Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The humans had barricaded themselves inside, but the robots cut directly through the outer hull, releasing a blast of stale air in explosive decompression, spilling the atmosphere into space like blood. Some sections of the metal walls caved in, too thin to support themselves without air pressure. As the power generators died, lights inside Barrymore’s Rock shut off, leaving only dim telltale emergency glows.

  The robots entered in pitch darkness. Shifting their optical sensors to infrared, they hunted down any humans who hadn’t been killed by decompression.

  The cleansing was methodical and merciless. It was also unhurried. Sirix took part in the massacre himself. These helpless victims were surrogate targets for the black robots’ anger, compensation for all the losses they had suffered in the recent failed battles against the Klikiss. To him, the screams of the last few humans barricaded in sealed compartments were the equivalent of the music the breedex so enjoyed. It could never be sufficient, Sirix thought, but it was a start.

  Two hours later, no further life signs remained aboard Barrymore’s Rock.

  He marched through the habitation domes, cargo compartments, and storage chambers, relishing every moment. Torn bodies were strewn about, leaving bloodstains on the decks and walls. He found a thin young man with a red scarf and a pilot’s uniform near the docked cargo escort. The others, presumably a family, consisted of three children, four men, three women. Their private quarters were cluttered with useless keepsakes and extensive recorded journals of their daily lives. Sirix had no interest in such irrelevant information.

  Working together, black robots drained the outpost’s ekti tanks, obtaining much more stardrive fuel than the single cargo escort had carried. They remained in the vicinity of the outpost for several days, refueling all of the battleships. Conscious of how many vessels he had already lost, Sirix ordered Soldier compies to seize the four small passenger ships and the spidery cargo escort docked outside of the depot. Those craft could be useful for subterfuge, if nothing else.

  All the robots returned to their EDF ships, which then drifted away from the uninhabited outpost. Though ready to move onward, Sirix now feared that the infestation of the creator race had spread far beyond the ability of his small group to stop them.

  When all viable equipment was secure, he brought his Juggernaut back around and allowed PD and QT more target practice. The pair of compies fired repeatedly upon the domes, the empty stardrive fuel reservoirs, and the core asteroid. Sirix instructed them to continue the high-energy bombardment until nothing but unrecognizable rubble remained of Barrymore’s Rock.

  Then he directed his ships to move out again in a strong battle group, pleased with their efforts. “Now we continue . . . until the very end.”

  104 MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

  Adar Zan’nh’s ships returned from the Mage-Imperator’s mission of mercy with the human refugees from Cjeldre. Followed closely by Nira and her children, as well as Prime Designate Daro’h, Jora’h went out to meet them, anxious to learn how far the Klikiss had spread and how much damage they had already done. He feared he would have to face another war. Was the Klikiss race an enemy of the Ildiran Empire?

  With brisk steps, nearly tripping over the scurrying servant kithmen, the Mage-Imperator descended the path from the Prism Palace and waited in the plaza for Zan’nh’s ornate battleship to land. Bureaucrats, courtesans, rememberers, and lens kithmen all marched in a procession after him to welcome the Solar Navy home.

  Aboard the orbiting assembly platforms, Tabitha Huck and her crews celebrated the occasion by launching nine new warliners, which accompanied the descending flagship. Swift streamers circled the warliners, performing intricate maneuvers in the sky. The joyful Ildiran people needed to know no more than that the Adar had been successful in his mission.

  The flagship settled onto the mosaic pavement, its solar sails extended along with rippling metal pennants. Jora’h drew strength from Nira close beside him. Osira’h held Prime Designate Daro’h’s hand as if she had remembered how to be a little girl again. Nira’s children, with their strange eyes and unexpected fascinations, had been occupying themselves with Kolker’s new “revelations.” They had offered to show her, and the other green priest had eagerly encouraged it, but Nira remained too focused on reconnecting with Jora’h and guiding him.

  Debarkation ramps extended, and after an anticipatory silence, Adar Zan’nh stepped out, leading a group of subcommanders, followed by uniformed Solar Navy soldiers, and finally a group of human evacuees from Cjeldre. Only about a hundred of them. Nira waited for more, caught her breath, and said, “That’s . . . all of them?”

  Zan’nh pressed his fist to the center of his chest. “We went to several other known colonies, Liege. Some were uninhabited, others devastated. On Cjeldre, though, we found these humans still alive.”

  “Did you encounter the Klikiss? How many of them?” Jora’h asked.

  “They have indeed returned, in full force. On Cjeldre, these humans had already been taken prisoner. If we had not arrived when we did, they would have been killed.” He sounded shaken.

  “He saved us!” cried one of the humans from behind.

  Zan’nh glanced back at the haggard refugees, then at his father again. “Yes, Liege, we saved them.” He seemed awkwardly pleased with himself. “It was not . . . honorable, what the Klikiss did on planet after planet.”

  Nira opened her arms wide to the refugees. “We’re glad you’re alive. We’re glad you came here.”

  People staggered down the debarkation ramp, reeling with gratitude. Jora’h spoke to the servant kithmen, who seemed ecstatic to have something to do, orders to follow. “See that these humans are given comfortable quarters, fresh garments, medical attention, and any food they desire.”

  The Cjeldre colonists let out a chorus of thanks. Some of them were close to collapse, others wanted to rush forward and embrace the Mage-Imperator, but Yazra’h stood guard, and no one could get past her.

  The Adar watched the amazed and relieved expressions on their faces. He said quietly, “You were right to send me on this mission, Liege. Had I gone sooner, I might have saved even more people.”

  Zan’nh had not meant to criticize, but Jora’h felt guilt nonetheless. He had hesitated when Nira made her plea for the Solar Navy’s help. He had not wanted to waste time or resources looking into a problem that he felt was of the humans’ own making. He should have listened to Nira immediately. She asked him for so little, and Jora’h felt he owed her so much. After what the Ildirans did to the human test subjects on Dobro, the crimes and secrets over the generations—now all exposed, much to his shame!—he should never have hesitated. The Mage-Imperator owed them a debt that he could never repay.

  He spoke quietly to Nira. “Tell me how best I can help them now. Should they stay on Ildira? Should I send them back to Earth? You know I will do anything you ask of me.”

  Nira’s face hardened. “Not Earth, and not Ildira. Those people went to Cjeldre because they wished to make a new life for themselves. They wanted a home they could call their own, and risked everything to join the Hansa’s Colonization Initiative.”

  Young Osira’h nodded vigorously, grasping the Prime Designate’s hand as seven fast streamers whistled past overhead, still performing. “Send them to Dobro, Father. Let them join the other human settlers there. Isn’t that right, Daro’h? Let them build their colony the way the Burton colonists were promised.”

  He felt Nira’s distinct shudder, but she nodded. “Make them that offer. It will help to heal the wounds and begin to change their perceptions of you and all Ildirans.”

  Jora’h drew a deep breath. “Yes, the wound must be healed. Maybe Dobro can become a new beginning, a place where humans and Ildirans can live in harmony. These colonists can go there and be free, with all the support we can give them. That’s the way it should have been all along.”

  The smile that lit her face was genuine. “That is a good start, Jora’h.”

  “
Unless the faeros come and destroy it,” Daro’h said. The scars on his face looked very red in the bright sunlight.

  As the servant kithmen and bureaucrats guided the Cjeldre refugees away, Jora’h remained contemplative. He had been considering this move for a long time, and now could not ignore it any longer. He had to take control of the bad situation before the humans took matters into their own hands. In order to regain their trust, he would have to do more than just offer some land on Dobro for a few refugee colonists. The centuries of Ildiran deception would cost them much support, possibly even ruin any chance of a real alliance with the humans. He had to make amends, build bridges.

  “Dobro is only a first step, yet it is not enough. You know it is not. A token gesture such as this cannot make it right.” He looked into Nira’s eyes, then glanced at Osira’h. “You already told the green priests about the breeding program, Nira. You shared your story and part of your pain, but explanation is not atonement. That is something I must do. We cannot ignore this and hope that humans will forget about it. They will not.”

  He did not hesitate, knowing he was doing this for her. What surprised him, however, was the contradictory fact that it felt good in his heart. “I must face their leadership and admit what the Ildirans did to your people over the generations. I will apologize—and only then will I hope we might find some sort of redemption. I will go to King Peter.”

  The traders Rlinda Kett and Denn Peroni had already explained the confusing schism in the human government, the new Confederation, the old Terran Hanseatic League. Apparently, the Hansa had walled itself off, while the Confederation grew, accepting all the different “kiths” of humanity, from the colonists to the Roamer clans to Nira’s beloved Therons. Jora’h had met Chairman Wenceslas and had also spent time with King Peter and Queen Estarra.

  Nira’s expression lit up even before he finished speaking. The Mage-Imperator made his announcement. “We will go to Theroc. That is the heart and soul of the human race.” He held Nira, sharing her joy simply through the physical contact. “We will leave as soon as possible.”

  105 KING PETER

  Every day, King Peter’s hours were filled with discussions among representatives from Hansa colonies and Roamer clans. But for a short while late in the day—and only a short while—he and Estarra relished their time alone. After so many banquets and parties and celebrations, it felt good to have just a light meal together, sitting on the open balcony and staring out at the canyons of the forest and the great gap that showed the sky.

  Even when he took time for himself and for his wife, Peter could not stop worrying about the Confederation. The government weighed heavily upon him. The formation of an entirely new system required so much discussion, so many agreements, and so many decisions. OX stood attentively beside them. The compy was making progress and was beginning to serve as a political adviser again.

  Peter considered the dramatically changed situation between the Hansa and the Confederation, the Therons and Roamers, even the Ildirans. Now they had learned that Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself was on his way to Theroc on some sort of embassy.

  News of the horrible Dobro breeding program, delivered via the green priests, had rattled Peter. On their visit to Mijistra, he and Estarra had liked Mage-Imperator Jora’h and had given him a treeling for his Prism Palace. Having heard Nira’s story, though, what was Peter to think? Perhaps it would be a good thing for them to meet face-to-face after all. He had hoped the Ildirans might become the Confederation’s allies.

  The Mage-Imperator could have gone to Chairman Wenceslas, but he had chosen Theroc. That would send a clear signal to the Hansa. But what if the Ildiran leader was no more trustworthy than Basil? Peter refused to believe that.

  “We didn’t know the scope of what we were getting into when we started all this, Estarra.” He picked up a green seedpod that popped in his mouth when he bit down. “Oh, I had my training and years of experience as King—as much experience as Basil would let me have—but did we jump off a cliff? And did all these people just follow me blindly?”

  “With enough people, we can manage to catch each other,” Estarra said. “We knew we had to break from the Hansa, to get free from the Chairman. You have the best possible experts to help you.”

  “Yes, King Peter,” OX said. “You do. All of the details, consequences, and legal implications that decide the actions of a planet or planets—those are what leadership is about. You must answer many questions: How loose or tight should the Confederation be? Is it a mutual support society, or an actual union? Should the orphaned Hansa worlds be treated as a unit or as individuals? It seems logical that each colony send its own representative, since each one has its own needs.”

  Estarra agreed. “Starting a new government is like starting a new family, both as a king and as a husband. You do things you never expected to do, but you step up anyway. The human race is counting on us.”

  He stroked her arm. “For now at least, everyone has the same ideal, and we can all agree on the broad points.” Peter stared at the afternoon sun reflecting shimmers of green as it cut through the canopy.

  “Keep your focus on what matters.” Estarra winced as a twinge of pain crossed her abdomen.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, this is exactly how it should be—according to my mother, the green priests, and everyone else I’ve talked to.” She breathed quickly, concentrated, and calmed herself. “I’m going to be having our baby in another couple of weeks, Peter. It’s not supposed to be completely effortless.”

  He held her. “I wish I could do something.”

  “You already did. I’ll concentrate on having this baby. You concentrate on ironing out the wrinkles in the government.”

  “It’s not that simple, Estarra.”

  “Neither is childbirth, but we get through it. Remember, if the leaders are good, and the people themselves are good, then it’ll all work out.”

  “Tell that to Basil.”

  “He’ll have to live with his own decisions. You and I, and the Confederation representatives, have to decide what to do now.”

  “Having a choice is a lot better than having a decision handed to me.”

  The Teacher compy poured from a carafe of epiphyte juices mixed according to a recipe that Estarra’s grandmother had concocted. Peter proposed a toast. “No matter what we choose, we’re better off than we were under the thumb of the Hansa Chairman.”

  They both drank to that.

  106 DEPUTY CHAIRMAN ELDRED CAIN

  Fear made the population of Earth easy to manipulate, and Chairman Wenceslas took advantage of every weak mind, swayed every conscience. The reenergized Archfather continued to fan the flames of religious fervor. Selling the Klikiss as demons was an easy feat—and once the reaction began, the public accepted the next conclusion and the next. Some of the more gullible people even bought into the concept that King Peter was responsible for the return of the Klikiss, if not actually in league with them.

  The patriotic vehemence of a certain segment of the citizenry served to justify Basil’s firm belief that he was right. Since he listened only to those who cheered his actions, the Chairman no longer needed dissenting opinions, rational arguments, or alternative ideas. Cain, deeply disturbed by what he saw, felt unnecessary. Recently, the only thing Basil trusted his deputy to do was tailor press releases and crack down on any misrepresentations that were not approved misrepresentations.

  Chairman Wenceslas summoned Cain, and together they rode in a shuttle up to where Lanyan’s restocked and refueled Juggernaut waited, looming like a military monstrosity protecting Earth. “It’s time to put the genuine fear of God into everyone—not just the citizens of Earth, but also all the outlaw colonies that deserted the Hansa in its time of greatest need.”

  “The fear of God? Isn’t that what you’re having the Archfather do with his speeches and rallies?”

  “It’s time for more than words. I’ve had scholars dig up scriptural bases for hi
m to cite. We can twist the sacred words to our own needs, and the people will march blindly along while they rattle their swords.”

  Cain felt a knot in his stomach, and it wasn’t from the shuttle’s artificial gravity generators adjusting as they reached the Juggernaut. He decided to try one last time. “Mr. Chairman, you’ve always been a rational man, but you’re forcing the human race to take giant steps backward. Why would you encourage mere paranoia and superstition? This isn’t what a true religion stands for.”

  “The Archfather is fully behind this action.”

  “Since when have you cared about what the Archfather thought, sir? He’s just an actor.”

  “Indeed, I don’t care what he thinks. I care what he says, and he says what I tell him to.”

  When they docked in the Jupiter’s yawning hangar deck, they were received by an EDF escort party led by a stiff-backed and haughty-looking Lieutenant Commander Shelia Andez. Cain remembered her as one of the POWs rescued from the Roamers at Osquivel. She had olive skin, cinnamon hair exactly at regulation length, and eyebrows like dark parabolas on her face. Andez had been quite outspoken against the Roamers, making public statements that the Chairman couldn’t have scripted better himself.

  “The General will see you, Mr. Chairman. We’re looking forward to what you have to say.” When she marched off, her movements barely made a wrinkle in her crisp uniform. The two representatives were flanked by an honor guard.

  Walking through the Jupiter, Cain looked around uneasily. This had been Admiral Willis’s ship, but Lanyan seemed to have instituted tighter procedures, stricter formalities. His headlong collision with the Klikiss on Pym had shaken him badly.

  The General gave a brisk salute when they appeared on the bridge. He seemed eager to shake off any lingering impression of failure after his recent retreat, but Cain could see Lanyan had a shadow of worry about where the Chairman might send him. “The Archfather won’t explain what you mean by a ‘righteous punitive action.’”