He handed him the letter.
47
The General and Sophie Vence traveled to the Ankor spaceport, where troops boarded a shuttle to launch up to join the orbiting defense fleet. It was a cloudless day, already warmer than usual, with the greenish sky tinged in yellow.
While General Adolphus kept sixty ships and twelve unmanned weapons platforms in orbit to protect the main stringline hub, he dispatched as many ships as he could spare to other Deep Zone planets; now that Hellhole was cut off from Sonjeera, the other frontier worlds were likely targets for the frustrated Diadem’s wrath. A strike force could try to capture one of the DZ terminus rings as a back door to Hellhole, but all the planetary administrators had mined their terminus rings, which would be blown before an invading fleet could be allowed onto the iperion paths. By now, though, Governor Goler would have issued his ultimatum and explained the consequences to the Crown Jewels.
Adolphus always had other plans, fallback positions, secondary defenses, but he had placed most of his hope on the gamble that he could snare the Constellation fleet before it arrived. Now, not knowing where those ships had gone, he had to place his resources to defend Hellhole. Many colonists were building their own bunkers to survive an aerial bombardment, if it should come.
He vowed not to let that happen.
A great alien race had been wiped out on this world, but Adolphus refused to view that as a foreshadowing of the fate of his own colony. He considered the loyal people who followed him, who believed in him so completely. Diadem Michella had assumed this hellish world would destroy him, but she had not accounted for his pioneering spirit or personal drive, nor had she counted on the strength of character of those who gathered around him.
Rendo Theris looked harried and distraught, as usual. By now, Adolphus placed little stock in the man’s frantic complaints. Theris managed the Ankor complex well enough, but he seemed to operate best in a condition of perceived urgency. “General, the primary landing fields are stable, but the tremors are constant. They build day by day. You need to send seismic engineers out here to do something about it.”
“That’s not a problem specific to the spaceport, Mr. Theris. We’ve got monitors across the continent, and the largest quakes are centered around the impact crater. A major one occurred two days ago.”
“We’ve even felt them out at Slickwater Springs,” Sophie said. “We’ve always had to prepare for quakes.”
Theris shook his head. “Just because it’s worse someplace else doesn’t mean it’s not a problem here. We’ve reinforced the buildings, kept everything as stable as possible. Each major tremor disturbs the slickwater aquifer, which causes major delays and damage here—”
The General frowned. “I thought my engineers had found a solution. Aren’t they due to drain the slickwater into another valley?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve drilled cores, completed acoustic mapping of the strata beneath Ankor, and developed a plan. We’re just waiting to bore down and install sufficient explosives so we can divert it all away. Then the slickwater will stop causing so many headaches, and the spaceport can thrive.” Theris’s glimmer of optimism lasted only a few seconds, though. “Unless the Constellation fleet arrives and attacks us after all. It’s just one damn thing after another.”
“It’s Hellhole,” Sophie said with clear sarcasm. “Didn’t you read the brochure?”
The loaded troop shuttle was sealed on the pad, Ankor personnel completed a standard countdown, and the craft accelerated into the sky, all completely routine.
Then keening sirens began to sound. Alarms went off from the operations building, and spaceport personnel rushed to emergency stations. Theris’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he looked skyward, but Adolphus didn’t see anything. “What is it?”
“Incoming ships—unidentified objects. Could be an air raid. Maybe the Constellation fleet arrived after all!” The administrator scrambled toward the main building, but the General and Sophie both beat him to the door.
“If it’s the Constellation fleet, we should have gotten warning from our defense ships in orbit,” Adolphus said.
Sophie pointed to the sky. “It’s not the Constellation—we’ve got visitors again.”
A squadron of copper ships streaked across the high olive-green clouds, flying in a peculiar, squared-off formation. The mysterious vessels swooped lower in the atmosphere, racing along in complete silence. The troop shuttle continued to climb, but the workhorse vehicle had little maneuverability. The strange ships circled it, whirling around and dodging the craft, like a flurry of wasps.
“They didn’t attack last time,” Theris said, but his voice carried little hope.
“Get all satellite eyes on them,” the General said. “Track where they’re going and what they’re doing. I want to know what those ships are.”
As if bored, they dropped away from the ascending shuttle and flitted around the basin with the launching pads and landing fields.
The spaceport’s sentry craft took off from the field to give chase, but the coppery ships outran all attempts to catch them. The unknown visitors took abrupt turns but remained in perfect formation. Two of the Ankor fighter craft took potshots at them, but the formation split up and regrouped, unconcerned about the weapons.
As quickly as they had appeared, the unknown ships shot straight upward and sped away into space. The General stared after them, but they were gone in a matter of seconds. The troop shuttle, unmolested, continued to rise until it became no more than a bright dot.
Inside the operations center, harried-looking technicians ran from screen to screen. “They scanned us again! The burst overloaded some of our systems.”
“Did the shuttle make it safely?” Sophie asked.
“The intruders didn’t interfere with it,” the tech said.
Rendo Theris went to one of the screens himself and called up satellite images, scanning across the continent. “Fortunately, thanks to our defenses, we have enough eyes up in orbit this time. Reports are flooding in. Those ships were first detected over the main impact crater, and then they buzzed Slickwater Springs.”
“I’ve got a lot of people out at the pools!” Sophie looked from Theris to the General. “Is everyone all right?”
Theris played the satellite records. “They didn’t spend much time at Slickwater Springs, just did a close surveillance, then headed to a valley midcontinent—not near any of our operations. Thankfully!”
“What’s out there?” the General asked. “Let me see.”
Theris projected images, pinpointing the site that had interested the strange ships. The isolated valley was another of the hot spots of alien vegetation, a profusion of weeds and ferns that had appeared so suddenly between the last satellite mappings. Adolphus leaned closer, studying the map. “What’s special about that valley? Mineral deposits?”
“Nothing that I can tell, sir—other than all the vegetation.”
“Somebody needs to go out there to take a look.” Sophie straightened. “Maybe the shadow-Xayans will know. I’ll take Devon and Antonia with me.”
48
As a political prisoner on Sonjeera, Governor Goler had expected more hospitable treatment. Traditionally, the prison cells for arrested, disgraced nobles were almost as luxurious as their estate houses. The fact that Goler was relegated to an austere room with few comforts showed the Diadem’s disdain for him.
But he took no great insult. He didn’t need to be pampered. After all, of the five territorial governors, only he willingly chose to live out in the Deep Zone. He kept himself happy with what Ridgetop had to offer, and he’d get by well enough here, too. He had never liked the overblown extravagance of Sonjeera anyway.
Goler thought of how Tasmine had hidden in a badger burrow while the Diadem’s soldiers massacred her fellow colonists. If his housekeeper could endure that, he had no right to complain about this cell.
He had formally requested to speak with an attorney, per Constellation law—
and his request was denied without explanation. He had been kept isolated from outside news reports. By his count, he’d been incarcerated for six days, but he knew not to trust his sense of time; his keepers could try to disorient him by resetting the light-and-dark cycle in the windowless chamber.
As time dragged on, he wondered if one of his brothers would be allowed to visit him. They might be upset because his disgrace cast a shadow on their own aspirations—but so far no one had come. Maybe the Diadem had given strict orders denying him visitors. Or maybe his brothers didn’t care.
He obtained stationery and penned statements for the media as well as letters to be delivered to nobles among the Crown Jewels. The guards dutifully accepted them, but he received no replies. Goler knew none of the communiqués would ever be sent, but as a trick of his own, he added odd phrases to his sentences and planted unusual words, sure that the Diadem’s code-breakers would agonize over the actual meaning and attempt to decipher the secret codes—all of which were nonsense.
He steadfastly refused to give details about the missing Constellation fleet other than to imply that General Adolphus had captured the warships. In her obvious anxiety, the Diadem’s imagination would fill in the blanks.
Goler took comfort in knowing he had completed his mission, and by now most people in the Crown Jewels would have heard Adolphus’s offer of terms. Outside, he hoped that the pilot or copilot had managed to slip the coded message to Enva Tazaar. History would respect him for his strength, and what he did now was exceedingly important. He only hoped he didn’t have to become a martyr to achieve his goal.
When his cell door opened and a passive-looking food server brought lunch on a tray, Goler said, as he had many times before, “I demand diplomatic courtesy. I am an appointed ambassador, and you have no right to hold me here.”
“The Diadem says otherwise,” said the guard at the door.
“Then I wish to send a formal petition back to the Deep Zone.”
“Request denied. Enjoy your meal.”
The thin, brown-haired server was dressed in the gray uniform of a prison employee, not a prisoner on work detail. The man averted his eyes as he placed the tray on a small table that doubled as a desk. He moved Goler’s papers aside to make room.
The meal was a bland-looking affair of ground meat, starchy lumps that might have been dumplings, reheated vegetables, and a small pile of withered-looking sournuts, each the size of his thumbnail. The man made a point of looking at him, then said in a quiet voice, “Enjoy the sournuts, Governor.”
The innocuous comment alerted Goler. Sournuts had always been his favorite treat here on Sonjeera, but someone would have had to dig deeply into the records to learn that fact. The nuts were not often served, because they were considered too pungent for the popular taste.
“Anything would be a welcome change from the regular flavors,” he said. “Thank you.”
The guards noted nothing suspicious, but the server met Goler’s eyes in a furtive glance. A feathery thrill raised goose bumps on Goler’s skin, and he fought down any visible reaction. The server departed, while the guard remained at the door. Goler said wryly, “Are you going to stare at me, or can I eat in peace?”
“I’ve got my own lunch to eat.” The guard sealed the door, and Goler remained seated. His heart was pounding. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, or if he had misinterpreted the man. General Adolphus had many loyalists here in the Crown Jewels, but Goler had no way to contact them. Had they gotten into the prison somehow?
He scanned the food, sure someone must be observing his every movement through hidden spy cameras. He took a bite of a chewy, bland dumpling, then ate some of the ground meat. He found no message hidden beneath the pile of sournuts.
Casually he picked up a nut, tossed it into his mouth, and bit down through the bitter crust. He ate a second one. This one was juicier, and made his lips pucker. He had always enjoyed sournuts, especially as a child. His mother had once told him that if he ate too many, his face would take on a permanent grimace.
When Goler bit down on a third nut, he felt an unfamiliar crunch, with a metallic undertone. He froze, afraid he would cut his mouth. Then tiny circuitry implanted in the sournut sent vibrations through his molars in a precise pattern that thrummed through his jaw, attuned to his bone structure. Words echoed inside his skull, which he heard clearly in his ear canals, but they were audible to no one else in the room.
“Governor Goler, this message is from Enva Tazaar. Because the Diadem controls the prison, it is not possible for me to free you, but you can still send me an answer.” She spoke in a rapid-fire fusillade of words, and he realized that the small word-transmitting device implanted in the sournut probably had a limited capacity. “If General Adolphus is amenable to my offer of an alliance, provided that we remove Michella Duchenet from power, then cross your utensils on the plate when they are to be retrieved. If the General does not wish an alliance, then leave them to the side. I already have plans in place, and I can move quickly. Once I’m on the Star Throne, you will be granted amnesty, and the Crown Jewels and Deep Zone can begin to—”
Her words cut off as the message device was exhausted. Goler chewed and swallowed to destroy any evidence. Meticulously, he ate the rest of the ground meat and dumplings, then finished the remaining sournuts, contemplating what he had heard. When he was finished, he crossed the utensils over the top of the empty plate and waited for the tray to be retrieved.
* * *
Something about the man who delivered food to Governor Goler alerted Ishop Heer. Ishop’s suspicions were easily triggered—that was why he did his job so well—but he took no chances.
By habit, he’d been keeping an eye on the Sonjeera prison. He had been in these dank corridors many times doing the Diadem’s business, much of it behind closed doors with the security eyes deactivated.
In this building, he had killed Louis de Carre, who was more of a fool than a threat. That had been messy work, made to look as if the man had committed suicide by slashing his own wrists. It was also sad in a way. The haughty nobleman had clung to his family pride even after squandering most of his wealth, but when Ishop came to kill him he had been blubbering and terrified, sobbing Keana’s name as the assassin forced him to write a suicide note. On his Vielinger estate, he’d probably engaged in mock duels for his own amusement, but when Ishop killed him, he had fought back no better than a half-asleep child.
Not much of a nobleman, certainly not of the caliber that Ishop intended to be once he reclaimed his own heritage. Soon.
But in the meantime, he still served the Diadem. Ishop would not be surprised if Michella instructed him to ensure that Carlson Goler had similar “suicidal thoughts,” but not yet. Ishop merely kept an eye on the prison, noting those who came and went. Michella imagined traitors and spies in every shadow, but Ishop knew she had real reasons for concern, because General Adolphus had sympathizers salted throughout the population.
That morning, Ishop paid attention when one of the regular servers called in sick. That was not in itself unusual, although any change in schedule regarding the territorial governor warranted careful scrutiny. When the replacement server arrived at the prison with proper identification papers, wearing the right uniform, he passed through security without incident. But Ishop directed the surveillance feed so that he could watch exactly what happened next. The replacement server spent some of the morning cleaning the halls, rearranging boxes in a storeroom. At lunchtime he delivered Goler’s tray of unremarkable food and arranged to pick it up after the meal.
But when Ishop tried to learn the server’s identity, he was surprised at how difficult that turned out to be.…
When the man left the prison at the end of his work shift, he eluded security, changed out of his gray uniform, and discarded the clothes, which were found later. That told Ishop he had stumbled upon something important.
Rather than reporting his suspicions to the Diadem’s guards, he asked Laderna to
help him dig deeper, and she applied herself with great enthusiasm to the problem, displaying her utter devotion to him, as usual. He had no intention of replacing her.
The server’s real name was Burum Elakis, which did not match the name on his prison ID badge. Ishop learned that Elakis had served in the old military but registered as a conscientious objector during the General’s rebellion; he had refused to be deployed as part of Riomini’s Army of the Constellation, and was instead reassigned to a polar survey station.
Elakis originally came from Orsini, the Tazaar homeworld. He was also a collector of memorabilia from the General’s rebellion, before such hobbies had been proscribed. A few years earlier, Elakis had sold valuable military memorabilia to an off-world collector … someone from planet Hallholme, as far as Ishop could tell.
Very interesting. Ishop knew there was more here to be learned. Though they were alone in his private office, Laderna lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you going to expose him to the Diadem?”
Ishop shook his head, ran his fingertips along his smoothly shaved scalp. “No. I’ll just hold the information for now and keep watching … in case it proves useful.”
49
When Ian Walfor interrupted her meeting in the Saporo admin tower, Tanja knew it was something important, even dire. His face bore a dismal expression, didn’t even show a smile upon seeing her; he looked haggard.
Tanja had been sitting on one of her office terraces with a group of her military advisers, where they had a magnificent view of the harbor with its floating buildings and heavy boat traffic. Seated around an outdoor table, they were discussing planetary defenses, including the six new ships placed in orbit. She looked forward to returning to Theser soon, to have a dinner with Sia Frankov and thank her for helping to make the new hub secure. Tanja also had patrols in the air and defenses on the ground, not to mention the shadow-Xayans, who had promised to defend Candela with their telemancy. She felt much safer—but the expression on Walfor’s face changed all that.
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