Indeed, the Buktu administrator had picked up on the cues and responded with a subtle, guarded offer of a substantial bribe if the Territorial Governor would turn a blind eye to his commercial activities. Since Goler hadn’t yet responded, or even decided, he could tell the Diadem honestly that he had no arrangement with Walfor.
The next stringline ship would arrive in two days. He asked Tasmine to help him pack for a trip to the capital. “I’ll need my best clothes for a meeting with the Diadem herself.”
Tasmine grimaced. “Do us all a favor and spit in her face.”
Sonjeera was breathtaking, bombastic, and exaggerated in all luxuries. Goler had once loved the nexus of government, but he no longer felt he belonged there. He rarely spent time at his office in the capital.
After his years on Ridgetop, he preferred the immense yet personal goldenwood groves, the elbowroom of open skies. The cultural options on Sonjeera, the performances, restaurants, and museums were simply too much, more than anyone required. Had he filtered it all out before? He did not regret maintaining his residence on Ridgetop rather than moving into government-provided apartments here.
His passenger pod landed at night, when the capital city’s lights made his eyes hurt. The sky never got darker than misty gray, and he spotted only a handful of stars. No wonder people in the Crown Jewels failed to think beyond their own petty needs: their night skies formed a cataract over their eyes, and they literally couldn’t see the rest of the universe.
Back on Ridgetop, the deep night was so full of stars that sometimes he felt he could just fall upward into the pitch-black emptiness . . .
Michella’s escorts met him at the spaceport. “The Diadem has prepared the Luminous Garden for your meeting. You will have all the privacy you require there.”
He wasn’t aware that they needed privacy. “I’m honored that the Diadem would change her schedule to meet me so quickly.” She wasn’t even allowing him time to refresh himself or stop at his office in the Bureau of Deep Zone Affairs.
The escorts whisked him into the towering palace that, with its gardens and arboreta, covered as much total acreage as all the settled land on Ridgetop. Fountains sprayed rooster tails of mist into the air, making each breath damp and cool.
The men hurried him along curved flagstone pathways – never a straight line – around clumps of spiky foliage and flowers whose petals clacked together like laughing mouths. Two adjacent alabaster benches sat in a grove of huge drooping voja trees. The boughs were covered with phosphorescent insects, shining with thousands of tiny lights that flickered on and off.
Diadem Michella sat on one of the benches and gestured for him to take the other one. “Sit, Governor Goler. I am not pleased with your performance of late.” With a flick of her hands, she sent the escorts away.
He bowed respectfully and sat. The Diadem did not bother with chitchat. She already had her speech prepared. “When I gave you responsibility for eleven planets in the Deep Zone, I expected you to be watching out for the Constellation’s interests – my interests.”
Goler maintained a quiet, cooperative tone. “I’ve done my best, Eminence.”
“I feared as much.” When she pressed her lips together, her face looked like a fruit from which all the juice had been squeezed. “We spend much of the Constellation’s treasury administering the Sonjeera transportation hub. We monitor and maintain direct stringlines to every one of the Deep Zone planets – at no small expense. Even with regular tribute payments from the frontier worlds, that expanded network will not pay for itself for more than a century. Do you think I can allow a few upstart entrepreneurs to fly their own ships and bypass the whole system? Legitimate Constellation vessels are sufficient to haul all cargo that is needed.”
“Majesty, I have investigated the matter, at your request. These non-stringline vessels – and there are only a few – are antique and unreliable ships that the people on Buktu repaired and refueled. As you recall, once the Constellation decommissioned their stringline, that planet lost its reliable connection to Sonjeera. Flying those ships is their only option for survival.”
“Their option was to accept relocation! Before the Buktu stringline was vacated, every one of those settlers had the opportunity to go elsewhere, but they refused.” She smiled with some satisfaction.
“Eminence, the Deezees do tend to be independent.”
Michella’s expression soured at the very word. “I offered them a solution. They should have taken it. Are you suggesting I just ignore their criminal activities?”
Overhead, several of the luminous insects flitted off, like shooting stars. He drew a deep breath, spoke calmly. “They have access to only a few old and extremely slow ships. Surely the amount of commerce they can take from the Constellation is insignificant.”
“It is not the amount, it is the principle. Administrator Walfor has established a precedent. What if other people invest in independent ships? What might other planetary leaders do behind my back? My stringline network is a perfectly acceptable, efficient, and inexpensive means of commerce. Why won’t they use it?”
Goler didn’t point out that bypassing the Diadem – rubbing her face in it – was what made the idea so attractive to men like Ian Walfor. She didn’t understand the Deezee mindset.
Michella leaned forward on her alabaster bench. “I called you here in person to make sure you understand how important this matter is. Stop these black-marketeers immediately. I expect you to do your job, Governor Goler. Kill them, put them in prison – I don’t care what you do, just stop them. You spend all your time out there among those people. Don’t let them make you look like a fool.”
The stone bench felt hard and cold beneath him. When the voja trees waved languidly in a stray breeze, the motion agitated the remaining insects, making them brighten their bioluminescence. Goler looked back at Michella’s expectant face. “I understand your concern, Eminence, but how am I to accomplish what you ask, given the resources I have?”
“By watching out for illegal trade, of course,” she said, like an impatient mother to a foolish child.
Goler counted to three before responding, his hands spread in feigned helplessness. “Unlike other territorial governors, Eminence, I live out in the Deep Zone and watch the people as closely as I can. But how I am to monitor such a huge volume of empty space for vessels that do not travel on stringline paths? I have no ships, no police force.” She didn’t seem to understand how vast the Deep Zone was, compared with her tightly clustered core of Crown Jewel planets. “How am I to patrol even Ridgetop, let alone all eleven planets under my jurisdiction?”
He paused. It was time to offer her the solution before she became angrier at him. “Perhaps, Eminence, if you were to provide me with armed ships, even outdated FTL ones, I could patrol and intercept the illegal spacecraft that operate outside the bounds of the stringline network. Fight fire with fire.”
The Diadem recoiled. “You want your own personal fleet?”
“I see no way to watch over such a large territory without meaningful military resources. I believe the Army of the Constellation has a surplus of FTL vessels from the war years, which are just sitting in the Lubis Plain shipyards. I could take those vessels off your hands and conscript my own crews from the Deep Zone planets. The Constellation will incur no additional expenses, nor will it need to provide personnel. Lord Riomini should be well satisfied with the plan, since it takes the burden of those vessels out of his shipyards.” Goler looked up at her. “And that would allow me to find and shut down any black-market operations.”
Michella considered his suggestion. “Now that you mention the rebellion, we do have all those ships we captured from General Adolphus. They’ve been decommissioned, but even maintaining moth-balled ships isn’t free. A waste of space and resources. The Black Lord often complains about it.”
Goler waited, confident of the conclusion she would draw. The Diadem’s lips formed a brittle, vengeful smile. “And there’s a certain satisf
ying irony in recommissioning the General’s own ships to patrol the Deep Zone and stop him from doing any further mischief. Yes, Governor, I’ll have them refitted, refueled, then mounted on an expanded stringline hauler to be shipped out to Ridgetop. It shifts those expenses out of my pocket, into yours.”
Goler nodded respectfully. “I am honored by your generosity, Eminence. The sooner you send them to me, the sooner I can commence patrols against the black marketeers.”
“I can’t work miracles, Governor, but I will dispatch a message to Qiorfu and tell Escobar Hallholme to prepare the ships for immediate dispatch.” She waved a bony finger at him. “But this is your responsibility from now on. I place it squarely on your shoulders. Don’t let me down.”
Goler bowed again. “I am always honored to serve, Eminence.”
54
Since the four Xayan Originals did not eat prepared food but grazed by rolling their caterpillar-like bodies across native vegetation, Sophie Vence’s private “dinner party” was more of a cordial reception to welcome the awakened aliens – under the strictest security.
Adolphus had invited only a dozen of his most trusted associates to the function – primarily exiled veterans of the rebellion, none of whom owed any allegiance to the Crown Jewels, and he chose a late hour, when most curious observers were fast asleep. Since he did not yet want to reveal the existence of the Xayans to the Diadem, he swore the guests to absolute secrecy; these were people on whom he had earlier trusted his life. Sooner or later, Sophie knew that word would leak out, but not tonight – she hoped.
In the greenhouse, oddly geometric tables were arranged around the large conservatory with parallel spaces between them, like pieces of a puzzle in a child’s game. Smiling, Sophie sat at the head of a hexagonal table next to General Adolphus. Devon and Antonia took adjacent seats; the two of them had become inseparable since their ordeal at the devastated camp of the Children of Amadin.
Acting as an intermediary, quietly answering Sophie’s awkward but pragmatic questions about Xayan bodily functions, Fernando-Zairic ushered the four Xayans into her main greenhouse in Michella Town, after escorting them there in a covered vehicle. Hours after midnight, no one out in the Helltown streets noted their arrival.
Encix, Cippiq, Lodo, and Tryn entered to a rush of gasps from the twelve humans in attendance. The smallest of the Xayan guests, Tryn, said through her vibrating mouth membrane, “You seem as exotic to us as we must seem to you. Humans fascinate us, how you speak and eat, how you interact.”
The four Originals and Fernando-Zairic circulated among the amazed attendees. Sophie and the General followed them, as hosts, listening to the questions and answers.
Cippiq said, “Over the course of Xayan history, we considered other civilizations abroad in the galaxy, and our observers even noted evidence from distant stars. However, rather than traveling far from our world, as you have done, our race turned its development inward, focused on our minds and souls instead of exploring unknown solar systems.”
“We are fortunate that humans ventured to new worlds,” Fernando-Zairic said brightly. “Otherwise, we might never have been recovered from the slickwater.”
Encix sounded defensive. “We could have traveled to other planets if we had chosen to do so, but we did not need to explore outward. Our achievements were limited only by the power of our imaginations – and Xayan imagination had no limits. We could accomplish anything we could conceive. Xayan telemancers could speed across the surface of our planet and rise hundreds of meters into the air, borne by the collective power of our minds.”
The General listened with great interest. “We’d all like to learn more about telemancy. It seems a very useful skill.”
Fernando-Zairic seemed utterly beatific next to his four Xayan comrades. “We are happy to share our knowledge and skills with you. You have helped to awaken our lost race.” He smiled. “Our demonstration at the museum vault was a necessity without artistic merit. This evening, we would like to show you our artistry.”
The General raised his voice to address the human audience. “Our guests have prepared an entertainment to showcase their abilities. I assure you there is no danger.”
With a smattering of applause, the audience talked excitedly. Intrigued, Devon and Antonia glanced at each other. The four Xayans, with Fernando-Zairic among them, stood in complete silence, concentrating. Then all the tables and chairs in the conservatory floated smoothly and gently into the air, carrying observers along with their food and drink toward the top of the dome. When one startled man dropped his glass of Sophie’s Cabernet, it hung in place, without spilling.
Delight and surprise passed through the people like an indrawn breath. Seated at the main table next to Sophie, unperturbed to be floating twenty meters above the floor, the General nodded with amused appreciation. Devon was laughing out loud.
Concentrating in a group below, still on the floor, the Xayans made no sound.
While the levitated chairs pulled back, the variously shaped tables spun around and the chairs rearranged the guests at different tables, slowly orbiting. It reminded Sophie of an orrery she had seen, a mechanical model of planets, moons, and stars that shifted around like cosmic clockwork.
After one complete cycle, the tables, chairs, and people returned to their starting positions and settled back down to the floor with barely a vibration. Relieved and thrilled, the audience applauded again.
Encix spoke in a flat tone. “That was a simple trick to amuse you. We can do much more with telemancy.”
Adolphus cautioned, “Maybe we’ve seen enough for now, Encix.”
Ignoring him, the Originals turned their large eyes up to the transparent greenhouse dome overhead. An uneasy flicker crossed the normally placid face of Fernando-Zairic, but he joined them nevertheless.
Suddenly the plates of glass in the segmented dome shattered into pieces that began to rain down on the audience, like glittering diamond knives. The General pushed Sophie to shelter beneath her table. People screamed. Some tried to run.
But in mid-air the transparent fragments hung and swirled, then coalesced into amazing, sharp-edged crystalline sculptures, like a blizzard of enormous snowflakes that whizzed about above each table. Breezes from outside whistled through the gaps in the dome. With only the subtlest gesture from Encix, the snowflake sculptures broke apart, separated into tiny pieces, and flew upwards to form sheets of glass again that fitted exactly into place, as if nothing had happened. Not even a crack showed.
“Telemancy has many uses,” the alien said.
General Adolphus helped Sophie up, and wheels began turning in her mind. At first, she’d thought the Xayans displayed nothing more than interesting telekinetic quirks, but now she saw the true potential in their abilities. “I’ll bet you wish you’d had a few telemancers during your rebellion, Tiber.”
“This does pose interesting defensive possibilities,” he said in a quiet voice.
Fernando-Zairic stepped forward as the uneasy audience began to recover. “Simple parlor tricks. We hope you find them entertaining.”
But even now the strange aliens weren’t finished with their exhibition.
“We four were chosen for preservation in the vault because of our exceptional powers,” Encix said. “Many of the lives stored in the slick-water are also strong telemancers. If more humans were to resurrect Xayan memories, our potential would increase exponentially.”
“One more demonstration tonight,” said the one named Cippiq. “We have only just begun.”
Some of the audience members tittered nervously. Shattering all the greenhouse panes had provided a terrifying thrill, but they weren’t necessarily ready for more.
The original aliens touched soft fingertips to one another, as if intending to fuse their flesh. Fernando-Zairic also stood among them, eyes closed. Sophie couldn’t read the expressions on the gelatinous faces of the originals. She whispered to the General, “I know they want to show off, Tiber, but they’d better no
t wreck my crops in the greenhouse.”
“I’m not sure if I like this unexpected demonstration, either.” He turned to the joined aliens, raised his voice. “I think you’ve shown us enough for one evening.”
The Xayans ignored him.
The ground began to shake, like dry ripples in a pond beneath the dome. The tables and chairs slid. Bottles of Sophie’s wine tipped over and fell to the ground. Several people were knocked off their seats.
With a great wrenching lurch that nearly threw Sophie and the General to the floor, the large greenhouse dome and a chunk of surrounding soil ripped itself out of the ground, uprooted like a tree blown over in a furious gale. Beside her, Adolphus braced his feet, as if he were on the deck of his flagship in one of the battles of the rebellion.
The Xayans didn’t move, didn’t flinch. As the excavated greenhouse rose even higher, the telemancers stabilized the upward movement, and the trembling beneath the floor stopped. The dome hovered in midair, like an island torn from the sea.
Amazed spectators got to their feet, some whispering nervously as they rushed to the reassembled window segments. Looking down at the scattered lights of Michella Town, the General could make out the gaping crater that once held the greenhouse.
The anxious crowd looked to him for reassurance, and the General stood firm and faced the Xayans. “All right, you’ve made your point. We’re impressed. Now please return us to the ground.”
Fernando-Zairic opened his eyes. “I assure you, General – I assure you all: we don’t mean to intimidate or frighten you.” His placid expression changed to a grin, revealing a flash of the old Fernando. “You have to admit, it’s damned impressive. Don’t worry, we can put the dome back, just like we restored the shattered crystal panes.”
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