Higher up, Klikiss ships closed in from several directions. Robb and Nikko jointly worked the piloting controls, taking the ship on a steep ascent. “Everybody strap in!” Tasia shouted as she crawled into position at the repaired weapons controls. She took a scattershot approach, figuring that anything her beams hit would be a target. On the screens, four fluttering machines vanished in small explosions.
“Let’s see how much acceleration we can take,” Robb called.
Orli and Steinman held on to a bench in the back passenger compartment. DD and UR somehow maintained their balance, as if their feet were fastened to the deck.
Overhead, the scanners showed a group of interlocking Klikiss spacecraft descending from orbit. “That could be a problem,” Tasia said.
“Then start shooting!”
With another flurry of blasts, she cleared a hole in the formation. Flaming Klikiss wrecks tumbled through the air around them. The Osquivel continued its steep ascent as they pulled away from the atmosphere. They tore through the massed alien vessels, scattering some, outdistancing the rest.
With a sigh of relief, Tasia nudged Robb aside and took the piloting controls. “Let me drive.” She didn’t allow herself to breathe normally again until she had engaged the stardrive and left Llaro far behind.
137 PATRICK FITZPATRICK III
If anything, Patrick’s feelings for Zhett were stronger than ever. “I come from a very rich family, but I don’t have much to offer you. Not anymore.”
“You’ve already given me the best gift, Fitzie, one I’ll always treasure.” From one of the many pockets in her jumpsuit, she withdrew a folded piece of paper and opened it to display the colorful (if somewhat crude) drawing of a bouquet of flowers he had left at her quarters when trying to get her attention.
He saw it and chuckled. “You kept that?”
“Of course I did. I could tell how much heart you put into it. Not much skill, but definitely a lot of work.”
“I wasn’t even sure you’d gotten it. You never answered me.”
“I didn’t think you deserved an answer. You hadn’t apologized yet.”
“You never gave me a chance! You wouldn’t let me talk to you.”
She shrugged as if that were somehow an irrelevant detail.
“Well, at least I came clean. I tried to atone for everything I did. I confessed all of my terrible actions that hurt the Roamers.”
Zhett sighed with exasperation. “But you never apologized to me.”
He blinked at her and couldn’t find any words. Finally he said, “What do you mean? I spoke in front of all the skymine chiefs. I told all the Roamers and the whole Confederation what I had done. I faced your board of punishment. I even walked the plank for you!”
Zhett raised her dark eyebrows. “You’re not listening, Fitzie. You didn’t apologize to me.”
Despite the grand scale and far-reaching consequences of all the terrible mistakes he had made, he realized what Zhett had needed to hear. “I’m sorry I tricked you. I’m sorry I locked you in that asteroid chamber and led you on so that I could help the others escape. I used you, and you never deserved to be treated like that. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“That’s a step in the right direction, but we’ll keep working on it.” She kissed him again. “And I’ll reward you every time you get it right.”
When Zhett presented him with a satiny ribbon embroidered with intricate clan symbols, Patrick didn’t understand the significance. Del Kellum, though, looked extremely proud. “You’ve been working on that betrothal band for years now, my sweet.”
“I have not,” she quickly responded. But she flushed when her father gave her an entirely skeptical smile.
“Hold out your wrists,” Kellum boomed to the pair. Zhett raised her hand. Patrick started to raise his left one, but Zhett picked up his right hand and placed it next to her own. They faced each other.
Kellum looked at him. “This is what you want, isn’t it—to marry Zhett, I mean?”
Patrick glanced from the young woman to her father, not hesitating for a moment. “Of course it is. I . . . just don’t know your ceremonies.”
“That’s all right, by damn. We make them up as we go along.”
Zhett chuckled. “Right! You’re the most hidebound Roamer traditionalist I’ve ever met, Dad.”
“Shhh. Don’t give away my secrets. This young man’s not part of the clan yet.”
They stood on a small private balcony of the Golgen skymine, rather than a large receiving deck or launching bay. Kellum might have forgiven Patrick for some of his transgressions, but the clan leader wasn’t ready to make a complete show of acceptance just yet. The thin force-field barrier kept cold chemical breezes out, but Patrick still felt a rush of goose bumps tingle down his back as he touched Zhett.
“Thank you for accepting me among you, sir. And thank you for not making me jump off the plank.”
“And you’d better not make me regret that decision, by damn.”
“I won’t. I promise.” He couldn’t take his eyes from Zhett, and he didn’t think that his sense of wonder at finally being with her would ever wear off. “I wish my grandmother could be here to see this. Your father and the old Battleaxe have a lot in common.”
Patrick could only imagine what Maureen Fitzpatrick’s reaction would be when she learned that her blueblood grandson, with all his good breeding and family obligations, had chosen to marry a Roamer girl. His grandmother would be beside herself, but she had no say in the matter—which would probably bother the old woman more than anything else.
Kellum took the strip of fabric, lashed their wrists together, and cinched it into a knot. Patrick found it more comfortable to turn his hand palm-to-palm with Zhett’s and intertwine his fingers with hers.
“Now you are bound together by the threads of your lives and the threads of your love. The knot is always there, no matter what others see.” He stepped back and propped his hands on his hips. He seemed to be expecting something.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Patrick whispered.
Zhett leaned forward and kissed him long and deeply. When they finally ended their embrace, he said, “Oh, I like that part.”
138 SIRIX
Since first awakening from hibernation centuries ago, Sirix knew that the surviving black robots could trust no one. He had loathed the original Klikiss, he had known the Ildirans must eventually be destroyed, and he had learned to hate the newcomers—the humans.
He refused to believe his once-great metal swarm was defeated.
Out of his fleet of stolen EDF warships, only twenty vessels remained, one of them a Juggernaut. A few independent groups of black robots had returned to join his ships from various enclaves. But Sirix and his companions were still not safe. They had been hounded by the Klikiss, harried at battleground after battleground, driven onward.
His ever-shrinking core of loyal followers retreated from system to system. Over two-thirds of the Soldier compies had already been destroyed. Far more painful was the loss of thousands of unique black robots, powerful machines with long memories. All those comrades . . .
Sirix had planned to dominate the Spiral Arm by now, reacquire all of the Klikiss worlds, and annihilate the humans. Instead, on planet after planet, the returned Klikiss seemed invincible, their numbers inexhaustible. Though the robots had possessed EDF weapons and a strategic advantage, the Klikiss overwhelmed them repeatedly, destroying more of their battleships, and pursuing them with swarmships.
He would go to ground, for now. The ragtag vessels returned to what Sirix considered his place of origin, at least during this round of existence. The twenty warships arrived in the Hyrillka system and closed in on the far-flung ice moon where the first group of robots had been frozen for thousands of years. In their long-standing bargain—and deception—with the Ildirans, the robots had waited here, hidden in hibernation, until a Mage-Imperator had directed his workers to go to the Hyrillka ice moon and “accidentally” r
eawaken them five hundred years ago.
The same moon seemed a good place to recover and make plans. Was the wisest course of action simply to hide for another thousand years? He and the other black robots would decide. With the EDF ships circling low over the dark moon, Sirix and his fellow robots descended to the lumpy ice surface.
As always, PD and QT accompanied him. “We are interested to see this historically relevant site,” PD said.
“The Hyrillka moon is now our sanctuary. Our projected plan has significantly altered.”
Scuttling across the icy terrain on fingerlike legs, Sirix easily found the remnants of their old hibernation hive. Some of the tunnels excavated by Ildiran miners had collapsed over the past five centuries. Ilkot and two other black robots tore away the blockage. Some brought EDF thermal cutters and melted new access passages into their base within the ice.
Once he was deep inside with his companions, where the light was dim and the temperature incredibly cold, Sirix finally felt somewhat safe.
“Attrition is our prime vulnerability,” he said to the gathered black robots. “We have slain hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of the Klikiss, and yet the breedexes produce more and more warriors, builders, every sub-breed they have.”
Ilkot swiveled his head, his red optical sensors shining a faint bloody light on the icy walls. “When any one of our robots falls, it is an incalculable loss. Unrecoverable.” By Ilkot’s accounting, 7,894 of their number had already perished.
Sirix doubted the robots could ever rebound from such a devastating blow. Since they had failed to conquer Earth, and since the humans had ordered the destruction of the major compy-manufacturing facility, Sirix didn’t even have the option of replenishing his Soldier compies.
“We will be happy to offer any advice we may have,” QT said.
The accumulated knowledge of thousands of black robots had been unable to offer a viable solution, nor had the tactical programming of huge groups of Soldier compies. Sirix doubted the two Friendly compies could say anything significant.
“The solution to our crisis is clear,” PD piped up. “We need more Klikiss robots.”
That much was painfully obvious, but Sirix had known the compies would suggest nothing useful. “There are no more Klikiss robots. We have restored all that were placed in hibernation.”
“That is not what PD suggests.” QT seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “You must build more Klikiss robots. New robots. Find someone who will manufacture them for you.”
Sirix paused. He heard the other robots thrumming. Such a preposterous idea had never occurred to them. The black robots had been created millennia ago by the Klikiss, programmed by them. Each robot was an individual with a long-scarred history and a hatred for the insect creators. Klikiss robots had never before built copies of themselves, as if they were mere machines.
But there was no fundamental reason why not . . .
“An excellent suggestion, PD and QT. Thank you for your insight.” He surveyed the other black robots. “We must acquire a manufacturing and industrial facility and force the inhabitants to do what we need.”
139 ADMIRAL SHEILA WILLIS
Willis was damned glad to be at the helm of a Juggernaut again, where a real grid admiral belonged. She had left two guardian Mantas at Rhejak, and for the first time, Hakim Allahu considered their presence reassuring rather than threatening.
The Jupiter was headed for Earth. Of all the crewmen aboard the Juggernaut and the ten Mantas, only 163 refused to cast their lot with her. Rather than pressuring them, Admiral Willis had told them each to follow their own conscience. They knew the Chairman’s orders, had seen the images of Usk (some of them had been there themselves), and had listened to King Peter’s condemnation.
Very few who had served under her at Rhejak failed to support her choice. During their time on the ocean world, the soldiers had seen how the “heinous rebels” were just trying to make a life for themselves. They observed firsthand how distorted and inaccurate the Hansa’s blatant accusations had been.
Those who insisted on toeing the EDF line were mostly General Lanyan’s cronies, and the brig levels were filled with malcontents. Willis treated them as well as she could and promised to drop them off at Earth, but only under certain conditions. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do (although the decision might come back to bite her in the ass one of these days). But they were still members of the Earth Defense Forces, even if they were confused about the legitimacy of their leaders.
“Approaching the outskirts of the Earth system, Admiral. How close do you want us to get?”
“Just close enough to drop a baby on the doorstep. Round up a guard party and start escorting our prisoners to the launching decks.” She had arranged for a troop transport to carry the soldiers who wanted no part of her “mutiny.” Her engineers had tinkered with the ship’s systems, deactivated the weapons, and installed governors in the engines to limit the speed. It would take half a day for the transport to limp to the asteroid belt shipyards.
Stretching extravagantly, she walked to the lift doors. “I’m going down to the brig myself to see the General off.”
She dropped down to the launching bay where her security troops watched over a florid General Lanyan. The aftereffects of the twitcher had left him with a splitting headache for a couple of days, but that was gone now. He glared, outraged at what she had done. “You have made an enemy for life, Willis.” She knew he had intentionally left off her rank.
“Maybe, but I’ll rest easier knowing that I saved the population of a whole world from your bad decisions—or should I say the Chairman’s bad decisions?”
“You should say, ‘Yes, sir, General,’ and then follow orders.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d love to talk more, but I can always argue with a blank bulkhead if I want to have a similarly productive discussion. You should be thankful we’re bringing you home rather than taking you to the Confederation, where you would stand trial.”
“You wouldn’t dare. Even you know better than that.”
“I know a lot more than I used to, General. If it’s any consolation, until recently it was a pleasure and an honor to serve under you. Maybe someday you’ll come around.”
He had looked at the single ship with a mixture of surprise, anger, and pride as he watched his troops march aboard. “One troop transport? It’s only designed to carry a hundred men.”
“A hundred men comfortably,” she corrected. “You have a hundred and sixty-three. You’ll have to crowd together, but your loyal EDF soldiers will make the best of it.”
He glowered. “This is a big mistake, Willis.”
“Oh, mistakes were definitely made. We just differ on the interpretation.”
She had considered carrying Lanyan with her as a prisoner, to present him to the Confederation as a war criminal, but she didn’t even know where she herself stood. Willis wasn’t sure which of them was more likely to stand trial.
The defection that bothered her the most was that of her own exec, Conrad Brindle. He had changed into his formal uniform after being confined to his quarters; she had chosen not to throw him into the brig with the others. She felt very awkward when he marched into the launching bay to join Lanyan in front of the troop transport. When Brindle looked at her, his expression was unreadable. “Sure you won’t reconsider, Lieutenant Commander?”
His voice was chill. “I cannot in good conscience become part of a mutiny against my commanding officer or the government of Earth. My own son has already chosen to be a deserter. That’s enough disgrace for our family, thank you.” He turned his back on her and followed Lanyan aboard. Brindle himself would be the pilot.
She stepped back behind the atmosphere field as the bay doors opened and the troop transport dropped out. The single ship drifted away from the group of Mantas, powered up its limited engines, and headed toward the distant asteroid belt shipyards, where the soldiers would be taken back in among the Earth
Defense Forces.
“Troop transport successfully away, Admiral.”
Willis felt a pang, wishing that things had gone differently, but tough decisions rarely came out cleanly. “And the engines and life-support systems are functioning properly?”
“Yes, Admiral. It will reach its destination, but we’ll be long gone before the EDF can bring out any guard dogs.”
She made her way back to the bridge. Now she had a real battle group under her control, and Chairman Wenceslas could ill afford to lose so much of his remaining fleet. Ten Mantas and a Juggernaut.
When she sat in the command chair again, she said, “Set a course for Theroc. Let’s see if King Peter can use a few battleships.”
140 CELLI
You are ready, child, and the worldforest is ready for you,” Yarrod said to Celli. He placed another smear of dye juice on her cheek. “I have never seen the trees accept an acolyte so swiftly.” Even though he spent much of his time in a rush of joy and sharpened perceptions since joining Kolker’s “group,” her uncle still performed all of his other duties, and he was still clearly proud of her.
She felt warm inside. As an acolyte, she had known when she was ready. The worldforest wanted her, and now Celli understood that it had always wanted her. But the patient worldforest had waited for her to come to the same conclusion. “I’ve been practicing for a long time, even if I wasn’t officially an acolyte.”
Solimar and the green priests had applauded the fact that she would soon join them. When he hugged her, Celli knew this was one of the last times they would have that silent barrier between them. Soon, she and Solimar would understand each other completely. Their communication would be total.
At last, Celli felt as if she belonged. For most of her life, she’d had no real guidance, no expectations placed upon her. Reynald, Beneto, Sarein, Estarra . . . they had all been given a clear path. But not Celli, the youngest daughter. Now she knew that the trees had intended her to be a green priest like Beneto, and that was what she herself wanted.
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