It tore his heart to escape now, when it meant leaving so many people to die if the hydrogues did break through Earth’s line of defenses. But Basil’s decisions had brought them to this impossible situation. If mankind was ever to have a second chance at survival, they could not rely on the Chairman’s irrational leadership. King Peter and Queen Estarra were humanity’s last, best hope.
The Teacher compy stood at the confusing and intricate bank of controls for the derelict’s engines. The colorful panels were inlaid with jewels and crystals that bled downward into the block of translucent polymer, like blood vessels pumping strange chemicals. “The research team compiled an enormous amount of data. I have to assimilate it all.”
Looking exhausted and clutching her swollen belly, Estarra tried to find a place to sit inside the alien ship. She rested against one of the smooth protrusions on the slick alien wall. “Did they learn enough?”
The compy remained intent on the alien control systems, perhaps too intent. For the first time in Peter’s memory, he saw OX hesitate. “Yes, I have sufficient data from which to compile the knowledge I require. These engines are far more complex than the Ildiran stardrive or any propulsion system used by the Earth Defense Forces. However, if I utilize all of my processing power, I can create a paradigm overlay that will enable me to pilot the ship to Theroc.”
“I knew we could count on you, OX,” said Estarra.
With only the slightest pause to gather his resolve, the compy swiveled his synthetic body to face Peter. “Unfortunately, because our plans were made so swiftly, I did not have the opportunity to bring separate downloads. As you know, my memory storage is already filled to capacity with personal history. I have needed upgrading for some time.”
“What does that mean?” Peter said. “You don’t have the processing power to run these engines?”
“I have sufficient processing and storage capacity. However, in order to employ that capacity to comprehend the intricacies and nuances of running this ship, I will need to delete all of my memories.”
“That’s three centuries of experiences!” Peter gasped. “We’ll do something else. We’ll find another way to fly this ship—or we can just hide here on Earth until the emergency blows over.”
“No, King Peter, you cannot. You and the Queen must be kept safe. That is my priority.”
“Then I order you to change your priorities.”
“You cannot, any more than you could order me to kill Chairman Wenceslas.” OX turned his golden eye sensors to the Queen. “Taking you to Theroc is our best opportunity to save you and your child.”
Peter said, “We could go through another Klikiss transportal, like Prince Daniel did.”
Estarra’s eyes pleaded with him. “It’s got to be Theroc, Peter. My people can protect us, and we can use it as our new base of leadership.”
Peter knew she was right. “If we went somewhere else, we wouldn’t be doing anything but hiding. The human race needs more from us than that.” He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat, knowing exactly what OX would do. He also knew that the tears in his wife’s eyes were for him, for their baby, for Earth . . . and for OX.
“The Chairman will notice we’re gone any moment now. If any of those warglobes break through, they’ll hit the Palace District first. We have to go right away—and hope this derelict is small enough not to get shot down by either side once we reach space.”
In a voice that sounded almost optimistic, OX said, “I will attempt to retain at least a few of my memories of you, if storage space allows.”
Before the King could say anything to stop him, before he could consider another solution to the impossible problem, OX turned to the alien ship’s controls. Hacking into the library of stored information culled from the work teams and stored on all the datapacks Cain had given them, the old Teacher compy stood rigid, only a few systems twitching as centuries of experiences drained away to be rewritten by a deluge of necessary data.
Peter’s heart wrenched and he blinked back tears as he grasped how much the Teacher compy was losing, emptying everything that he held dear just to be filled with the cold equations necessary to understand hydrogue engineering. The Teacher compy was a historical treasure. He wondered if the Hansa had made a backup download at any point, just to preserve OX’s memory files. He doubted that Basil would have gone out of his way for that. He wouldn’t have considered it relevant.
After an interminable moment, OX turned to them with a blank and disengaged demeanor. “King Peter, Queen Estarra.” His synthesized voice was flat. “I am ready. Do you wish to depart now?”
Peter and Estarra both knew they had just lost one of their only friends in the political quagmire of the Hansa. “Yes,” Peter answered, his throat tight with emotion. “Please get us out of here.”
The compy focused on the control panels, flowing crystal grids, and jagged protrusions grown out of the diamond framework. Power systems thrummed through the curved derelict, transferring energy through the structural lattice. The small sphere sealed itself and lifted up into the embattled night.
129
BENETO
Twenty verdani battleships came out of the cold emptiness of space and swooped down toward Earth. Beneto’s human ancestors had departed from the home planet centuries ago in their generation ship, hoping for a new place to settle. They had never expected it to end like this.
And he did not intend to let it end, even if he was no longer human. His flesh had perished years ago on Corvus Landing, and in dying he had let his soul fall into the verdani mind. Now that he was part of this incredible organic craft, Beneto and his hundreds of fellow treeships were strong enough to conquer the ancient enemy.
“The verdani have awaited this battle for ten thousand years,” he said through telink to all green priests, all pilots. “And these ships are our greatest weapons. Now we must finish our enemies, as we should have done long ago.”
His wooden flesh was fused with the heartwood; his arms were branches kilometers long; his roots trailed out like antenna strands. His rigid verdani body was stronger and more massive than anything his imagination had ever prepared him for. Seeing the mayhem and destruction around Earth, he hoped that the gigantic treeships would turn the tide of the battle. With only a thought, he guided his spiny seedship directly into the fight.
Near Earth, hundreds of warglobes had already been destroyed, but through the myriad forest eyes of his battleship, Beneto saw that many diamond globes still survived—enough to ruin Earth if they broke through the last line of defenses. And the remaining EDF ships seemed to be firing on each other.
The twenty green priest pilots saw their alien targets, instinctively agreed on where each would fly, and careened in amongst the fighting vessels. The huge flying trees dodged blasts from EDF jazers, plowed through clouds of shrapnel and shockwaves from exploded Ildiran warliners, and scraped past the sharp eggshell fragments of broken warglobes. Using the communications systems Solimar had implanted, Beneto transmitted their intentions to General Lanyan, but in the melee he did not think anyone was listening.
Upon seeing the treeships, the hydrogues recognized their mortal enemies. Warglobes abandoned the EDF vessels and spun in space to unleash wild gouts of withering icewaves and deadly blue lightning.
Fused into the treeship, Beneto felt something akin to pain as his outer bark scorched and branches were singed or frozen away. But he came close enough to wrap his thorny branches around the nearest warglobe in a galactic bear hug.
The diamond sphere fought back with the same weapon the deep-core aliens had used to annihilate the worldtree grove on Corvus Landing, where Beneto had died. He remembered the fear, the pain, the death—all those trees, all those colonists! His treeship felt the cold death of icewaves cauterizing several of his huge limbs, but he pulled his spiny branch arms tighter and tighter, squeezing until the diamond sphere cracked . . . and finally shattered.
Nineteen other verdani seedships engulfed war
globes as well, crushing them with insurmountable botanical strength.
Around them, the human EDF ships continued to fight each other. All Ildiran warliners but the flagship were already destroyed. And still several hundred hydrogue warglobes pressed toward Earth. Even twenty verdani battleships would not be enough to stop them from breaking through.
But still, they must try. Beneto and the other treeships launched toward the numerous warglobes. He stretched his thorny battleship arms again and embraced another diamond vessel, squeezing until it broke apart.
His determined comrades did the same.
130
ADAR ZAN’NH
The flagship of the Solar Navy hung useless in space. A nearby explosion had severely damaged their engines. The Adar’s sensor-station operator doggedly repaired damaged control panels, pulling out fused circuit blocks, extracting spares from secondary systems that were no longer necessary. At last he got the tactical screens operating again so that Zan’nh could observe the scope of the continuing battle, even if his flagship could not participate.
They could do nothing but watch as the awesome tree battleships struck the warglobes. Zan’nh had never seen anything like them, could not imagine what could create such monstrous living vessels. So many forces had gathered to fight the hydrogues, but even the tremendous treeships could not block the hundreds of remaining warglobes. The hydrogues had sent an inexplicably large force against the EDF . . . or had the deep-core aliens intended to destroy the Solar Navy at the same time? The more he thought about it, the more he decided it must be true.
Through the thism, with his close connection to the Mage-Imperator, Zan’nh could already feel cold ripples, waves of deaths. Countless people were dying on Ildira—he felt the slaughter go through him like a spine-grating note. After the Solar Navy’s turnabout here, the hydrogues must be brutally retaliating. They would have known of the betrayal instantly. He sensed that the Mage-Imperator still lived, but the Adar suspected the Prism Palace was under attack. Had the sixty watchdog spheres above Mijistra simply opened fire in retaliation, in punishment?
And he was trapped here, unable to move, unable to fight. The flagship’s deck was tilted. Zan’nh swept his gaze across the faces of his downcast crew, then pounded his fist hard against the command railing. He felt helpless. He had already done his part . . . and it hadn’t been enough.
His tactical adviser said, “We did everything we could, Adar. We eliminated fourteen times as many warglobes as Adar Kori’nh did at Qronha 3. Never have Ildirans destroyed so many of the enemy.”
Zan’nh felt no triumph. Lights flickered inside the ship, and sparks continued to fly from the control panels. “But it wasn’t enough. We did not bring enough ships.” That single mistake would doom the Ildiran Empire.
“If we had brought more ships, then not enough would have remained to protect Ildira,” the tactician said.
Zan’nh raised his hand. “This is for the protection of Ildira! We were commanded to deal a mortal blow to the hydrogues. If we do not defeat them here, they will destroy all of our worlds, one by one.” He lowered his voice. “Already warglobes may be leveling Mijistra! Can you not feel all those deaths?”
Robot-seized EDF vessels continued to hammer their human-crewed counterparts. Verdani treeships destroyed diamond spheres one at a time, but still the hydrogues pushed closer to Earth.
“Adar!” The sensor operator looked up as if he couldn’t believe his readings. “More ships arriving—hundreds more!”
Zan’nh’s heart sank. Did the Klikiss robots and their Soldier compies have further reinforcements? Or was it more hydrogue warglobes? “Do our comm systems work?”
In answer, an image resolved itself on the ship-to-ship screen to show the anxious face of an older Ildiran officer. “Adar, this is Tal Lorie’nh. Please acknowledge if you’re still out there. We detect no functioning warliners.”
Zan’nh leaned closer to the screen. “Yes, Tal Lorie’nh! We are here.”
The older Solar Navy officer responded with a thin smile. “The Mage-Imperator thought you might require some assistance.”
“He has brought a full cohort!” cried the sensor operator.
Hundreds more warliners. Zan’nh held on to the command rail to keep his balance. “We had thought the battle was lost.”
“Not yet, Adar. We have a final strategy.” Lorie’nh gave an order to his seven quls, each of whom directed seven septas.
Lorie’nh had once been Zan’nh’s commanding officer, but the older man had no aspirations to increase his rank; in fact, Lorie’nh had been surprised to achieve the level of tal in the first place, a promotion that he credited to good personnel serving him, including young Zan’nh.
With a sinking in his heart, the Adar realized that this cohort, dispatched at the last moment, had never been part of the plan. These were not empty, automated ships like the other sacrificial vessels, but the Mage-Imperator had sent them here anyway. When planning this appalling gambit, Zan’nh had been aware of the potential cost, but had salved his conscience by relying on the new remote-controlled systems Sullivan Gold and his engineering team installed. He hadn’t expected to ask hundreds of thousands of crewmen to sacrifice themselves. So many torn threads of thism!
On the screen, he met Lorie’nh’s bright gaze. “Tal, are you and your subcommanders prepared for this? Do you at least have minimal crews aboard?”
Lorie’nh answered with a wry smile. “These warliners carry the full crews for which they were designed.” The group of ornate ships accelerated as they entered the fringes of the space battlefield.
Zan’nh’s heart ached. Had Adar Kori’nh felt the same resolve as he drove his maniple down into Qronha 3?
Lorie’nh said, “Do not count our deaths, Adar. If we were to fail now, then our entire race would die.”
Zan’nh knew it was true. “Safe journey to the Lightsource.”
Lorie’nh gave a brisk nod. “May we all meet there someday.”
Three hundred forty-three warliners streaked past, diving like a meteor storm toward the remaining warglobes. With glistening eyes Zan’nh watched the spectacular ships flow by. He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.
131
QUEEN ESTARRA
Under OX’s piloting, the hydrogue derelict rose smoothly against gravity. Earth’s skies were empty and dark, all tourist zeppelins and commercial transportation craft grounded in the emergency. Only a few glimmering lights marked the location of the Whisper Palace, which she and Peter were now leaving behind forever.
Estarra held on to Peter, both drawing and giving reassurance. “I never thought we’d get this far.”
As Earth receded, bright and blue and unprotected, Estarra knew that Peter’s heart was torn for abandoning his people, for leaving during this crisis. It made him seem a coward, running away in humanity’s time of greatest need. But Basil would kill them, especially now, if they didn’t go. The King would accomplish nothing if he stayed. Estarra knew, though, that even if they lost the battle here, human civilization was not destroyed.
“Peter, the human race is more than just Earth. We’ve spread far beyond our original boundaries. Chairman Wenceslas forgot that. He cut ties with Theroc, with the Roamers, with all the other Hansa colonies.” She looked at him with her large brown eyes. “From Theroc the two of us can rule as true King and Queen, to help all humans recover from this. No matter what happens on Earth, win or lose, the Chairman would never have allowed you to be the leader humanity needs. This is our only chance.”
He nodded, knowing she was right. “OX, get us away as fast as you can.”
The Teacher compy flew in silence. OX’s memories might be gone, but he had uploaded enough information to become an expert in this alien craft. In a clipped and emotionless voice, he reported, “I detect multiple obstacles distributed across all valid paths ahead. I will attempt to avoid them.”
Estarra could see through the transparent walls to the raging batt
le. The “multiple obstacles” were remnants of hundreds, even thousands, of ruined vessels—Ildiran warliners, hydrogue warglobes, EDF battleships. Their tiny derelict was a mere grain of sand among all the spaceships crashing into each other and firing weapons.
The attacks had spread out to encompass a huge volume of space in the neighborhood of Earth. The battle was everywhere, and Estarra saw no way around it. OX chose the best course and accelerated straight into the frenzy of engagement. Another group of Ildiran warliners had just arrived, hundreds more ornate battleships.
“Is there anything we can do if ships start firing at us?” she asked. “We are in a hydrogue globe, after all.”
“The engineering crew left basic communication devices and controls aboard the derelict. I can attempt to send a message over standard military frequencies. That will inform them we are not enemies.” OX worked the controls, sent out a signal.
“If they believe us,” Estarra said. “And if they notice us at all.”
“I hate to tell everyone we’re aboard. I’d just as soon keep Basil in the dark for as long as possible.” Peter leaned over, folding his hands together. “But there’s nothing to be done about it now.”
“I have removed your identification from the transmission,” the compy said. “I suspect few people aboard the EDF vessels noticed. They are quite busy now. General Lanyan has just attempted to transmit a ‘guillotine protocol’ to shut down the robot-controlled ships, but it seems the Soldier compies have rerouted their systems. General Lanyan sounds quite angry that his plan is not effective.”
The tiny derelict dodged, swooped, and dipped, making abrupt course corrections that should have thrown Peter and Estarra against the walls, but the deep-core aliens had an efficient momentum-dissipation system.
Some of the beleaguered Earth Defense Forces ships took potshots at the tiny sphere—which meant they probably hadn’t been listening at all. A glancing jazer bolt sent them spinning, but OX quickly reasserted control.
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