Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Righteous punitive action? The Archfather stood like a lord on the Juggernaut’s bridge, his voluminous robes causing him to take up twice the space of an ordinary man.

  The Chairman said, “Lieutenant Commander Andez, please call up standard library images of the Hansa colony Usk. Play them on the screen so that I can explain your mission.”

  “We shall go to Usk,” the Archfather said, his voice ponderous and overly important. Cain wondered if the religious leader had been instructed to maintain his new persona even here on the Juggernaut’s bridge.

  Andez moved quickly, stabbing buttons on the control panel as if they were small creatures to crush. “Here it is, sir.” Stock images of a Hansa colony world appeared on the main screen.

  Cain vaguely knew about Usk, had read reports here and there. A pleasant and innocuous world. He saw images of green fields, orchards blossoming with pink and white flowers, flocks of sheep, rolling hills, homesteads that covered vast acreage.

  The Chairman said in a deprecating tone, “An agrarian economy, a bit more than self-sufficient. The people are comfortable and complacent and had no qualms about severing ties with the Hansa.” Cain didn’t point out that Earth had severed ties first. “They tore up the Hansa Charter, declared themselves independent, and joined the Confederation. After all that, they expected to go about their lives as before.”

  “They seem harmless enough, Mr. Chairman,” Cain said.

  “They rebelled against their legitimate authority! They walked away from the Terran Hanseatic League, embarrassing us in front of the other colonies. If we ignore this, we only encourage others to follow them.”

  Andez spoke up, without being asked. “As the General himself said when so many pilots deserted the EDF, the only way to stop this hemorrhage is to set one or more prominent examples in a manner so dramatic and unforgettable that others will think twice before defying us. It is long past time that we should do something to the breakaway worlds. In my opinion.”

  General Lanyan seemed relieved to have an assignment he could really do well. “I’m ready to crack down on Usk, Mr. Chairman. We’ll show them the error of their ways.”

  “You must do more than that, General. Make an impressive example of the people of Usk, though you may find it unpleasant. I’m counting on you to do what must be done. The Archfather will assist you.” He stared at the General, and Lanyan hesitated only a moment before briskly nodding.

  Though Cain did not dare to say anything aloud, he was certain he had stepped into a madhouse.

  The Archfather wore a distant smile on his face. His sapphire-blue eyes seemed to be lit from within. “Ah. It will be a real pogrom.”

  107 ANTON COLICOS

  Anton had never seen Vao’sh so excited. The rememberer’s facial lobes flushed bright colors as he related the news. “The Mage-Imperator intends to go to Theroc! It is said that he means to ask forgiveness for what the Ildiran people did on Dobro.”

  The trip itself was another sudden shift for the Ildirans. By tradition, supplicants came to the Mage-Imperator. Their ruler, whom they considered without equal in any civilization, did not travel elsewhere to see an inferior leader. And he most certainly did not apologize.

  But times changed. “A bold move,” Anton said. “Maybe a foolish one. Only history will tell.”

  They met in the Hall of Rememberers, where the new diamondfilm plates were being mounted in place. Scribes had been busy etching new words, revising stanza after stanza according to the new information that Vao’sh and Anton had provided. Though at first he had been relieved and excited to get back to his “real” work of translating the Saga of Seven Suns, Anton’s eyes were scratchy from the overwhelming amount of reading and writing he had done in the past several days. He remembered cramming for exams back at the university, rehearsing his oral defense, editing his thesis again and again before finally receiving his degree. This, though, was far more intense. He and Vao’sh were reinterpreting an entire chronicle.

  The corrected replacement panels included uncensored excerpts from the epic and deleted the intentionally false tales. The story of the firefever killing all the rememberer kith was replaced with the grim truth of their assassination so that the Mage-Imperator could rewrite history. The Dobro breeding camps were there, the unsettling civil war with mad Designate Rusa’h, even Jora’h’s near treachery with the hydrogues. Ildirans were still grappling with the idea that real history was not always pleasant and heroic.

  Though Chief Scribe Ko’sh and some hardliners continued to quietly protest, a new generation of rememberers was already studying the revised Saga. Some older historians, who had also accepted the chore of relearning what they had previously memorized, purged the now-discredited stories from their retellings. The changes would sink in eventually, but it would take time.

  And now the Mage-Imperator was leaving. “I take it Prime Designate Daro’h will stay here in his stead?” Anton said. “Is there such a thing as an ‘acting Mage-Imperator’?”

  Vao’sh shrugged, imitating a gesture he had often seen Anton use. “Yes, Daro’h will stay, and Yazra’h will remain here to defend Ildira and protect the Prime Designate, should he need it. Meanwhile, Adar Zan’nh will deliver the Cjeldre refugees to Dobro, as the Mage-Imperator promised.” Vao’sh looked at his friend, his face filled with joy. “And I have not told you the best part, Rememberer Anton. We will write the story, you and I! Mage-Imperator Jora’h has asked us to accompany him and document exactly what we see and do.”

  Anton took a step backward, his foot crunching on a small shard of diamondfilm from a broken panel. Vao’sh continued in a rush. “In order to expedite the journey, the Mage-Imperator will take only a processional warliner with a hundred Ildiran guards and advisers—and the two of us. Nira has already sent a message to let Theroc know we are coming.”

  Anton decided to gather his notes and bring them along in hopes that he could deliver a copy of his work thus far to a trader on Theroc. Someone should be able to take the draft translations back to Earth, where innumerable undergrads and research assistants would paw through the new and exciting information. So long as he received appropriate scholarly credit for his work, Anton didn’t mind. His work with Ildirans was by no means finished, and he intended to stay with them.

  He looked at the other rememberers in the Hall, some of whom frowned skeptically at the new diamondfilm chronicles. “Then we’d better start packing.”

  108 TASIA TAMBLYN

  Throughout the rest of the night, the blackness was broken by mysterious noises. The sounds might have been perfectly normal and innocuous on Llaro . . . or they could well indicate preparations for a Klikiss ambush. It seemed likely that the three of them were the only ones left alive on Llaro who needed a rescue, and nobody from the outside would come looking for them for quite a while yet.

  Tasia felt their best chance was to patch up the Osquivel and fly the hell out of there. The transport ship was sprawled prow first in the wide arroyo where it had plowed into the ground. “We’re stuck for now, but if we put our heads together we can figure something out. Roamers can work wonders with fast adhesives and medical tape.”

  Robb stared at the battered hull. Klikiss gunfire and flying rocks at impact had done equal amounts of damage. “This job goes way beyond my repair-kit knowledge.” Trained in the standard methods found in EDF manuals, he usually followed approved procedures to the letter. He had tested on Remoras and larger ships, knew how the engines functioned, and knew how to fit the components together. That was all.

  Robb and Tasia tinkered with the damaged hull in the thin light of sunrise, pulling and hammering bent metal plates back into place. Nikko climbed out of the engine compartment, using his forearm to rub grease from his face. “So, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  “You mean it’s not all bad news?” Tasia asked. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Plenty of good news, considering. Our ekti supply is intact, the stardrive engines functio
n—maybe not at one hundred percent, but good enough to get us out of the Llaro system.”

  Robb showed his teeth in an unexpected smile. “Then we’ll be out of here as soon as we patch up the hull.” He kicked the side of the ship. “Making these breaches spaceworthy isn’t going to be simple, but we can do it with the materials on hand. It’ll take maybe four hours.”

  Tasia was almost afraid to ask. “So what’s the bad news?”

  “Our in-system engines are damaged. One is completely shot.”

  “Can we fix it?” Robb asked.

  “Fixing it isn’t the problem. The fuel tank’s ruptured and empty. Empty. Forget the ekti—we don’t have any standard fuel. Once we get out into space we can fire up the Ildiran stardrive and get out of here. But we can’t lift this hulk off the ground without any standard fuel.”

  Tasia groaned. “We’re not likely to find a friendly fueling station in that Klikiss city.”

  “One problem at a time,” Robb said with a resigned sigh. “Let’s do what we can to repair the engines and the hull, and we’ll work on the fuel problem in parallel. I just wish I had some clue where to start.”

  Tasia climbed back up into the Osquivel’s spacious cockpit. “I’ll deal with getting the weapons systems online. That’s a problem I can tackle. No telling when we might have to blast some bugs.”

  They barely slept during the next day and night, taking turns at watch. Nikko kept himself busy and quiet, weighed down by the conviction that his parents, along with the rest of the Roamer detainees, were dead.

  As darkness fell again, Tasia sat on a rounded brown boulder near the fringe of emergency lights around the crash site. Deeper in the canyon the shadows were thick and black. Out there, she could hear a rattle of something slithering through the rocks. The darkness grew deeper, closing in around her, making her jumpy. Tasia had a wide-dispersal flare in one hand, a twitcher in the other, and a heavier projectile gun at her hip. She would rather have been inside the wrecked ship and comfortable on her bunk, preferably with Robb beside her. Yes, comfortable.

  Often, though, the most uncomfortable thing was the right thing to do. She sat on the hard rock, guarding against any approach from out of the night. Even with the shipboard weapons partially repaired, the three of them could never have held off a full force of the bugs.

  She heard continued noises, another skitter of pebbles. From far off came a strange warbling chirp and she looked up, then heard the definite approach of footfalls, something much larger than a rodent. A rock clattered against another. Loose dirt trickled down the steep side of the canyon wall.

  She sat motionless, waiting until the last minute, her hand sweaty on the twitcher. If the Klikiss were coming, the little stun weapon wouldn’t do much, but she would open fire as soon as she was sure of her target.

  A dry piece of underbrush cracked, and she heard a whispery sound, much closer than she had expected. Tasia didn’t wait any longer, knowing the three of them would have to be very lucky indeed to survive this. She covered her eyes and activated the wide-dispersal flare, hoping to dazzle them long enough so she could fire. “Robb, Nikko—I could use some help over here!”

  The flare’s harsh light burnt out. Though Tasia had shielded her dark-adapted eyes, she struggled to make out the shapes, expecting to see an army of hideous creatures swarming down upon them. Shouts seemed to come from all sides, and Robb and Nikko ran to join the fight. Too many shouts, too many voices.

  Instead of monstrous bugs, though, she saw a dark-skinned man and a shaggy old hermit accompanied by two others. They wore standard-issue colony jumpsuits that were a bit worse for wear. The dark-skinned man covered his eyes. “Don’t shoot.”

  “We’re friendlies, dammit!” The older man cursed. “I didn’t expect anything so dramatic. Sheesh! We’re escapees from the colony.”

  Robb and Nikko came running from the wreck. The dark-skinned man’s eyes adjusted quickly, and he stepped forward. “I’m Davlin Lotze. We saw your ship crash, picked up your emergency signal, and pinpointed your beacon before somebody silenced it.”

  Nikko stopped and stared at one of the other men. “Dad? Dad!” He nearly tackled Crim Tylar.

  “Nikko! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Rescuing you. We came to rescue all the Roamers on Llaro!”

  “But it didn’t turn out exactly the way we’d planned,” Tasia added.

  Crim’s face looked bleak. “That’s for sure.” Nikko hesitated, as if realizing that he didn’t want to ask any more questions.

  Davlin spoke in a clear, businesslike manner. “I don’t think the Klikiss know where you are yet, but it would be best if we got to safety before daylight.”

  109 ADMIRAL SHEILA WILLIS

  Even if Chairman Wenceslas insisted there was a war going on, Rhejak was where Admiral Willis wanted to be. She had met her mission objectives here and established a firm military presence, and was pleased to have done it without dramatically affecting the lives of the locals. The EDF too often used a heavy hand when all the situation required was a bit of finesse.

  Her corps of engineers had constructed a large floating island of interlocking honeycomb segments on multiple pontoons. The raft-base gave the EDF occupation forces ample space for barracks and operations. When they required more area, the soldiers installed additional segments to expand their artificial island.

  Signing off on a daily status log (which she barely skimmed), Willis sat on the edge of the raft platform and watched the giant tentacled creatures being herded about. Tired of eating rationpacks, she had arranged an exchange of supplies with the fishermen homesteaders. She paid through the nose for their seafood, no doubt about that, but Willis loved medusa meat. It had a squeaky texture like roasted mushrooms and a rich flavor that reminded her of lobster, especially when drenched in butter substitute.

  She had sent a fast scout ship back to Earth, informing the Hansa that Rhejak was secure. She knew the Chairman was anxiously awaiting word about when shipments would resume—rare metals, exotic minerals, kelp extracts—but she was still busy nailing down the operations, and knew not to make any promises that she might have trouble keeping.

  Willis encouraged her troops to be good neighbors. “Tuck your oversized balls firmly in your pants, choke down a dose of humility, and treat the inhabitants with respect.” By sharing trinkets and keepsakes brought from Earth, some soldiers earned a modicum of friendship. Hakim Allahu, through regular visits to Willis aboard the floating raft-base, had come to grudgingly accept the EDF’s presence as unavoidable.

  Though she might be lenient, she wasn’t stupid. Conrad Brindle remained in command of the ten patrol Mantas overhead, and she had installed watchdog teams at the Company Works extraction facility. Other soldiers monitored and took turns running the machinery at the coral-grinding quarries.

  Her Mantas had already chased away several Roamer ships that came to Rhejak as part of their usual trade routes. The Roamer pilots had sounded alarms, transmitted curses, or taken a few potshots at a Manta before racing away. But it was mostly harmless. There was just no way to please everyone. . . .

  At night, with operations shut down and the Company Works illuminated by only a few blinking locators, the dark waters were calm. Rhejak’s two small moons lit the sky with a silvery glow. Medusas never slept, but floated along, burbling and hooting as if to keep themselves company.

  A small explosion in one of the Company extraction towers set all the alarms ringing on the raft-base. EDF soldiers raced onto the honeycombed deck, shouting into their short-range comms and looking around for the source of the disturbance. Willis sprang from her bunk and threw on the first uniform she could find, tugging on her boots as she raced out onto the deck.

  “Something’s happening at the extraction plant, Admiral!”

  Already heading for the skimmers they kept tied up to the edge of the raft, Willis yelled for a few nearby soldiers to join her. She jumped in and caught her balance as one young ensign un
tied the docking rope and another fired up the engines. While the craft bumped and splashed across the shallow water, Willis fastened the last few buttons on her uniform.

  All the lights had come on at the Company Works. Alarms ratcheted through the sinuous pipes and framework towers of the extraction facility. The EDF guards stationed there shouted to one another in a combination of bluster and sheepish confusion. When too many conflicting transmissions crackled across the comm, Willis barked for a succinct report. “It’s rebels, Admiral. We don’t know who they were, just caught a glimpse.”

  “They weren’t wearing much,” another voice broke in. “Loincloths or trunks. I think it was a couple of medusa herders.”

  Willis clenched her jaw. “A few rowdy young men with a point to make and too much time on their hands.” When her pursuit skimmer pulled up to the humming Company tower, she could smell smoke. She climbed out of the swaying boat and addressed the guards. “Where did they come from? And how the hell did they get past you? What’s been damaged? Why weren’t you watching? Who was on patrol?”

  The guards didn’t know which question to answer first. The saboteurs had arrived at water-level and climbed the towers with their bare hands and feet. A small explosion had shut down one of the six pumping stations, but the damage wasn’t severe. In fact, the guards believed the bomb had been a diversion. The patrol on duty, disarmed by the friendliness of the locals, had probably been too complacent.

  “Sounds like a flaw in our security planning. We gave the people of Rhejak an inch, and they took a tower. Get this place cleaned up and repaired. Wake up the Company crews and any EDF engineers you need. The faster we get the facility up and running again, the less of an impact those yahoos will have made.”