the fiery beings recover from the near-genocide the hydrogues had inflicted.
Rusa’h had left Dzelluria a smoldering ember, its surface scorched and lifeless. He had done the same at Alturas. Then Shonor. And Garoa. Finally, he had arrived back at Hyrillka. Home.
His fireball and ten others swept down like a shower of blazing meteors. Rusa’h wanted to appear in all his coronal glory before his people. He would reawaken their reconfigured thism and pour revelations through them like lava. The faeros would reap a great harvest of soulfires here, and they would be strengthened again. Both Rusa’h and the flaming entities would benefit.
But he found Hyrillka empty, abandoned. The world felt silent to him. The flaming ship around him brightened as his thoughts churned and the faeros picked up on his unexpected anger. Through the eyes and thoughts of the faeros, who had not understood what they were seeing, he “remembered” great numbers of warliners evacuating, a flurry of Ildiran traffic that had taken place during the titanic battle of faeros and hydrogues in Hyrillka’s primary sun.
Now Rusa’h understood. The Ildirans would have been concerned that Hyrillka’s sun would die, just like Crenna or Durris-B. The Solar Navy had used those warliners to whisk everyone away. His people were gone. All of them!
But the faeros had defeated the hydrogues after all, saved their sun—and still Hyrillka remained empty.
Feeling angry fire in his reconstructed body, Rusa’h soared down to the surface, creating a wake of heat vapors. He cruised over the beloved city around which he had planted vast fields of nialia vines. All were destroyed, the soil blackened. Many city buildings had been partially rebuilt, but they were all empty again.
At last Rusa’h noticed a small inhabited encampment of newly erected huts and sheds—a research station. He sensed a handful of scientists and engineers, climate specialists and meteorologists, the bare minimum for a splinter. They must be studying Hyrillka to see if it was once again habitable. The near-death of the sun had no doubt frightened them greatly.
But Rusa’h would frighten them even more.
From inside the fireball, he extended his mind, pushed his powers forth, and connected with the faeros, which made his thism stronger than ever before, and different. He cut off this small number of Ildirans from the rest of the thism network, isolating them.
Bereft and confused, scientists emerged from their structures and stared at the faeros crackling in the sky, as if the stars themselves had fallen. Rusa’h parted the curtains of flames and walked out in his incandescent body.
The faeros began to burn the whole camp, setting the temporary structures afire. The researchers ran about frantically, but they could not flee fast enough. Some begged for mercy, and Rusa’h would show them mercy: He would grant them a wondrous gift by converting their soulfires into faeros energy. The scientists and engineers screamed as their very bones ignited, and they disappeared in a flash of bright flame and greasy smoke.
Now that he was back home, Rusa’h walked the empty streets, remembering how Hyrillka had been.
After climbing the hill, he strode through his empty citadel palace. His very touch was fire, and he set everything alight, incinerating the thick hanging vines, liquefying even the stone and crystal support structures. When the whole citadel palace was burning, he sat back in his melting throne and reveled in the blaze.
47 CESCA PERONI
Though she loved Jess as much as ever, Cesca couldn’t ignore her responsibilities to the Roamers, who still considered her to be the Speaker and looked to her for guidance.
“I feel as if I need to do something for our people. Jhy Okiah selected me to be her successor. The Roamers are still recovering from this devastating war, and I’m alone with you on an entire planet, happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Shouldn’t I be helping the clans?”
“Can you still lead the Roamers? Really?” Jess lifted his hand and looked at it. Runnels of silvery water glided down his wrist and into the swaying waves. “Is it fair to them to have a Speaker who is no longer like they are?”
Her expression was troubled. Water plastered her dark hair against her head. “I don’t know. Would it be best for the Roamers if I turned over the reins of leadership? And soon?”
“Maybe we should ask them what they think.”
“Then let’s go find them.”
After leaving Charybdis, she and Jess first visited the ruins of Rendezvous, then the bustling commercial hub of Yreka, before traveling to the center of the new government at Theroc.
“I’m pleased to see that the clans have found allies and protectors,” Cesca said to Jess as their ship descended toward the vast forest. “We were so alone before.”
“Impossible enemies brought the factions of humanity together in ways we couldn’t imagine.”
“As long as they brought us together, Jess. Husband.” She smiled. “Now we represent the wentals as well as ourselves.”
Thro
ugh the shimmering walls of the bubble, the couple peered down at the thick worldtrees and the large clearings made into landing areas for Roamer ships. With Jess’s help, she had considered what she wanted to do, and what she could do. What was her new Guiding Star? What was her plan?
Like a giant raindrop, their wental-formed ship descended to a meadow near a small diamond sphere—an empty hydrogue derelict? As traders and green priests hurried forward to greet them, the pair stepped through the pliable membrane. Holding hands, she and Jess stood in the Theron sunlight, sparkling with droplets of moisture. The wental energy permeating their bodies gave them a faint, crackling aura.
The last time Cesca had come here, she had helped the Roamers clear debris and assist the Therons after the hydrogue attack. And before that, she had visited with an entourage of clans to celebrate her impending marriage to Reynald.
Now her father hurried forward, practically running. The grin on Denn Peroni’s face warmed her heart. Since joining with the wentals, Cesca had seen him once on Yreka to explain what had happened to her and to enlist his aid in recruiting Roamer ships for the final battle against the hydrogues.
Knowing that he couldn’t touch her, Denn stopped a few steps away. “Well, I’m glad the Speaker has come back to resume her role among the Roamer clans again. We were beginning to wonder!”
The fact that she couldn’t allow anyone close enough to touch her only reinforced Cesca’s decision. Her father’s expression was so innocent and hopeful, as if he expected her to simply pick up her duties as before. Cesca drew a deep breath, knowing she was about to disappoint him. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve . . . I’ve got a new Guiding Star now, and it isn’t leading me to be the Speaker. I can’t do it—not the way I am.”
His expression fell. “There’s a lot you should know before you make a rash decision. The clans need you—”
“The clans need somebody, that’s for certain.” When she shook her head, her damp dark hair waved slowly, as if pregnant with electricity. “But it would be impossible for me to do the job. Now that the wentals live within me, close quarters like crowded Roamer settlements are dangerous not only for me, but for you. The slightest touch, a single mistake, would result in someone’s death.”
Cesca saw her father resist the idea for a moment before a reluctant understanding settled on his face. She said, “With the new government, you need more than just a Speaker. You’ll need representatives to the Confederation. And I think you would make a damned good one.”
He lifted his chin, grinning. “I already am. Official liaison between the clans and Theroc. I couldn’t wait forever, you know. Jess, your sister left here not long ago. She and her boyfriend are working at the Osquivel shipyards to build a Confederation military—frantically, I might add. We found out that the Eddies are coming here soon to cause trouble.”
“An attack? What does the Chairman think he’s doing?” Cesca already had experience with Basil Wenceslas and knew his dangerous unpredictability.
Denn looked at their shimmering wental ship. “You couldn’t have come at a better time. Whenever those battleships show up, you’ll give them a nice surprise!”
“We’ll see King Peter to discuss how the wentals can help,” Jess said with a grin.
48 ORLI COVITZ
With numerous buildings destroyed in the Klikiss expansion and so many families inside the walled enclosure, the Llaro colonists crowded together in communal houses. They shared their fears and shored up each other’s hopes.
Orli had moved in with Crim and Marla Chan Tylar, and DD knew exactly where to find her. She looked up to see the Friendly compy standing by the door. Although his polymer face did not change, he always seemed to be smiling at her. “Orli Covitz, Margaret has asked me to take you to her. Please bring your music synthesizer strips.”
Curious, Orli gathered her strips and trotted after DD. Margaret had shown an interest in her playing, often sitting and listening with other colonists when the girl gave a performance. During those times, Margaret’s expression showed a contentment that seemed very unfamiliar to her. “Does she want to hear some of my music?” she asked brightly.
“The breedex does.”
A stab of cold pierced her heart, and her knees felt weak as she stepped outside. The breedex? DD led her to one of the barred gaps in the thick stockade wall. Showing no reaction whatsoever, the Klikiss guards let the compy pass with Orli in tow.
Margaret was waiting outside the wall, her face full of concern. “I am very sorry, but this is for your own good. It might give you a chance—I can’t think of anything better to do.” She looked down at the music strips rolled up under Orli’s arm. “I want you to play today—and promise me you’ll play as you have never done before.”
“I’ve learned the song ‘Greensleeves,’ the one from your music box.” Margaret had even taught her the words.
The older woman jerked in alarm. “Not ‘Greensleeves.’ They’ve already heard that song. Concentrate on your own compositions.”
Orli forced optimism into her voice. “Okay, I have plenty. I can do that.”
DD strutted happily beside them. Massive Klikiss warriors stood by the dark entrance of the smooth-walled, free-form building that looked like a squat beehive, a veritable fortress in the center of the insect city. There was only one entrance, an arching passageway tall enough to allow the domates to enter. Following Margaret into the darkness, Orli felt very small.
The smell inside was more potent than the normal sandy musk the Klikiss gave off. Orli wrinkled her nose at the oily, chemical stench. “Sure stinks.”
“These pheromones are part of the Klikiss language, too,” Margaret said.
The light was dim, mere patterns of sunshine trickling through ventilation holes drilled in the resin-concrete walls. Greenish phosphorescence lined the curved passageways in thick, irregular lines that made Orli think of smeared insect spit (probably exactly what it was).
Dozens of spiny warriors had massed protectively in the corridors leading to the heart of the breedex hive. Two huge domates stepped aside for them at the arched entrance into the main chamber.
Margaret paused just outside the vaulted room and whispered, “Remember to play your own music. Play your best.”
Inside, Orli caught her breath and stared at the massive object—creature—that filled the chamber. The breedex was a huge, shifting assemblage of components, like the facets of a fly’s compound eye. She saw iridescent carapaces, thick spikes of chitin, squirming grubs. All around Orli, a buzzing made the hive mind itself seem to be a self-contained swarm of creatures.
The breedex was ensconced in a chaotic nest of bones and Klikiss shells pasted together with translucent, hardened slime. The peculiar and disgusting throne seemed to be a sculpture made from the breedex’s prior victims. Orli even saw the flat, angular heads of destroyed robots, along with mechanical arms and adornments of ripped-out circuitry.
Orli felt very frightened as the bulk of the breedex realigned itself, raising something that she thought was its head. Through the numerous facets, she could sense eyes watching her. The humming grew louder.
Margaret stepped forward and held up her small music box. Using her thumb and forefinger, she wound the key and let the tinkling tune fill the air. She did not speak until the spring wound down and the little song was finished. Then she whispered to Orli, “Now play your melodies. This is important.”
Swallowing hard, Orli unrolled her music strips and tried to recall her father’s favorite tunes. For a frightening moment, nervousness made her forget how to play, but she forced herself to concentrate. If she failed, if she made a mistake, the breedex just might kill her.
Forcing those thoughts aside, the girl sat down and played her music.
The breedex shifted and rose up in a mass. Orli’s fingers flew across the keys, tracing melodies, adding counterpoints, playing so hard and so intensely that she almost forgot where she was. She imagined herself playing for Crim and Marla
instead; she thought of her father’s dreams and promises of how she would be a famous professional musician someday.
She noted with her peripheral vision that the Klikiss workers at the edge of the chamber, the warriors, even the domates had frozen in place, seemingly turned to statues as the music lilted, swirled, rose, and then fell. Orli realized that she had engaged the attention of the entire hive mind, focusing the breedex so completely that none of the myriad insects could think or move for themselves. She caught her breath, wondering if all of the Klikiss on Llaro had also frozen in place.
Her fingers faltered on the keyboard, and as the atonal notes rang out, the breedex seemed disturbed. The domates shifted, and Orli sensed the change in their attention as soon as she made her blunder. A thrill of fear shot down her spine, but she recovered quickly, launching into a new melody, and soon had hypnotized the hive mind again.
She played another song, then another, and she seemed to have an inexhaustible repertoire. After she finished one particularly complicated melody, Orli played some of the common folk tunes she had known as a child. The breedex didn’t seem to notice any difference.
When exhaustion finally forced Orli to stop, she blinked and remembered where she was. A wave of fear washed over her.
The silence startled Margaret out of her own trance. When the breedex began to thrum, the older woman’s shoulders slumped with relief.
Out in the corridor, the domates started to move and chitter again. Orli felt the pounding thoughts of the great breedex mind still resonating with the music, like invisible fingers pressing against her skull. From the look on Margaret’s face, the girl could tell that she would survive, for today at least. And, she hoped, so would the rest of the people in the settlement.
49 GENERAL KURT LANYAN
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