Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Jora’h extended his hand in the human gesture of greeting that he had practiced. “It does not need to compare. It has a grandeur all its own.”

  By the warliner, Anton Colicos and Rememberer Vao’sh stood amazed among the other Ildirans. Nira envied the two men, imagining the thrill of seeing the gigantic trees for the very first time.

  Theroc held all the best parts of her past. So much to see, so many memories to refresh, so many foods to eat . . . Virtually everything had changed after two hydrogue attacks and an explosive wental regrowth. In all that time, Nira had gone from being a wide-eyed dreamer who loved to learn and tell stories, to a damaged woman who had been held hostage and brutally abused. But here, all in a rush, her youth and sense of wonder came back to her.

  A group of green priests gave her their own warm welcome, surrounding her, touching her, accepting her. They all knew, in general, what she had endured on Dobro, and through telink she had asked them not to hate all Ildirans for it. She looked at Jora’h, her face full of questions, and he smiled back with an expression so warm and compassionate that she loved him all the more for it. “Go. You should be with green priests now. Do not worry about me.”

  Nira wrapped her arms around a towering worldtree, touching the golden bark and letting her thoughts flow into the verdani mind. Technically, this was no different from when she used the small treeling back in the Prism Palace, but the full intimate contact against her skin and the synergistic force of so many giant trunks around her made the profound experience more intense than she had remembered.

  A skinny young woman of about twenty approached Nira, her forehead marked with an acolyte’s tattoo. Her features were elfin, her hair tied back in neat bunches of braids. The girl reminded Nira of young Queen Estarra, and she realized who it was. “Are you little Celli?”

  “Not so little anymore! Would you like to climb with me to the canopy? Many of the green priests have already gathered there, and the acolytes would love to see you. We’ve all heard so much. Everyone knows your tale.”

  “I told you only part of the story, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure how much you could take.”

  “The worldtrees want to know everything. And so do we! I’ll be a green priest soon.”

  Nira remembered how enthusiastic she herself had been as an acolyte. “I hope to bring other green priests and more trees back to Ildira with me, so I will no longer be alone there.”

  Nira gazed at the high fronds and the inviting open sky above. Energy flooded through her muscles, and the trees seemed to offer hand and footholds she had not noticed were there. She scrambled up as if she were a young girl again. Laughing, Celli climbed up beside her.

  When Nira poked her head above the topmost fronds, she drew a deep breath. Years of pain and sadness seemed to wash away from her. “I had forgotten how wonderful it is.”

  After being reunited with Jora’h, the man she loved, Nira had thought she would never consider leaving Ildira. She wanted to stay at the Mage-Imperator’s side until she died. But she had forgotten the tempting song of the worldforest. Through telink, the flood of thoughts and knowledge and personalities created a comforting white noise. Every nerve in her skin tingled with reawakened energy.

  One group of green priests, including Yarrod, sat high in the canopy apart from the others, not quite aloof, but absorbed in another part of their minds. She wondered if they were communing through telink, until she recognized that these must be Kolker’s converts, here on Theroc.

  Celli led her to a cluster of acolytes who looked at Nira with awe. Some of the green priests stepped across the tangled branches to greet her. “We were terrified for you and angry at what you suffered, Nira, then uplifted by how you had survived. We must know all of the details. The worldforest must hear everything. The tale should be told well, and never forgotten.”

  Nira’s throat was dry. “I know. I must tell it all, the bad parts and the good. Every detail. And you have to hear it and share it amongst yourselves.” She stared out at the trees and let a faint smile curl her lips. “I know an accomplished storyteller who can help me.”

  Late that evening, after the first banquet in the fungus-reef city, Anton Colicos sat dazed and enthralled, with Vao’sh beside him in the same mentally saturated state. While Jora’h attended intense, and practical, discussions with the King and Queen, Nira joined the two rememberers.

  “I’ll need a year to process everything,” Anton said. “I’m overloaded.”

  The historians had spent the day with Jora’h and his entourage, touring some of the most impressive sights of Theroc, after which they enjoyed extravagant welcoming celebrations, not only from the royal couple but from Roamer traders and representatives of former Hansa colonies that had joined the Confederation. Insect songs and perfumed breezes drifted through the open decks of the high city, mingling with the loud conversation and laughter of Roamers and the singing and stringed instruments of Theron performers.

  Nira said, “I can explain whatever you don’t understand, show you things that you never dreamed of. But I need you to do something for me, something important to the worldforest, and to history.”

  Anton looked surprised. “What’s that?”

  “I need someone who understands both humans and Ildirans—someone who was there. The two of you can work together. And I promise this won’t be as difficult as correcting the Saga of Seven Suns.” Anton and Rememberer Vao’sh looked at each other. “Anton Colicos . . . will you tell my story?”

  She could see that the question startled him, then choked him up. The manner in which this story was told would influence how future generations viewed what had happened to her in the breeding camps on Dobro. It would have consequences for human and Ildiran relations for many years to come.

  “I would be honored. Absolutely honored.”

  115 TASIA TAMBLYN

  Their timing had to be precise, or none of them would ever escape from Llaro. Absolute coordination was crucial. Perfect timing. No margin for error.

  Right.

  Under the late-afternoon sun, Tasia monitored her chronometer, checked their location, and picked up the pace. She and Nikko had to be in position before deep twilight fell, and it would take both of them to do the digging and heavy lifting—after they actually found the buried fuel barrels. Davlin, meanwhile, had his own task. Then Robb would retrieve them . . . if all the timing worked.

  Meanwhile, several Roamer engineers from among the Llaro survivors had returned to the wreck of the Osquivel and set about completing the major repairs that would make the ship flightworthy again. Forget the manuals; this was all strictly seat-of-the-pants work. And Davlin Lotze claimed he could do the rest. His words were not mere bravado, either. Tasia believed him.

  So she, Davlin, and Nikko had crossed the grasslands in broad daylight, screened by clumps of tan rocks or spiky pampas grass, and approached the ever-expanding perimeter of the insect colony.

  “I doubt the bugs are looking for us anymore,” Davlin said in a hushed voice. “By devouring the captive colonists, the breedex probably got what it needed, and the Klikiss seem to ignore anything they don’t consider relevant.”

  “Unless we poke a pointed stick in their eyes,” Tasia said.

  “Let’s try not to do that,” Nikko said quickly.

  She peered over a low mound covered with dry thistleweeds to get her bearings. In the nearby insect city, armies of multilegged workers excavated the dry dirt, built more towers, and dug tunnels to house their suddenly increased numbers. She saw more of them than she had ever imagined. “Sooner or later, they’re going to overrun the whole damned planet.”

  “The breedex may just abandon Llaro and launch out to conquer other subhives,” Davlin said. “We can always hope.”

  “Then I wish the bugs would hurry up about it and leave.”

  The three of them moved through gullies, around clumps of upthrust rock, and through patches of dry grain stalks until Davlin called a halt just beyond the perimeter t
he insect creatures patrolled. He sent a tight-channel signal to Robb almost below the horizon far behind them, and they all coordinated their movements. “Time to split up. Good luck.”

  “Follow your Guiding Star,” Tasia said to Davlin.

  “We certainly plan to,” Nikko added.

  Without further discussion, Davlin darted off. Tasia quickly lost sight of him as he picked his way toward the scar of the former colony settlement and the giant frame of the large new transportal standing just outside the main towers. Despite his stealthy moves, she couldn’t imagine how Davlin intended to slip in among the alien structures with his heavy backpack, but that was his problem. She and Nikko had memorized the detailed topographical projections DD had made.

  “If the fuel is where Davlin says it is, I’ll need about ten minutes to find it,” she said. “Starting now.”

  “And another fifteen for us to uncover it.”

  They found the cleverly made pile of rocks and the camouflaged marker. The pair nodded to each other and began lifting the boulders, rolling them away and digging into the loose dirt. Tasia’s fingernails were torn and her palms raw, but she ignored the pain. She and Nikko continued to dig, keeping a lookout for Klikiss scouts and monitoring the ever-ticking chronometer, until they finally uncovered the tops of the sealed polymer barrels. “Well, well, looks like we found us some buried treasure.” Enough standard fuel to take them far from here—if the Roamer engineers could make the Osquivel spaceworthy again.

  Only thirty seconds behind schedule. Davlin should be finishing his task, planting the last of his explosives, setting the timers.

  “I’ll clear it. You attach the anti-grav lifters.” Nikko threw himself into the work, wobbling the barrels back and forth in the dirt to loosen them. He wiped perspiration from his forehead with a grimy hand. “Sure glad we don’t have to carry these things.”

  “Shizz, I’d roll them across the ground for kilometers if it was the only way to get them back to the ship.” She and Nikko wrenched the first fuel barrel free from the rocks and dirt, heaved it up out of the hole, then stood it on the clear ground. Without catching her breath, Tasia gestured toward the second buried container. “Come on. Not much time.”

  The darkness was getting thicker by the moment. Robb’s voice came over the fine-channel comm. “On my way. ETA twelve minutes—and on schedule, ladies and gentlemen.” Tasia had never heard anything so wonderful in her life.

  Nikko looked up into the sky, searching. “That’s good news.”

  “Only if Davlin does his part. Otherwise we’re screwed.”

  In the distance Tasia could see the tiny black shapes of scuttling aliens continuing their work even in the gathering dark. She checked the chronometer again. “What’s taking Davlin so damned long? How hard can it be?” They should hear the Remora’s engines in another few seconds, and the bugs would surely notice them.

  Suddenly, like the cadence of a drum corps, a succession of explosions rocked the Klikiss city. Small bombs went off with bursts of orange light and white smoke. “There’s the fireworks,” Nikko said.

  “But where’s Davlin?” Tasia fidgeted, wondering how fast the man could run. If he didn’t get here in time, did he expect them to wait for him? She leaned against the two recovered fuel barrels and scoped out a good landing spot for Robb. “Okay, we’re rapidly wasting the effectiveness of our diversion here. Come on, Davlin! And Brindle!”

  As if Robb had heard her, the EDF Remora roared in, flying so low to the ground that he practically scraped the rocks and grasses. Tasia had already provided a homing signal, and now she tossed two bright flaresticks into the flat area she had chosen for him. He could land safely here, but if the bugs were watching, they would detect the EDF ship. She had to hope they were too busy with Davlin’s diversion.

  Perfectly timed, a second flurry of explosions went off, burying the Klikiss warriors that had come to investigate the first round of sabotage.

  Robb’s Remora used back-thrusters to hover above the flattened grasses, spraying pebbles as it settled to the ground next to where Tasia and Nikko stood waving. He sprang out of the cockpit and opened the underbelly hatch. “Here I am, ready or not. Got the fuel?”

  Tasia and Nikko used the anti-grav lifters to wrestle the unwieldy barrels forward. “Come on, come on!” she called.

  Robb helped them heft the barrels into the cargo bay. “Where’s Davlin?”

  As soon as they stowed the fuel containers inside the Remora, Nikko pulled himself into the stripped-down interior. Tasia looked over her shoulder, trying to guess how many seconds they could afford to wait. It would soon reach a crisis point. They all looked nervously out into the twilight.

  Davlin jogged up, not even out of breath. He wore a barely disguised grin. “The Klikiss are busy enough now. We can fly out of here at our leisure.”

  Tasia said, “Thanks, but I’ll take my leisure back at the caves.”

  When they were aboard the Remora with the fuel barrels securely lashed down, Robb fired up the engines again, raised the ship into the air, and streaked back toward the sandstone bluffs. As far as Tasia could tell, the Klikiss hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Behind them, the insects crawled over the collapsing towers and began to rebuild like ants after a downpour.

  116 DENN PERONI

  They were cramped together in the cockpit for days, flying a tanker full of nebula wentals, and not once did Denn let Caleb Tamblyn get on his nerves. The grizzled old man had never seen Denn look so contented, happy, or excited about anything abstract—especially not a philosophy.

  “I always had you pegged for a no-nonsense businessman, Denn. You look at the bottom line, add up profits and losses, determine efficient trade routes. By the Guiding Star, isn’t that why Del Kellum asked you to run his shipyards?”

  “None of that has changed, but I understand so much more now, things I never saw before.” Denn smiled, mainly for himself. “And if I play my cards right, I can make even greater profits and manage my shipyard workers, my captains, and my facilities at higher efficiency. You should have seen how Tabitha Huck turned the Ildirans into a well-oiled machine. It was nothing short of a revelation. The Guiding Star is like a candle flame compared to this.”

  “Whatever you say. Just as long as you don’t start quoting poetry to me.”

  “I doubt I could convert you if I wanted to, Caleb Tamblyn. Your skull’s too thick for the thism to penetrate. But if you’re interested, I could find someone to try it on you.” He looked hopefully at his friend.

  “No thanks. Don’t need it.”

  Inside the cruising tanker, the energized wentals fused and flowed into one life force, restored from their long nebular exile. The water beings were connected as part of a common entity, yet they also had subgroupings, like families. The wentals in this ship, now alive, intact, and resynthesized, were eager to begin propagating, to share their energy and knowledge. Jess and Cesca had been right to give Denn this task. He felt honored.

  His daughter had suggested, and the Roamers heartily agreed, that the new wentals be taken to Jonah 12 with the other wentals they had recently deposited there. Denn had cheerfully volunteered to go with Caleb, claiming he intrinsically understood so much more about the wentals now. Caleb did not realize how greatly changed his longtime friend was, and now Denn had a captive audience.

  “The wentals are part of the whole fabric of the universe, you know,” he continued, as if their conversation had never stopped, and indeed it hadn’t. He never ceased looking for excuses to bring their talk around to the subject that fascinated him. “The wentals and the verdani are different sides of the same coin. The green priests’ telink is like Jess and Cesca’s ability to communicate with the wentals. Now with this union of telink and thism, even our own human abilities—whatever they are . . . Oh, Caleb, you just can’t understand.”

  The old man gave him a wry frown. “I’m not convinced you’re feeling all right, Denn. You keep jabbering.”

 
; Denn decided that a pragmatic argument might work on Caleb. “Just think about the commercial possibilities. If all Roamers could connect with each other like green priests, imagine how much more efficient our traders could be. We could discover untapped markets, cooperate in ways we never imagined.”

  “Oh? And how do you negotiate if you can’t bluff?”

  “We wouldn’t need to rely on that. We could understand fluctuations, supply and demand. We could cooperate with unprecedented efficiency, form a large and powerful trading company.”

  “Large and powerful,” Caleb said. “Two words guaranteed to get my interest. Throw in ‘lucrative,’ and you’ve got my undying devotion.” Nevertheless, he remained skeptical as they entered the Jonah system. “Next you’re going to try to sell me an ice mine on a lava planet. We clans have been doing well enough for ourselves over the years by following the Guiding Star.”

  Denn grinned. “The Guiding Star is part of it, too.” Caleb rolled his eyes.

  Moments later, the faeros attack cut off all further discussion.

  Fifteen blazing fireballs streaked in around them like crashing meteors. In his heart and mind, connected peripherally to the sentience of the wentals in the cargo hold, Denn experienced a sudden wash of panic.

  “What the hell?” Caleb said.

  Filters cut across the viewing screens as the fiery ships hovered in front of the cumbersome tanker. Sweat burst out on Denn’s forehead, as if the temperature inside the cockpit had soared, though the ship’s systems fought against the thermal flux. Even so, Denn felt wonder as well as fear. If the wentals and worldtrees were connected with the thism, then the faeros must be part of it as well.

  Denn sensed danger, chaos. Something terrible. “Caleb . . . I think we’re in trouble.”

  In the tanker’s hold, the wentals swelled and throbbed. The frenzied elemental creatures pounded on Denn’s mind. He could sense them, but he couldn’t understand them through the new threads that connected him with everything.