Nevertheless, Patrick had to do it. He had no choice whatsoever.
Perhaps, if he could atone for his actions, make her see that he had changed and that he truly regretted what he had done, maybe then he’d have a chance.
Next, Patrick flew to the Roamer government center of Rendezvous—or what was left of it. Admiral Stromo’s battle group had done its work well.
He had seen surveillance images of the massive asteroid complex. The Roamers had made once-useless space rubble into a thriving trade and legislative center. And the EDF’s most powerful weapons had broken it all apart and scattered Rendezvous like a handful of gravel. In the short time since the pointless attack, the larger chunks had spread out, propelled on different trajectories by momentum imparted by explosions.
Patrick ached as he looked at the scene. This complex was the political equivalent of the Whisper Palace on Earth or the Hansa HQ. Roamers had never fired a provocative shot at any EDF vessel, as far as he knew. The clans had merely imposed sanctions after a legitimate grievance. Instead of trying to work out an adequate settlement, the Hansa Chairman had insisted on complete control instead of friendship. During her tenure, Maureen Fitzpatrick probably would have done the same.
No wonder all Roamers despised Eddies.
Patrick cruised slowly through the impossible rubble field, imagining how amazing this place had once been. Considering what had been done to them here, he couldn’t believe the Roamers hadn’t simply dumped their EDF captives right back out into space. Patrick supposed he should count himself lucky.
He drifted, following whatever course the mangled lines of gravity offered. He had a lot of time to think and a lot of thinking to do. He silently promised himself once again that he would find Zhett, that he would make things right. He didn’t expect the task to be easy, but he’d had too many easy jobs in his life, thanks to his family. This was something he had to do for himself.
Patrick plotted his next course and flew off.
141
RLINDA KETT
The Voracious Curiosity drifted for days in open space. For Rlinda, it was the most enjoyable time in recent memory. “I forgot just how much fun a person could have, given a little bit of privacy.”
BeBob wasn’t complaining, either. They kept the Curiosity warm enough that the two of them could spend half the day without clothes on, if they chose—and they often chose just that. Rlinda preferred to keep the lights turned down low, for the mood. BeBob had seen her naked often enough, before, during, and after their brief and tempestuous marriage. She didn’t qualify as one of those pheromone-enhanced models, but he never seemed to get tired of the view.
BeBob extricated himself from her and tried to move toward the Curiosity’s galley to get a snack, but she didn’t let him get away so easily. “Hey, I didn’t say you were excused. I’d like a little more snuggling time here.” The two of them clung together again.
“Sure beats those crowded insulated huts on Plumas,” BeBob said.
“This beats just about everything on Plumas.” After a few minutes, though, she let out a long sigh. “One of these days we really should get around to finishing these repairs.”
“All right, all right. As soon as you want to suit up, I’ll help replace more components.”
“I didn’t say I was in that much of a hurry.”
After escaping from the ice moon, the two had cooled their heels and relaxed. Fortunately, since the Tamblyn brothers had intended to keep the Curiosity as their own, they had gathered all of the parts for the anticipated repairs and stored them aboard. Working together, taking their time, Rlinda and BeBob finished fine-tuning her beloved ship, and testing it. They gave the Curiosity all the care it had needed for quite a while.
Most of the gourmet foods in the cargo hold were gone. She’d lost a lot of her best supplies and trading goods by dumping the main hold during their escape from the EDF, and then the greedy Roamers had ransacked the remaining boxes for delicacies. Speaking for herself, and almost certainly not for BeBob, she said, “I’d rather just open my faceplate to vacuum than resort to living off of standard-issue mealpax.”
“Oh, they’re not so bad, once you get used to them.”
During their work, they frequently raised (and then avoided) the question of where to go from there. Their supplies were limited, and they would need to reestablish contact with civilization sooner or later. With their stardrive fuel starting to get low, they couldn’t just flit from system to system. They talked about going to an asteroid and setting up a life for themselves, but they knew that couldn’t last forever.
Rlinda finished making some adjustments to the navigation console and, since the ship’s gravity was set low, came over to him with dainty steps that would have made a ballerina proud. “Process of elimination,” Rlinda said. “We sure can’t go back to the Hansa. The EDF would snatch us both the moment we came within sensor range.”
“I didn’t exactly care for Roamer hospitality, either,” BeBob said. “And I don’t know what we’d do in the Ildiran Empire.”
Rlinda ran a finger along her lower lip. When she finally thought of an alternative, the suggestion was so obvious that she was surprised it hadn’t been her first choice. “Theroc is quite a nice place. Peaceful, full of fresh food and nice people. And they’re independent from the Hanseatic League.”
“Seems we could do a lot worse,” BeBob said.
Rlinda checked their ekti levels, called up the starcharts, and smiled. “We’ve got enough fuel to get there. Want to try?”
BeBob gave her a boyish grin. “As long as I’m with you, my dear, I’m happy.”
“Stop that nonsense and give me a straight answer.”
“All right, then. Yes.”
142
QUEEN ESTARRA
Within two days, the Therons had put together a transition ceremony. Estarra thought the people would give her time to rest and settle in, but Mother Alexa and Father Idriss had wanted to retire for years, and they were very pleased to have the opportunity.
After Reynald’s death they had resumed their old leadership roles, always knowing it would be temporary. Beneto had come back as a wooden golem, a spokesman for the worldforest, but not someone who could rule the Theron people. Sarein had expressed ambitions to be the next Theron Mother, but she was a puppet of the Earth government; when she couldn’t keep up the pretense, she had hurried back to the Hansa.
Which left Estarra, Queen of the Hansa—now in exile—next in line.
Safely back home, she had not slept so well in years. The open fungus-reef windows let in breezes laden with the spicy-sweet scents of epiphyte flowers and the whispering lullabies of contented worldtrees. Holding each other, Peter and Estarra had dozed until long after the bright sunlight flooded their room.
Celli awakened them, prancing with excitement for the upcoming ceremony. “Today you two will become the new Mother and Father of Theroc! I was afraid you were going to sleep through the whole thing.”
“Shouldn’t your people get to know me first? I’m still a stranger here.” Peter shook his head, still not understanding why Alexa and Idriss had simply assumed he would welcome the role. “I was the mouthpiece for the Terran Hanseatic League. I had to issue some terrible orders, caused a lot of suffering. Does everybody know that it was really Basil behind the worst of it? I wouldn’t think the Therons trust me yet.”
Estarra put her arms around his chest from behind, pressing her overlarge stomach against the small of his back. “Nahton knows you very well, Peter, and all the green priests know what Nahton knows. He never let them be fooled about the things you hated to do.”
Celli let out a bright laugh. “Besides, Estarra seems to think you’re good enough. We’re choosing her to be our next Mother, and you just happen to come along as part of the deal.”
Later in the day, they all gathered in the fungus reef’s large audience chamber. Feast tables crowded the rooms and platforms: A banquet of fresh fruits, edible flowers, a
nd the most succulent insect steaks had been laid out from the bounty of the worldforest.
Estarra remembered her first taste of chicken and beef in the Whisper Palace’s dining hall; though they had still been strangers, Peter had tried to make her feel at home. Now she reciprocated, though the King wasn’t nearly as shy as she had been. She wondered if he would savor the tender morsels of pupating larvae cooked in their own cocoon casings. Her stomach growled, and she realized she’d been having strange cravings for Theron food.
First, though, they had their roles to play, and an extremely important announcement to make.
When she and Peter stepped up to the tall chairs in the throne room, Idriss and Alexa removed their headdresses and gave warm blessings to the King and Queen. Idriss boomed out to the people: “I present to you your new rulers, Father Peter and Mother Estarra of Theroc!” The people cheered, and green priests used the interconnected trees to send the news and receive greetings from treelings on all the scattered planets.
Estarra knew their most important work was just beginning. Human civilization would have to change, starting with the government.
While flying to Theroc aboard the alien derelict, she and Peter had had many long discussions. Even if Earth survived the massive hydrogue attacks and the Soldier compy uprising, the Hansa was fatally flawed. Chairman Wenceslas had alienated his allies, provoked unnecessary confrontations, and withdrawn supplies and defenses from colonies that depended on them. Basil was a divider, exactly the wrong sort of leader to bring humanity back from the edge of a terrible precipice.
“After everything that’s happened, Peter, we’ve got to be as strong as a real King and Queen—not just showpieces.”
Peter considered all the opportunities he had lost. “We’ll be as strong as we should have been from the start.”
Together, they had developed a breathtaking scheme. While settling in on Theroc, they had discussed the idea with Estarra’s parents, and they had already dispatched messages and proposals via telink to representatives on the orphaned Hansa colonies. Their suggestions had met with a great deal of support.
Now it was time to make it official.
With everyone gathered close for the coronation ceremony, Peter addressed all Therons. He was the Hansa’s Great King and now the Father of Theroc. Yarrod waited near the flower-strewn stage, touching a small tree to report King Peter’s message via telink; word would spread instantly.
“Earth has survived the attack by the hydrogues, but the Hanseatic League has fallen,” Peter announced. “Even before the warglobes came, the Hansa was crippled from within by greed, arrogance, and corruption. Many of you saw it—especially those colonists who relied on Hansa support and the Roamer clans who were crushed simply because they demanded fair treatment.”
Beside him, Estarra added, “All the colonies that signed the Hansa Charter agreed to certain things, and in return the Hansa had its own obligations. When Chairman Wenceslas abandoned those colonies, he breached the contract.”
Peter took her hand. “In signing the Charter, those colonies swore allegiance to their King. I am the King. I may have left the Whisper Palace, and I may no longer be on Earth, but the center of government resides with me, wherever I am. Therefore, here on Theroc with my Queen, I intend to establish a new seat of government.”
Some of the listeners were surprised. As Therons, they had never been part of the Hansa. “But it will be a different sort of government from the failed example of the Terran Hanseatic League,” Estarra assured them. “This is a time for healing the rifts among the branches of humanity. Listen.”
Peter continued. “We propose to form a new confederation that is inclusive and strong. We invite all Therons to join us, along with all of the orphaned Hansa colonies, and all of the unjustly persecuted Roamer clans. We will share skills and resources and help everyone rebuild after the past eight years of war. This is a dramatic change, but I know in my heart that it is the right thing for us all.”
Estarra could see some of the Therons nodding. She knew they would need time to absorb all the immense implications, but she wanted to give them plenty to think about. “When the Caillié left Earth, we intended to be independent. After we formed our colony here, we reestablished ties with Earth, and King Ben granted us our sovereignty. For years now, the Hansa has been struggling to absorb Theroc, but we have refused.”
Peter swept his blue-eyed gaze across the room. “The confederation we propose would allow the various colonies and groups to keep their independent identities, yet give us the strength in numbers we sorely needed in our recent battles. We will act together for the common good.”
“Shouldn’t we worry about military reprisals?” someone called from the floor. Estarra knew the former Hansa colonies would be the most concerned about that.
“Not much of the EDF remains, and they certainly don’t have extra ships for policing long-lost colonies.” Peter glanced out the open balcony to the lush forest beyond. “If we pull together and agree to certain terms of mutual aid, we will be stronger than the handful of battleships that survived the hydrogue war.”
Green priests passed along the messages. The people in the speaking hall seemed receptive to the idea.
Peter held out his hands. “Obviously, there are many details to work out. All the clan leaders and colony governors will have their own concerns, legitimately afraid of being trampled by an overbearing government. But especially now, with humanity crippled and reeling, our greatest strength lies in unity. Estarra and I are offering a viable alternative to the Terran Hanseatic League.”
She took his hand. “We invite representatives of the factions of humanity to come to Theroc, to discuss the fundamentals. If we are agreed, we can even draw up a constitution. We must be strengthened by our numbers, rather than crushed by them.”
Peter’s expression grew hard, and he looked at Yarrod. “Before we can move on, everyone must understand that the Hansa Chairman is no longer a legitimate ruler. Send the word out through telink. Tell every green priest what has taken place here. The King and Queen now rule from Theroc, not Earth. The Chairman no longer has any foundation of power.”
Surveying the room, Estarra saw faces full of heady idealism. Idriss and Alexa were extremely proud of their daughter. Even Celli applauded wildly.
Estarra felt a twinge in her belly—the baby kicking? An omen? She sat down on the ornate throne and put an arm across her abdomen, knowing now that their baby would be safe.
143
CHAIRMAN BASIL WENCESLAS
While grim assessments of death and destruction continued to roll in for days, Basil felt giddy with both euphoria and disappointment. For the time being, he had holed up in his penthouse office, from which he could look out at the bustling Palace District as the sun rose.
The population of Earth had survived. Basil never would have bet on that outcome.
He didn’t yet know the real extent of the casualties, but he could look at the balance sheet and know that desperate times were still to come. The Terran Hanseatic League had never been so close to total obliteration. Since the beginning of his chairmanship thirty years ago, Basil had led the Hansa to its pinnacle of power and influence. Now, in a very short time, it had fallen to its most pathetic level.
While he waited for General Lanyan to shuttle down again from the remnants of his fleet, Deputy Cain joined him in the top-level offices, as did a browbeaten Sarein. Basil realized just how few people he actually trusted anymore, and even some of those were suspect.
When Sarein looked at him, he saw mingled love, fear, and something else in her eyes. She’d been acting strangely ever since the assassination attempt at Daniel’s banquet. Or had he noticed odd behavior even before? He had never completely understood the ambitious young woman, nor had he made a particular effort to do so. He was too busy—and that wouldn’t change in the near future. Once again, he cursed the fact that Pellidor was dead. He doubted he’d ever find another expediter so well traine
d and trustworthy.
Eldred Cain was stony and unreadable as he took his seat. Basil didn’t understand the ghostly deputy either. The human race needed Basil Wenceslas more than ever. That much was obvious.
Finally, guards escorted the General into the office. Lanyan looked exhausted, his uniform unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and baggy. He probably hadn’t slept in the days of aftermath, dealing with hundreds of secondary and tertiary problems. Just like all of us, Basil thought.
The outlook for the Earth Defense Forces was not good. Despite the help of the Ildirans, the hydrogues and Klikiss robots had destroyed many of the assets the EDF had cobbled together for the last-stand defense. The battleships stolen by the Soldier compies were still out there, far outnumbering what remained of the Hansa military. The robots could return for a coup de grâce at any time.
And the damned Roamers. He didn’t know what to do about them. Was he supposed to send them a thank-you card? A gift basket? If they had such effective weapons technology against the warglobes, why the hell hadn’t they shared it with the Hansa a long time ago?
Even so, the General was charged with a strange sort of energy, as if his pride and indignation were enough to drive back the haggard edge of weariness.
Time to get down to business. Always business. That was what kept human civilization functioning, even more than strong political leaders . . . even more than intractable kings and spoiled princes who disappeared in times of crisis. The Chairman would have been willing to ignore King Peter with a sneer of “Good riddance!”—but Peter had defied him. That couldn’t be forgiven.
The General manufactured a tired smile for Basil. “Even considering the terrible cost, Mr. Chairman, it is still a victory. The EDF is in shambles, but the hydrogues have been crushed, perhaps even destroyed.” He shook his head. “Who would have thought the Ildiran Solar Navy would do what they did? And thanks to the Roamers, dare I say it. We have inspectors trying to figure out what they did with those secret weapons, so we can duplicate them.”
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