“I like to cook,” he told her with a smile, “and they like to let me. We all benefit, and they take some of my other chores. You’re welcome to stick to your pre-packs, though, if you want.”
Arita chose the soup instead.
Tarker and Orfino were a middle-aged couple who had worked together for years. They set up a game board painted with geometrical patterns, and engaged in a confusing play with square pieces and flat disks. They invited Arita to join them, showing her the general rules, but she never quite grasped the strategy.
Lara Vanh, who had studied empty Klikiss cities on other worlds, sat in the gathering darkness with a stringed instrument on her knee, playing a pleasant, ethereal melody. All the researchers seemed comfortable with one another, giving company and personal space at the same time.
Full dark had set in when the Klikiss transportal at the edge of the camp shimmered. The flat stone window grew murky and sharpened into transparency as a man stepped through, unscheduled and unannounced. He was tall and incredibly lean, dark-skinned, with high cheekbones and sunken cheeks. His tight polymer bodysuit looked more like a film of armor than clothing. The newcomer shouldered a pack and looked around with eyes as focused as cameras taking snapshots of all details.
Bolam hustled forward to greet the stranger. Arita remained by her tent, wondering how often casual visitors showed up on Eljiid. The man spoke to Bolam. “My name is Tom Rom. I’m here to study the Klikiss.”
“Another Klikiss research expedition? I wasn’t informed about this.”
Tom Rom seemed unfazed. “I didn’t know I was required to let you know. No one owns the Eljiid ruins and the Klikiss bodies left behind.”
“No, no, of course not. I just like to keep track, that’s all. It’s part of my organizational duties. What institution sponsors your work? Maybe your research will dovetail with some of our university teams. Perhaps Lara Vanh?”
Tom Rom looked at him. “I don’t think so. I work alone. My research is privately funded.”
Bolam did not argue with the oddly intimidating man. “As you wish. Don’t expect any formal help, though. Our resources here are limited.”
“Not asking for help. In fact this was the emptiest Klikiss world I could track down that suited our purposes. If there was an emptier one, I would’ve gone there.”
Bolam gestured around the camp, as if Tom Rom had asked for advice or permission. “We have a community area over there. Those water pumps are for everyone’s use. You can set up your tent wherever you like.”
“Yes, I’ll do whatever I like.” He headed away from the settlement into the deepening twilight without even a glance over his shoulder.
Arita watched him under the camp lights, envying the stranger’s confidence. She began jotting down notes, making plans on how she would map out the Whistler forest near the hive city ruins. If she kept doing her work as a naturalist, maybe someday the verdani would reconsider and give her a second chance to take the green.
She and her childhood friend Collin had made up their minds at an early age that they would become green priests. She’d been so dedicated as an acolyte . . . and yet the trees chose Collin but not her, and in the process they did strange things to her head. Their rejection had damaged Arita, but she would not be defeated. . . .
Near the base of the Klikiss structures, thorny thickets filled the arroyos. As night breezes stirred the thicket, she heard an eerie whisper now, a song that was like a murmur of conversation in a large crowd, but with a lyrical quality.
The Whistlers were an unusual species of cactus with hollow woody stems dotted with holes, which the winds of Eljiid played like a natural flute. The cacti exuded the strong chemical stench of an alkaloid toxin that was rumored to cause unpleasant side effects, although no one had done a thorough study.
There was some evidence—perhaps wishful thinking, perhaps just overactive imaginations—that the Whistlers communicated through chemical traces in the air and through their root systems. That communication manifested through modulated tones in the wind. And though Arita didn’t want to admit it, her fascination went beyond mere scientific interest. She hoped the Whistlers could help her. . . .
Bolam came up to her, making sure she heard the sounds. “Wait until the wind whips up, then you’ll really hear a symphony. I think it’s just noise myself, a coincidence, but some folks call it communication.” He chuckled in an abrasive voice, and Arita heard no humor there. “Though I couldn’t imagine what a bunch of cactus has to talk about! ‘Dry weather today, isn’t it?’ ‘How are your spines doing?’ ‘Looks like rain.’ ” He snorted.
Arita kept staring toward the spiny thicket. She pointed out, “The verdani have insightful conversations with green priests.”
Bolam shrugged. “Sure, but those are the worldtrees. That’s different.”
Different, Arita thought, but she hoped not too different. If there was some connection between the Whistlers and the worldtrees, maybe she could find a way. . . .
SEVENTEEN
TASIA TAMBLYN
Part of the binary planet loomed in the sky overhead, fissured and cratered, as if ready to fall on top of them.
Tasia Tamblyn flew the Voracious Curiosity on its final approach to the Sheol landing structure. Although Rlinda Kett wanted to pilot her famous old vessel for the meeting with Lee Iswander, after hitting severe thermal storms in the atmosphere, she quickly handed over the piloting chores. “This has ceased to be fun, Tamblyn,” Rlinda said. “I’ll bow out in favor of a better pilot.”
“What do you mean a better pilot? I’m the best pilot.” As Tasia white-knuckled the ship down, she secretly allowed a bit of buffeting—just to give them a good ride.
Robb Brindle saw what his wife was doing and muttered, “You don’t need to impress Rlinda.”
She blinked her eyes innocently. “I was trying to impress you, dear man.”
Rlinda was neither frightened nor impressed. “I know damn well what Tamblyn’s capable of, and I’ve flown through rougher conditions than this myself. Let’s stick to business. We’ve already caused some consternation by showing up a day early.”
“I thought that was the intended effect,” Robb said.
“Exactly.”
Below, the molten sea churned and swirled. A cascade of lava spewed up, ejecting globules high enough that they cooled and hardened in the air. Tasia gave the scarlet spray a wide berth.
Rlinda looked around. “This is for anyone who ever told me to go to hell—they can’t say I didn’t listen.”
Tasia admired the fact that Iswander had built a thriving industrial operation here. In the past, many clans had eked out an existence in ferociously inhospitable environments, but they had softened much in the past twenty years. “Roamers don’t have to do such risky work anymore, but it looks like Iswander made it a viable operation.” She settled the Curiosity down on the landing deck, where workers in heat-armor would load the ship with cargo.
When the shielded heat tube connected to the Curiosity’s hatch, Rlinda led the way into Tower One. She still owned Kett Shipping, but rarely involved herself in day-to-day operations now, letting Robb and Tasia handle the business. Tasia came from the well-known Tamblyn clan, Roamers who had operated the water mines on Plumas for generations. And Robb Brindle was the son of General Conrad Brindle, the former EDF commander. Together, they were well suited to run Rlinda’s shipping company.
The big woman entered the administrative deck of Tower One, waving at the workers as if she were throwing a party. Through the thick observation ports Tasia scanned the large, roving foundries outside, and was astonished to spot two armored workers riding lava sleds over the sluggish waves to inspect the pumping and hardening apparatus.
Deputy Alec Pannebaker came up as she marveled. “I can take you out on one if you like. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Looks dangerous.”
Pannebaker shrugged and repeated, “It’s a lot of fun.”
Lee Iswander arrived, sho
ok hands, and introduced himself; Tasia recognized him from his appearances before the clans. As he took them toward his office deck, she thought Iswander had a harried look, but he covered it well. He said, “I’m glad you arrived early, Captain Kett. Our supplies are ready to be loaded, and I want to make sure that this delivery gets to Newstation in time.”
“Guaranteed, Mr. Iswander,” Rlinda said. “You need to make an impressive showing to prove to the clans that you’re a good businessman, an innovative manufacturer, and a true Roamer.”
Iswander chuckled. “Sounds like a speech I should be giving.”
“I could hire myself out as a speech writer,” Rlinda said. “Reasonable rates. I’m a woman of many talents.”
He clasped his hands in front of him. “It’s no secret that I’ve thrown my name into the ring to become the next Speaker. With a cargo load of ultra-pure ingots, exotic metal foams, energy films, and alloy polymers, everyone on Newstation will be able to see what I have to offer.”
“We’re also sending hundreds of spectacular images,” Pannebaker added. “You never know, it might even bring some tourists.”
Rlinda walked around the office deck with her rolling gait. “For the next important question, what sort of food do you have around here? You must have a commissary.”
“There’s a cafeteria,” Iswander said. “It’s adequate, I suppose.”
Rlinda let out a loud huff. “Adequate is never good enough. Let me see your kitchens, maybe make some helpful suggestions.”
Tasia laughed. Rlinda never seemed to change.
Robb interrupted, “I’ve already set up a proposed schedule of cargo runs from here to Newstation, Ulio, and Earth—a regular flow of Kett Shipping vessels coming to deliver whatever materials you have to trade.”
“We’ll put the Verne in the loop as one of the first ships,” Tasia suggested. “I doubt Xander and Terry have marked off Sheol on their lists yet.” It was important to think of their own son when opportunities arose.
During the Elemental War, she and Robb had been separated from each other for so long that they’d made up for lost time as soon as the war was over. They went on a honeymoon to see nebulas, gas giants, the trees of Theroc, the ruins of the Prism Palace, and the recovering operations on Plumas, which technically belonged to Tasia and her brother Jess, but Jess had his Academ school with Cesca, and Tasia happily ceded the operations to a distant cousin.
She was a Roamer through and through, and she needed to be free to do what she wanted. As a teenager, she had run away from home to join the Earth Defense Forces as a gesture of rebellion, and then she’d been stuck in a military career. Only later had she seen the irony of trading the comparative freedom of her teen years for a life of training, service, rule-following, and “Yes, sirs” up and down the chain of command (and “chain” was the right word for it, because it certainly bound people to do unreasonable things). After the end of the war, she hadn’t wanted any more of that.
Robb, raised in the military under his career-officer parents, had always thought his life would be centered on the EDF. He signed up, completed his training, did his duty, fought the enemy . . . and ended up spending a relative eternity as a hydrogue prisoner. Afterward, he had plenty of doubts. He didn’t think his core loyalty had changed, but the governments that claimed his loyalty were no longer the same.
Captain Rlinda Kett had offered the couple the Voracious Curiosity and asked if they wanted to be the first pilots in her new shipping company. They accepted, without mentioning that Tasia was pregnant. Their son Xander had been born on board ship, because Tasia incorrectly believed she could make one more run to the Rendezvous reconstruction site before her due date, and when her hard labor started, they couldn’t get to a medical facility fast enough. On that chaotic day Robb frantically read medical databases about birthing, and Tasia told him to solve the problem as she went into heavy contractions. “Or do I have to deliver this baby myself?”
“You have to do most of it, but I’m right here with you.” At that point, she wished she had gotten another compy after all, because Robb certainly needed the help. Medically speaking, the birth was not difficult (though Tasia took exception with the characterization). The baby was healthy.
They had agreed on Alexander for the boy’s name; Robb wanted to call him Alex, Tasia wanted to call him Xander . . . so they compromised and called him Xander. Not surprisingly, the young man was an instinctive pilot, since he’d spent his whole life aboard ships.
Now, in the Iswander Industries offices, Robb handled the inventory and paperwork for the new shipment, as well as the schedule for expanded commercial deliveries of Sheol metallurgy products. Rlinda planned to show off for the crew of magma harvesters by cooking them a meal unlike anything they’d ever had before.
Meanwhile, Tasia asked Deputy Pannebaker to show her how to suit up in the thermal armor, so she could go outside and supervise the loading of metals aboard the Curiosity. Pannebaker suggested again that they go lava sledding, but she turned him down. “Work to do. Maybe on our next visit.”
She put down the glare shield on her helmet and exited, with Pannebaker following in his own armor suit. The storm of heat and fire around them seemed to be Sheol’s natural state. Exposed, the Curiosity sat on the raised landing deck, connected by the safe access tube. Worker compies and suited crew used antigrav clamps to bring load after load of packaged metals into the hold.
As tons of product were loaded aboard, Pannebaker kept up a running commentary and explained the operations in the three towers.
Tasia realized that the deck felt uncertain beneath her boots. She stomped down, saw that her heel left a clear impression in the metal. “Is it supposed to be this soft?” Then as she watched in amazement, the Curiosity slid several inches. “Shizz, the landing deck is tilting!”
The startled workers stopped loading the Curiosity. “We’re off-level, that’s for sure.” Pannebaker clicked his general-comm signal. “Must be closer to material tolerances than I thought.”
Nearby, another lava geyser spurted—bright yellow with a core of white.
“You sure this is safe?” Tasia asked.
In his bulky thermal armor, Pannebaker lumbered to the shielded control shack, and she followed, tilting her helmet for a last glance at the half planet looming above like a boot about to smash them.
Once the shack door was sealed and coolant jets dropped the temperature down to acceptable levels, Pannebaker slipped open his face shield, disengaged his thick gloves. Curls of steam drifted around them. Pannebaker called up a summary on his screens. “There’s a massive thermal plume upwelling from below—much hotter than we’ve seen before.”
“The facility has heat shielding, doesn’t it?”
“Shielding, yes—but these peak temperatures might compromise our bedrock support struts. The three towers were built with high tolerances, sure, but in a plume this hot they might soften and bend.”
Workers outside scrambled for shelter on the raised landing deck while the compies retreated. The Curiosity slid another few inches.
Out on the molten sea, one of the enormous smelter barges began to founder. The crew boss yelled over the open comm so all employees could hear, “This is an emergency. Thermal breach in our lower hull!”
EIGHTEEN
ELISA REEVES
She found Garrison’s ship surrounded by the mysterious nodules drifting in empty space. The vessel’s running lights were on, but Elisa didn’t think he had detected her yet. Not surprisingly, he’d let his guard down. Why would anyone be watchful for a ship out here, so far from the nearest star system? He must have thought this was a perfect hiding place.
Noticing carbonization on the hull, burned-out station lights, and other indicators of damage, she wondered what sort of trouble Garrison had gotten into. It looked as if the ship had been in a fight. Elisa narrowed her eyes as she ran scans. He’d better not have let any harm come to Seth.
Not bothering to think throug
h her words, she activated the comm. “Garrison, don’t make this harder on yourself.”
Seth’s image appeared on the screen, surprised and confused. The boy seemed different, but she wasn’t sure how. Elisa tried to remember the last time she had really looked at him. “Mother! You found the bloaters too.”
Bloaters? What were they?
When Garrison came on the screen, he didn’t look angry or frightened, just resolute. “I thought you might be following us. When I found your magnetic tracker, I couldn’t believe it, but after all these years of knowing you, I don’t know why I was surprised.”
“I knew you well enough that I could guess what you’d do. If I’d been more prepared, I would have stopped you.”
Garrison frowned. “I had to get Seth away from Sheol. You and Iswander kept ignoring the warnings.”
“You stole my son!”
“Our son,” he corrected in a calm voice. “I wish you had left with us. We could have stayed together as a family, but you made your choice—and I made mine.”
Having studied the specs en route, she knew that the weapons on her ship were better than those on his stolen vessel. Elisa knew exactly how to cripple his ship. “I’m taking him back with me. You proved you’re an unfit father by kidnapping him.”
She tried to bait Garrison, make him lose his temper in front of Seth, but he wouldn’t rise to it. “Provided Seth doesn’t go back to that place, we can work out a resolution. My priority is keeping him safe.”
“He’s coming with me. That is nonnegotiable.” She nudged her ship closer, trying to think of how she would strengthen her relationship with her son, make life better for him on Sheol, make him love her more. She might even let him have his own compy.
Garrison regarded her on the screen, and for a moment his features looked just like the image of Seth she kept on display. “He’s not a trophy you can claim in order to prove you’ve won something.” His stolen vessel drifted in among the bloated nodules, trying to hide. One of the nuclei flashed, and the sudden flare of light distracted her. “I’m not going to make him choose.”
The Dark Between the Stars Page 11