The flood of data was irreconcilable. Space-time paused and shifted. The hundreds of black robots found themselves tumbling in a place where the universe itself seemed—literally—unreal.
Exxos sent sensor sweeps through his lenses and detectors. He could still communicate with his comrades, and their flow of inquiries shot back and forth like weapons fire. Although the black robots were materially identical, Exxos served as their de facto leader. Yet he had no answers either. His diagnostics made no sense out of the swirling void, and the boundaries seemed infinite.
The darkness around him changed, and a small section became impossibly blacker, a pulsing random shape, an inkblot that defined the very concept of unlight. Other blots manifested in the darkness, and in the center of each ebony blob there appeared an eerie and improbable eye.
The bizarre shadow-eyes brightened . . . focused on the black robots. On Exxos.
“You are different.” The thundering voice poured into his complex robot mind. “You are aware. You are intelligent—but your thoughts do not scream into the flesh of the universe. What are you?”
Instantly wary, Exxos guarded his information. “We are unique,” he said. Scouring his memory, he searched through his exhaustive internal database of historical records and personal experiences, including numerous encounters with the Ildiran Empire and their recorded history. He reached the inevitable conclusion: “You are the Shana Rei.”
“We are the purity and personification of the void.” The throbbing voice seemed to come from the staring inkblot in front of him, but also emanated from all the others that surrounded the helpless, drifting robots. “We cannot hear the scream of your existence, unlike all other sentients.”
“We are unique,” Exxos said again, trying to understand what the Shana Rei were saying. Something had interested the creatures of darkness enough that they kept the robots alive.
One of the floating, aimless Klikiss robots—Exxos identified the argumentative Azzar—split open his rounded carapace, extended angular wings. Thrusters sent heated exhaust through tiny rocket ports in the beetlelike body as Azzar tried to escape, though Exxos did not know where he intended to go. The void appeared infinite around them.
The Shana Rei focused on Azzar, and the robot froze in space, suspended like an ebony insect in obsidian amber. As if with invisible hands, the Shana Rei plucked the long wings from the robot’s body, one at a time. They tore the angular alloy film, crumpling it. Azzar struggled, but the Shana Rei were fascinated with their deconstruction activity.
Unseen hands snapped off the carapace. They plucked out the articulated limbs one at a time, peeled off the front plates that covered Azzar’s circuits. Next, they spun the robot’s angular head in a full circle before detaching it.
Even then, the Shana Rei weren’t finished. They tore out each of Azzar’s now-dull optical sensors and extracted circuits, spreading out an ever-growing cloud of debris. After the argumentative robot was completely dismantled, the Shana Rei broke down the components even further, snapping them, twisting them, until the large pieces were smaller pieces, then tiny bits that broke down into nothing at all.
Exxos had been correct in withholding detailed information. The Shana Rei could easily destroy all of the robots, but Exxos had to find some way to make himself, and his comrades, worthwhile.
Finally, the throbbing dark stain turned its eerie eye back toward Exxos and pronounced, “You are machines, but you are aware.”
“We are intelligent. We are independent. Our ships were escaping an enemy. We did not mean to intrude. We intend you no harm.”
The Shana Rei said in unison, “We cannot be harmed. The Shana Rei are everywhere. We live beneath, between, and behind the cosmos. You cannot intrude.”
Exxos pondered the conundrum, his thoughts racing. “We understand. Perhaps we can assist you.”
The black blot continued. “Order and precision offend us . . . but your robot thoughts do not cause us pain, as the Ildiran thism does, as the thrumming and rattling of verdani thoughts, as the piercing wail of the faeros . . .”
From Ildiran databases, the black robots knew that ages ago the Shana Rei had leaked through from the void to uproot the stranglehold of Ildiran thism. It had been a tremendous battle, and only an unlikely alliance with the fiery faeros had driven them back.
The Shana Rei grew more strident, more agitated, more deafening. “As does biological life everywhere—festering, chattering, droning, pounding.”
Exxos spoke, trying to stall while he thought of a way to save himself. “The Shana Rei are creatures of the void, chaos incarnate and entropy itself.”
“We are the natural state of the universe. Order and form are contaminants in the cosmos,” said the shadow blot. “We hold you now in an entropy bubble, safely walled off from the rest of the universe. Once, we resided quietly in the dark spaces between the stars, but now we have been forced to move, driven out of the silent emptiness because something tremendous is awakening.”
Reacting with incomprehensible anger, the formless Shana Rei expanded and collapsed like a midnight heartbeat. Then they used their invisible force to separate another helpless robot from the rest and sent the specimen spinning and careening.
Exxos watched as they toyed with it like a malicious child who had caught an interesting insect. The black robot struggled, bleated out signals of panic, but the others could not help. Exxos remained silent, fearing how many of his remaining robots would be torn apart on the whims of the shadow creatures. He began to doubt any of them would survive—unless he could find a way to make the black robots valuable.
As if testing their abilities, or just destructively curious, the Shana Rei extended the victim’s segmented metal legs, breaking off one at a time, before splitting open the back carapace to toy with the internal circuitry.
“We are only searching for peace, silence,” the Shana Rei continued. “To restore the universe to the way it was before the infestation of life.” The dark things continued their casual dissection of the robot. “The screams of living things and the thrum of minds make the universe an intolerable place.”
With a vicious yank, the Shana Rei tore off the robot’s flat head and sent it spinning into the emptiness.
“The noise just became intolerably louder as something great and terrible is awakening. It poses a powerful threat.”
With swift invisible strokes, they continued the methodical disassembly, breaking the robot’s pieces into smaller and smaller fragments, until nothing visible remained.
“The Shana Rei have been driven out and forced to war. Though the universe holds more emptiness than substance, we are losing the battle for creation.”
Before the Shana Rei could turn on other robots, Exxos decided he had to gamble to survive. He lied. “We are unique—and we know how to win that battle. You would be wise to ally yourselves with us.”
FOURTY-EIGHT
OSIRA’H
The astronomy team rushed Osira’h directly to Ildira from the turbulent star Wulfton. Because her other halfbreed siblings were connected with Gale’nh, she knew Rod’h, Tamo’l, and Muree’n had also sensed the crisis aboard the Kolpraxa.
The distant expeditionary ship had been swallowed in nothingness, a paralyzing shadow. The Ildirans aboard had cried out into the thism, despairing and drowning in cold, infinite blackness.
Though the rest of the Kolpraxa’s crew had fallen silent, her brother Gale’nh was still in there somewhere, alive but separate, immersed in a cold blindness that went to her marrow. She could sense him but could not comprehend the flood of his thoughts and emotions any more than she could understand the faeros. But she felt his urgency.
She raced back to join Rod’h and Muree’n in Mijistra; maybe together they would find a solution. . . .
When she met him inside the Prism Palace, Rod’h wore a grim, lost expression that could not be softened even by the rainbows that shone through the crystal walls. “The entire Kolpraxa—it’s gone. I se
nsed fear throbbing from the crew. Gale’nh tried to challenge it, but he was overwhelmed.”
Osira’h nodded. “There was no explosion or attack that I could understand. We have to go see my father. He must have sensed something when the Kolpraxa vanished. All those Ildirans.”
Rod’h shook his head. “He failed to sense it the way we did. The other Ildirans were just . . . removed from the thism, as if taken out of the universe entirely.” He narrowed his eyes. “But there is more. Through the treelings, our mother received a message from the CDF flagship accompanying Adar Kori’nh on war exercises. They encountered an infestation of black robots at Dhula.”
Osira’h frowned. “I don’t believe black robots are responsible for what happened to Gale’nh.”
“Perhaps not,” Rod’h said, “but the robots escaped into some sort of dark nebula—exactly like what Gale’nh encountered. Adar Zan’nh just returned and is briefing the Mage-Imperator now.”
They hurried toward the skysphere audience chamber. Before they reached the tall entryway, Muree’n joined them. Their half-sister wore the scaled tunic and reinforced leggings of a warrior, and her every movement was filled with prowling grace. Muree’n’s telepathic ability was the least of Nira’s five halfbreed children, but the sibling bonds were strong, a connection forged through blood and breeding, as well as through thism. Osira’h knew that on distant Kuivahr, Tamo’l had felt the same thing.
And she could still feel Gale’nh. And the terror that engulfed him.
“We may have a fight on our hands,” Muree’n said. “Something attacked our brother—it was an act of war.” She spoke as if she fervently wished that it were so as the three made their way past the guard kithmen into the audience chamber.
Mage-Imperator Jora’h sat in his chrysalis chair with Nira beside him. Adar Zan’nh stood at the base of the dais, issuing his report. He had a harried, almost disheveled appearance as he described his recent fight. “Liege, the robot ships vanished into a dark nebula that was no mere dust cloud. It was alive. Our sensors began to fail, controls became confused.”
As three of her children entered, Nira straightened. Interrupting Adar Zan’nh, Rod’h stepped forward past the courtiers and audience members. “Something terrible happened to the Kolpraxa.”
Muree’n added, “They were attacked, possibly destroyed.”
“We think it was another shadow cloud,” Osira’h said. “Like the one the Adar encountered. But Gale’nh is still alive. We can all sense him. Our bond with him is strong.” Next to her, Muree’n and Rod’h nodded.
The Mage-Imperator raised his hands as if to grasp the invisible threads that wove through the air in front of him. “I thought that might have happened . . . several days ago. I sensed a tremor in the thism, but it was cut off, as if the threads to many of my people suddenly went numb.”
Adar Zan’nh spoke with gravity. “In our history, we have seen this before, Liege—I believe the Shana Rei have returned from the void.”
Palpable terror rippled through the audience. When Rod’h shot a glance at Osira’h, all the pieces fell into place for her. A shadow cloud had swallowed the robot ships. The Kolpraxa had vanished into cold, dark, blankness. The Shana Rei! It seemed impossible.
Osira’h faced Adar Kori’nh, and her voice was husky as she spoke. “I can guide you to where Gale’nh is. We may be able to save him. If so, perhaps he can give us answers.”
Rod’h lifted his chin. “Let me guide you to him—I can do it.”
Mage-Imperator Jora’h made his decision without even looking at Rod’h. “No, Osira’h is the strongest, let her show the way—if she can. Adar, take a septa immediately to search for the Kolpraxa.”
Rod’h looked disappointed, even annoyed, at being passed over for the important duty.
The Mage-Imperator stood up from the chrysalis chair. “If the Shana Rei from ancient history have indeed returned, we must know before the shadow spreads farther.”
FOURTY-NINE
ZHETT KELLUM
The swirling clouds of Golgen were restless, and increasing winds whipped across the atmospheric layers. As Zhett stepped out onto the skydeck, she could smell the foul chemical vapors coughed up from deep below. For years, she had watched this planet, staring at the kaleidoscopic tangles of cloud bands, the ever-changing cauldron of colors. She knew the gas giant’s moods, and right now Golgen was in a surly one.
Near the edge of the deck, Shareen and her friend Howard peered down into the clouds, shoulder-to-shoulder, hypnotized by the storms. The studious young man seemed to be mapping out meteorological equations in his mind, while Shareen impressed him with the story of an enormous vortex storm years ago that had caught the skymine in a slow maelstrom for two weeks before the hurricane forces dissipated.
They were so preoccupied with each other that Zhett startled them when she stepped up. “I think this is something different, Shareen. I don’t like it.”
The clouds looked bruised and discolored, but the weather satellites detected no large-scale storms brewing. On a planet the size of Golgen, storms were huge but ponderous. They took months, even years, to rise and die. Zhett and her skyminers should have had time to prepare.
This vortex, though, was changing in a matter of hours.
Kilometers-long whisker probes dangled into the cloud decks beneath the skymine, analyzing chemical compositions and vapor layers. Sounding stressed, the shift chief called Zhett to the control dome. “You’ve got to see this for yourself—I have no idea what it means.”
“On my way.” She glanced at Shareen and Howard. “Coming?”
Howard continued to stare out at the stormy clouds. Shareen called over her shoulder. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Taking a lift up to the control dome, Zhett could hear the skymine groan and rattle in the increasing winds. The powerful antigrav engines would keep them afloat, but the skymine could be in for a rough ride.
Del was already in the control dome, doing his best to appear knowledgeable and commanding. “Gas giants are capricious things, by damn.”
The control crew turned to Zhett as she arrived, relief clear on their faces. “I’ve never seen a cloud layer profile like this,” said the shift chief. He called up a display of uncharacteristically jagged traces from the probes, as well as color-coded chemical analyses of vapor content.
Suddenly the signal spiked, and the entire skymine lurched as the dangling probes went taut, then snapped free. The skymine tilted, as if being tossed about on rough seas. The shift chief yelled, “Something just tore off our whisker lines!” Sparks flew from the control decks. Alarms whooped. “Stabilizers are working overtime—but they can’t handle it.”
Zhett raced to a set of screens that showed images from exterior cameras and scout flyers circling the skymine. A maintenance man called from one of the drifting ekti silos. “The clouds are opening up! Something’s down there.”
A lump as heavy as cement formed in Zhett’s chest as the misty layers parted, and a dark and angry stain swirled up. Shapes moved deep below—ominous diamond spheres studded with pyramid spikes.
“By the Guiding Star!” she whispered in awe, then slammed her hand down on the station-wide comm. “The drogues are back! Prepare for evacuation!”
Ten huge hydrogue warglobes rose from the depths of Golgen and surrounded the skymine. The sight reminded Zhett of the horrors of the Elemental War, how these seemingly unstoppable diamond spheres had destroyed whole EDF battle fleets and wrecked countless Roamer skymines.
Del Kellum’s face paled. “But—they’ve been quiet for twenty years, by damn.” His own beloved Shareen Pasternak had perished aboard a skymine that the drogues had annihilated.
She got on the comm. “Fitzy, get Toff and Rex! Time to go.”
Evacuation alarms sounded throughout the skymine. The crew had been drilled thoroughly for this situation, which they had hoped never to see again. Now they scrambled to their stations.
An eleventh hydrogue
warglobe rose to the top of the clouds and bobbed there, motionless.
“The drogues aren’t opening fire,” Del Kellum said. “What the hell?”
Zhett realized that her daughter and Howard were still out on the skydeck, but before she could manage to say anything, Shareen signaled her. “Mom and Dad, I need you here—now! You have to see this. He—it—says it needs to speak with you!”
Zhett nearly collided with her husband as he rushed to the control deck with a crying Rex and a flushed and breathless Kristof. “I’ll lead the evacuation,” Patrick said. “Our ships can spread out in the sky until we get vessels to take us up to orbit. We just might be safe there.”
Shareen’s voice hammered through the comm. “Mom and Dad, please—on the skydeck, now!”
The lifts were jammed with people trying to get to different decks, but Toff bounded ahead of all of them. Reaching the proper level, they all ran out onto the windswept skydeck where Shareen and Howard still stood side by side.
A living hydrogue stood on the open skydeck—a human-shaped avatar fashioned out of liquid metal. The elemental figure faced them, silent and unmoving, like a statue.
As soon as her parents appeared, Shareen pointed out to the sky. “Look at the warglobes! Something’s wrong with them.”
The diamond hulls were stained, as if suffering from some kind of blight. Black splotches seeped into the curved crystal, and dark cracks appeared. The smooth spheres rolled slowly in the thick clouds, and the discolorations grew and swelled, hardening like rough scabs.
“I . . . think they’re dying,” Howard said.
Del Kellum pushed his way close to Zhett and Patrick. “By damn, they look like fish floating belly up.”
The hydrogue figure regarded them with its blunt-featured face, a poorly molded doll made of metallic clay. The figure took one lurching step toward them, as if uncertain how to move its limbs. It turned toward Zhett, and she could make out only the shadow of a representative nose, eyes, mouth on its face.
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