The Ashes Of Worlds

by The Ashes of Worlds (v5. 0) [lit]

  The crowds cheered, and the newsnets recorded every second of the strange event. Cain watched without comment. The scene looked for all the world like an ancient king dubbing one of his new knights. . . .

  The next evening Cain returned to his apartment suite in the heart of the Hansa pyramid, where he had no windows and no distractions. He spent more than an hour just sitting in solitary silence, contemplating his prized Velázquez paintings. He needed to center himself.

  Even in his private sanctuary, though, Cain detected subtle indications that his possessions, furniture, and storage areas had been carefully searched. He felt a chill, suspecting that microscopic surveillance imagers must even now be trained on him. If he ransacked the place looking for them, the Chairman might interpret his actions as being indicative of a guilty conscience. No, it would take some time for him to put a subtle signal jammer in place, find the devices, and hook up a mirror feed of him performing innocuous activities.

  Then again, he was just performing innocuous activities. He had nothing to worry about.

  Cain knew that Chairman Wenceslas was still looking for the traitor or traitors in his midst, determined to find the real assassins. But he also knew that Basil had never believed that the eighteen scapegoats were truly members of Freedom’s Sword. He was too smart for that. The executions had been for show, not for justice or vengeance.

  Cain had been careful at all times. He hoped he hadn’t left any loose ends.

  Unsettled but hiding his anxiety from any secret observers, he left his quarters. He was required to attend an “urgent” and mysterious meeting in the Whisper Palace . . . supposedly a late-night conference with King Rory himself, though Cain was sure the Chairman must be behind it. He always was.

  Out in the dark streets, making his way through the crowds without drawing undue attention to himself, Cain noticed more than the usual number of uniformed members of Basil’s cleanup crew on the streets, ever vigilant.

  Cain was not a paranoid person, but he had no doubt that they were watching him.

  93

  Sarien

  When King Rory summoned her to the throne room of the Whisper Palace, Sarein was automatically frightened. He had never done that before, and she knew the boy wouldn’t have thought of it on his own. It was late at night. Ever since the failed assassination attempt, she’d felt as though her life had been built on a foundation of exceedingly fragile eggshells.

  King Rory looked particularly young sitting on his elaborate throne. The crown on his head seemed overlarge, and his robes gave him a decadent rather than a regal appearance. So different from the somber uniform he had worn during the horrific executions of the supposed assassins.

  Innocents, she knew.

  Sarein had never spent time alone with Rory, had not seen him speak in an unrehearsed conversation. He was simply a mouthpiece for Chairman Wenceslas, as the Archfather was supposed to have been. And everyone in the Hansa had seen what happened when such a mouthpiece decided to speak for himself. She glanced up at the throne room ceiling, as if she might spot a newly installed set of lightning-bolt projectors.

  On either side of the young King’s throne stood royal guards, but Sarein did not recognize them as among the particular friends of Captain McCammon. Colonel Andez was also there with twelve members of the cleanup crew; they stood in a line with their backs to the stone wall.

  Sarein was especially disturbed to see no other audience, no members of the media, no newsnet imagers. Too many guards, too many guns, and too few witnesses. Her throat went dry.

  Deputy Cain and Captain McCammon arrived separately, looking similarly perplexed.

  Rory rose from his elaborate seat and gestured for the three of them to step forward along a crimson carpet that flowed like a river to the raised throne. As she stopped before the dais, Sarein glanced out of the corner of her eye at her companions. Cain was as calm and unreadable as always, though right now he seemed to be working very hard to maintain his composure. McCammon was a half step closer to the throne, as if to shield her.

  King Rory’s brown eyes seemed to look through them, as if he were still practicing these words in front of a mirror. “We have long known there is a traitor in our midst. Chairman Wenceslas has brought to my attention certain evidence that proves who is really responsible — not only for the recent failed assassination attempt, but also for letting the outlaw Peter and his wife, Estarra, escape from Earth. We also know that Freedom’s Sword did not plan their assassination attempt without cooperation from someone close to the Chairman.”

  The pronouncement reverberated like a thunderclap. All of the guards remained silent. Sarein felt her knees tremble. How could he know? What loose ends had they not wrapped up? Before anyone else could speak, she pressed forward, trying to sound perfectly reasonable. “That is excellent news, King Rory. Exactly what sort of evidence do you have? And how can we help?”

  McCammon nodded, picking up on her cue. “I’ll send my men to apprehend him. It is my duty to protect you, Your Highness.”

  Deputy Cain did not seem at all ruffled. “I thought you announced that all those involved in the assassination plot were found and executed?” He sounded as if he were explaining mathematics to a child. “And after all this time it seems frivolous to worry about the nature of the King and Queen’s self-imposed exile. Considering what just happened to General Lanyan on Pym, shouldn’t the Hansa be more worried about a Klikiss retaliation? Surely we have higher priorities.”

  Basil emerged from a side alcove and stood not far from the King’s throne. His mere presence suddenly increased the level of threat that Sarein felt. “Enough games, all of you. We have significant new information. I know one of you three is behind it.”

  Before McCammon and Sarein could protest, Cain lifted his chin. “Games, Mr. Chairman? I recognize the tactic, and we all resent it. How many others have you brought here and accused like this, hoping to get a nervous confession? If you do it enough times, you’re bound to find someone sufficiently frightened to cave in.”

  Sarein jumped on Cain’s train. With eyes flashing, she directed her words at Basil. “You’re trying to intimidate us, and frankly I don’t appreciate it. We’ve been your trusted advisers for years.”

  Basil came around the throne, his face flushed. “You don’t appreciate it? I don’t appreciate someone — someone so close to me — trying to kill me!”

  Sarein struggled to hide her anxiety. The three of them had done enough questionable things that the simplest mistake, the slightest missing detail, could have been enough to draw attention to them. She knew her own part in the conspiracy, and she felt color rising in her cheeks.

  “Was it you?” He focused his accusatory stare on her like a high-powered jazer beam, as if he knew she was the easiest one to break. “Sarein?”

  If she said nothing, he would assume she was guilty. If she vehemently denied her involvement, she would look guilty. “Basil, stop this. How can you believe that any of us is involved? You know you can trust me.”

  “Do I?” He looked like a total stranger to her. “We will take care of this today. Now.”

  Cain protested, drawing Basil’s jazer stare away from Sarein. “Mr. Chairman, you have produced no evidence for these unlikely assertions.”

  Basil actually seemed relieved. “I have all the proof I need, Deputy Cain.”

  Sarein could see, as clearly as she had ever understood anything, that Basil meant to blame one of the three of them. He would not let anyone leave the room until he was satisfied.

  She knew that she would buckle if Basil subjected her to direct interrogation — but she held on to the very slim hope that he would give her the benefit of the doubt because of his past feelings. She remembered how he had once been. He must still have at least a glimmer of affection for her.

  On the other hand, Cain and McCammon might well face execution. He hadn’t required much of an excuse to murder the eighteen alleged conspirators in the public square.


  Maybe if she confessed, though, Basil would just exile her back to Theroc — which was what she really wanted anyway. It seemed to her that it was the only way out of this mess, a single chance to save the other two.

  Sarein drew a breath and opened her mouth, ready to blurt that she was the one — the only one — responsible, when McCammon, after a brief glance at her, snapped, “It was me. I let the King and Queen escape.”

  “He’s lying!” Sarein cried.

  “Captain McCammon, do not speak another word,” Cain said. “Do not give in to unnecessary inappropriate pressure.”

  “I am not lying, and I will not stop.” McCammon clearly realized that he needed to pull all of the blame upon himself if there was to be any hope of helping Sarein and Cain get away. “I set up the assassination attempt at the manufacturing center. I let the King stun me so that he could escape from the Whisper Palace.” He shouted out anything he could think of. “I allowed the green priest Nahton to slip away from his detention quarters so he could warn Theroc about the imminent EDF attack.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I am the head of Freedom’s Sword.”

  Standing in front of them, Basil’s expression oscillated between smug satisfaction and fury. He slowly turned and went back to stand beside Rory’s throne. “That is enough, Captain. Thank you for making this easier.”

  Colonel Andez gave a short, sharp whistle, and the members of her cleanup crew lowered their firearms and touched the power switches. A barely audible hum of active rifles resonated in the large chamber.

  “What have you done?” Sarein said to McCammon in a hoarse whisper. Cain had turned into a statue, clearly seeing that he could do nothing to change the Chairman’s decision, but Sarein wouldn’t give up. Appalled, she shouted, “Basil, stop this!” No one looked at her.

  Coldly furious, the Chairman said to McCammon, “I would dearly love to make a true public spectacle of you, Captain — even have you drawn and quartered.” He heaved a deep breath. “But that in itself poses a problem. The alleged conspirators have already been executed, and the public is happy enough with that. There’s no need to flaunt the fact that someone close to me was a traitor. Alas, your execution will have to be swift and private. It’s better that way.”

  Sarein was prepared to insist that McCammon hadn’t acted alone, but Cain grabbed her forearm and squeezed so tightly that he nearly broke her wrist. Cain cleared his throat. “Sir, Captain McCammon deserves a full trial. I must insist that you follow proper legal — ”

  Basil gave a signal, and without a moment’s hesitation, before anyone could speak another word, the cleanup crew let loose a burst of weapons fire.

  McCammon shuddered and jittered as dozens of high-speed hot projectiles peppered his body, splattering his fellow conspirators with gore. Sarein screamed. McCammon dropped to the floor, his body broken and shredded. Blood spread out in a thick pool, seeping into the crimson rug.

  Cain could only stare. Sarein bit her lip, struggling against her own sobs. Even King Rory, his eyes as wide as saucers, could not control himself. He leaned over the side of the throne away from Basil and vomited with loud retching sounds. The Chairman frowned at this sign of weakness.

  After a long silence, Basil snapped to the guards, “Please clean up the mess.” He glanced at the vomit on the floor. “All of it.”

  94

  Sirix

  The black robots worked together in space. Earth’s blue-and-white sphere was a target tantalizingly out of reach, though probably not for long.

  Watchdog EDF engineers flitted along in inspection shuttles and scanning pods, while crew “supervisors” observed the industrious black machines gathering more debris to repair the damaged EDF ships. They tried not to interfere, but their very presence hindered Sirix’s efforts.

  The human inspectors paid particularly close attention to the angular new robot vessels being assembled from scrap and structural components that were too damaged to be placed back into service for the EDF. Methodical robots worked in small teams to cobble together enormous vessels of radically different configurations. The inspectors could look all they liked. They had no hope of understanding the vessels or the hidden offensive weaponry.

  Without remorse Sirix could have given a command for his robots to turn on the meddling humans, crack open the inspection pods, and pull their bloated bodies out into the cold vacuum. But he didn’t want to do that yet. He still had much to gain from them, so the deception must continue.

  Sirix boarded one of the nearly complete Juggernauts, where overworked Hansa quality-control teams and EDF engineers were combing over the systems, anxious to give their stamp of approval. When the inspectors ran their diagnostics, they would see exactly the readings they expected. The microscopic booby traps were far too subtle to be found.

  On the clean, sterile bridge of the giant ship, Sirix scuttled forward on fingerlike legs to stand before the pleased-looking team. “I am ready to pre-sent this vessel to your Earth Defense Forces, if it meets with your approval.”

  “Oh, indeed! It’s as good as new.” The man clutched his electronic clipboard as if it were some kind of holy book. “Things are looking up.”

  “You and your robots have our gratitude for the work you’re doing,” said the second inspector. “Faster and more efficient than our own crews could ever manage.”

  They wanted so badly to believe that the robots really intended to help them. Sirix found it ironic, even amusing. “Then I look forward to the release of another one hundred robots from your manufactories.”

  “We’ll put in the request. Everything seems to be in order here.”

  The new robots would join existing work crews to keep the production moving at a rapid clip, which greatly pleased Chairman Wenceslas. As each new batch of robots was shipped up from the surface, four of Sirix’s comrades saw to their indoctrination, uploading true programming so that the new replacements were as close to real Klikiss robots as possible. They even installed shared memories in the new robots’ woefully empty storage modules. The new machines were like infants, but they were being educated rapidly.

  Every one of them understood the overall mission.

  For the first time since the end of the hydrogue war, Sirix actually began to feel strong again. Ah, yes, he and the humans, perfectly cooperative allies . . .

  95

  Adar Zan’nh

  Even though they had provoked the Ildiran Empire, the Hansa would never be prepared for such an overwhelming attack by the Solar Navy—especially not now. With his own warliners and the nearly complete cohort led by Tal Ala’nh, Adar Zan’nh surely had enough firepower to resist the human military.

  Even so, he also incorporated the five damaged warliners from Designate Ridek’h’s processional septa that had been burned by the faeros. After leaving Ildira, he had found two other maniples of warliners patrolling the outskirts of the Empire, guarding splinter colonies there. Now, his fleet swelled as they rushed toward Earth.

  Every pilot, septar, qul, and tal received all the information Adar Zan’nh had on the strategic makeup of Earth, its Moon, the likely placement of EDF perimeter picket ships, and the positioning of defenses closer to the planet. While helping the humans stand against the hydrogues, the Adar had spent significant time near Earth, and he used that knowledge now.

  As they approached their destination, Zan’nh reviewed the plans he had made before departing from Ildira. His warliners would perform a lightning strike: plunge toward the lunar base, take advantage of the element of surprise, overcome any Earth Defense Forces they found there, and rescue the Mage-Imperator. Instead of prolonging the engagement with the human military, he would make a clean escape and then ask his father for further orders.

  After days of interstellar passage, the Solar Navy charged into Earth’s solar system and set course directly toward the Moon. They did not pause to survey or assess. As the warliners raced forward, he could feel the determination and enthusiasm resounding through the faint stran
ds of thism that bound them all together.

  The Mage-Imperator was here, and he would sense their arrival. He would know the Solar Navy had come for him. Jora’h would be ready. As the ships grew closer, Zan’nh could feel the gratifying strength of his father’s thism. This was the reason these soldiers had accepted the destruction of Mijistra, why they had gambled everything to escape from the faeros.

  The crew did not cheer in a wild and uncontained way, as humans might have. Their manner of celebrating was to complete a difficult task. Today, finally, they would free their beloved leader. The Mage-Imperator would return to his people.

  Hundreds of ornate Ildiran battleships encircled the Moon in a breathtaking show of force, barely slowing enough to achieve orbital velocity. Two maniples stood off at a greater distance to forestall any EDF reinforcements that might arrive from farther out in the solar system.

  Zan’nh was convinced that he could subdue any resistance from the relatively small number of soldiers at the lunar training base and free the Mage-Imperator. The rest would depend on timing. He hoped to be quick about this — in and out before a significant response could be mounted.

  With the perfect coordination of a skyparade, innumerable warliners entered various orbits above the cratered surface and pointed their weapons toward the domed settlement and paved landing zones. As he had expected, the lunar base’s complement of heavy battleships, small cargo haulers, troop transports, and swift courier ships was minimal. Most of the fleet was closer to Earth.

  To his great indignation, the Adar saw the captured flagship warliner — the Mage-Imperator’s own ship — drifting in low lunar orbit, darkened and mostly unmanned. Though it was tempting to dispatch a separate crew to board and recapture the stolen warliner, that was not his priority. He would not put the mission at risk.