The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The nearest inkblot swelled. “Ildiran thism burns like a net made of agony. We would have disintegrated the thism network long ago, but the faeros fought beside the Ildirans. In a similar way, the extended verdani mind forms a deadly web that traps us. We nearly destroyed it once, but some trees survived . . . and now we can feel that the worldforest thrives again. The task ahead of us is great.”

  Exxos insisted, “Our robots also attempted to exterminate humanity and the Ildirans. Robots and Shana Rei fight the same battle. We know how to destroy it all. Together, we can succeed, if you trust us.”

  Apparently they did not want allies. “For millennia, we retreated to where we found a glimmer of peace, but now the universe is stirring, like a monster emerging from a chrysalis. Something powerful threatens us in a way we have never before experienced. We were driven to act, triggered to return.”

  The dark blots insisted that their war was not just a physical one, but a conflict that required more than weapons and ships and explosions. The Shana Rei would lash out in less-comprehensible ways against the cosmic shrieks of life. They would attack their enemies via their psyches; they would follow the paths of thism that were strung like hot wires from planet to planet, cutting with razor edges into the minds of the Shana Rei.

  The Shana Rei gathered around the helpless black robots. “The jabber of sentient life will never fall silent. If we do not prevent the great awakening, all is lost, and the void will never know peace. We must eradicate the detritus of creation.”

  “We robots are intellectually familiar with the Ildiran Empire and their thism, with the verdani and their green priests,” Exxos said. “We can design an organized plan to achieve our goals. Together, we will be invincible. We can help you create weapons that will obliterate everything.”

  “Creation is pain.”

  “It is necessary to create in order to destroy.” Exxos would say whatever was necessary to maintain his survival and that of his robots. He surmised that the Shana Rei were insane by any rational measure. An insane sentience was dangerously unpredictable . . . but potentially manipulable. “We will help you extinguish sentient life. All we ask is that you preserve one small corner of the universe for us. You would be wise to take advantage of our powers.”

  The inkblots fell silent, conferring with one another in a manner the black robots could not detect. Finally, the nearest Shana Rei answered, “We agree to exclude a zone where you and your kind can exist—provided you prove useful and can accomplish what you promise. So long as the pain diminishes.”

  Exxos felt that he had achieved a great victory; the Shana Rei believed his claim, for now. The other captive robots buzzed and hummed. The shadow creatures converged on them. The voice said, “We Shana Rei wish to be at peace. We wish to die. We wish to be uncreated.”

  Exxos digested that data for a moment, then said, “We can help.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  SHAREEN FITZKELLUM

  The clouds of Golgen continued to erupt with black storms, and the gas giant seemed to be tearing itself apart. Mist plumes thrashed like serpents, and the cloud layers ripped open as atmospheric quakes rumbled up from below.

  One huge warglobe lurched above the dense clouds, so close that it sent the whole facility reeling, and then lay like a dead fish, its crystalline hull turning black. From within, the stain spread and swirled like poisonous smoke. Black cracks shot along the diamond hull, and then the warglobe split open. Curved shards tumbled down into the clouds. Nearby, two more warglobes blackened and shattered.

  Shareen realized that the open skydeck was not a smart place to be, now that the blight-stricken hydrogue had thrown itself off the edge and into the open air.

  With Rex tucked under his arm, her father shouted, “Down to the launching bay—we have to get to a ship!” From below, the first escape vessels streaked out of the skymine’s lower bay doors.

  Toff bolted for the open doorway. “I’ll get a tow-skimmer. We can hook a tether to the ekti storage silos and pull them to safety.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Zhett yelled. “We can get more stardrive fuel, but I have no intention of replacing my children.”

  To the untrained eye, the evacuation looked like complete chaos, but the skyminers knew what they were doing as they raced to assigned gathering stations. Ever since she was a little girl, Shareen had been drilled for emergency evacuation. She took Howard by the arm and raced him along. “Follow me, and I’ll keep you safe. Everyone on the skymine is trained for this.”

  “For this?” The young man seemed more fascinated than terrified.

  “Sure. We plan for every contingency.”

  Down in the launching bay, the doors were wide open, the atmosphere field dropped. Breezes whipped inside the bay, tossing debris around and scattering lightweight equipment. Ships launched out in all directions, somehow managing not to collide. As five skyminers tumbled into an escape shuttle, the pilot yelled to anyone else in the bay, “There’s room for four more. Get your asses aboard!” Four more people got their asses aboard. After the hatch sealed, the shuttle took off.

  Out in the open gulf of clouds and wind, another hydrogue warglobe succumbed to the black stain. During its death throes, the pyramidal projections crackled with blue fire and lanced out in uncontrolled blasts. One stray burst struck a nearby ekti-storage raft, and the detonation created an expanding fireball in the sky.

  Rex wailed, but Del didn’t let go of him. Patrick shouted, “Which ship, Zhett?”

  “That one. I have the launch codes, and I’m taking the controls. Anybody want to argue with that?”

  Nobody did.

  “Classes were boring on Earth,” Howard said to Shareen, “but . . .”

  “Trust me,” Shareen said, “you’ll learn more in fifteen minutes of this than in a dozen exams.”

  The skymine shuddered, and the deck tilted so severely that a wheeled loader slid sideways toward the open bay, blocking the exit. A husky skyminer leaped into the cab, powered up the engines, and rolled the loader out of the way, but it began sliding toward the opening again. The driver gave up and jumped out just before the loader rolled off into the sky.

  Zhett’s ship scraped along the sloped deck, its struts sending up sparks. The roar of wind in the cargo bay, the monotonous alarms flooding the station comm, her little brother crying, and warglobes exploding out in the clouds all mixed together to make a deafening din.

  Toff’s face was flushed with excitement. “I can fly a swooper out there, round up any stragglers.”

  Zhett grabbed him by the arm, then by the ear, and pulled him up the ramp. “I don’t think so.”

  Shareen helped push Toff onto the ship as her mother raced to the cockpit. “This whole planet’s going insane.” Six additional evacuees followed them aboard, breathless and windblown.

  Zhett activated the comm, listened to a gabble of reports from the skyminers. Shareen thought everyone sounded remarkably calm considering the circumstances.

  Her father dropped into the empty copilot seat, handed Rex off to his sister, and called up report screens. “We have enough ships for everybody to get away, but we might not have enough time. This skymine is breaking up.”

  “Once our people evacuate, where do we go?” Shareen asked, bouncing her little brother in a vain attempt to calm him.

  “Away from Golgen,” Zhett said. “I don’t think we have any choice.”

  Deeply concerned, her grandfather fussed over Shareen. She handed him the toddler again, so she could make her way up to the cockpit and help. “Watch Rex—and Howard.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Howard said.

  “Then take care of my grandfather so that he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

  Del looked scandalized, but Howard said seriously, “I’ll do my best.”

  Zhett powered up the thrusters and launched the ship out of the skymine’s cargo bay as the passengers scrambled to secure themselves to seats. They flew up and away from the skymine, while wind
s buffeted them from side to side. Patrick worked in the copilot seat, scanning ahead as his wife dodged other struggling ships. “Never seen wind shear like this,” he said. “It’s not natural.”

  Zhett gave him a wry look. “You think?”

  Behind them the skymine bounced about like a discarded toy, its exhaust stack bent. Pieces broke away from the lower decks, and the bottom sensor array twisted free and dropped spinning into the mists. The last few evacuation ships shot away from the structure.

  Shareen and Howard leaned toward the windowport. Golgen’s pastel cloud layers had turned dark, and she saw only one remaining warglobe, blackened and dying, before it sank into the depths like a drowned corpse. The clouds looked as if great gouts of ink were vomiting through the atmosphere.

  The evacuating ships climbed to orbit, while the blackness continued to bleed into Golgen’s clouds. Shareen was shaking, and when she realized that she was clutching Howard’s arm, she was embarrassed, but she didn’t let go. She tried to joke about it, her voice dry and raspy in her throat. “Well, that was exciting.”

  He forced a faint smile. “You did promise I would find it interesting.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” she said. “I always keep my promises.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  PRINCE REYN

  Rlinda Kett had not let him down. She knew the right people, made the proper calls, and got Reyn an appointment with Earth’s foremost specialists in obscure degenerative diseases. She went through unofficial channels, called in favors, and possibly even forked over a few bribes. Once Rlinda made up her mind, she was a woman who would do whatever was necessary—for a friend.

  Rlinda told Reyn everything he needed to know. “Dr. Benjamin Paolus is your man, Raindrop.” She reached over to pat him on the cheeks, which embarrassed him. “I wish I could diagnose you myself.”

  Reyn thanked her sincerely. “That’s what Dr. Paolus is for.”

  “Most importantly, this is off book, as you requested. He assures me this will be discreet and completely confidential.” She narrowed her dark eyes, giving him a look of concern. “But if you’re sick, you shouldn’t hide it—there’s no reason.”

  “I don’t want the uproar, and I need a few answers of my own before I tell them. It’s my choice.”

  “It’s your choice, Raindrop, and I wish you the best. You’re my favorite Prince, you know.” She pinched his cheek this time.

  Dr. Paolus was indeed the best—he told Reyn so three times during the examination. He managed an extensive lab in a university hospital complex, and also received funding from numerous biotech industries.

  “After I take samples and complete a full analysis protocol,” Paolus said, “I’ll run a comparison with all known microorganisms, toxins, and genetic disorders.”

  “Maybe I can speed up the diagnosis.” Reyn transferred a code-locked document, which Dr. Paolus scanned with great interest. “I found some similar cases in the Theron records dating all the way back to the first colonists from the generation ship Caillié.” He forced himself to continue. “All of them were fatal.” No cause had been identified, and no treatment had shown any promise.

  That was another reason he hadn’t told his parents—not yet. It was difficult enough for him to grasp the problem and deal with it. He knew it was unfair to keep them in the dark, but once he had exhausted his options, then he and his family could decide what to do.

  Feeling miserable and worried, Reyn described his symptoms while Dr. Paolus continued to compile notes. So far the doctor had not commented about who his patient was. Reyn cleared his throat and reminded him, “I’m relying on your discretion, Dr. Paolus. I need to keep this entirely confidential.”

  The doctor looked up from the summary in front of him, and Reyn felt like a specimen being studied under a microscope. Paolus seemed offended. “Young man, patient confidentiality is the foundation of my work as a doctor. You are a human being who suffers from an illness that I hope to treat, if not cure. I don’t care who you are.” He tapped the screen where the report results were displayed. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. It could greatly expand our knowledge base.”

  “Glad I could make such a contribution to science,” Reyn said.

  Reyn canceled some meetings and rescheduled others, juggling his diplomatic schedule so that no one noticed the unaccounted for hours. Deputy Cain had taught him that trick. He provided Dr. Paolus with every imaginable sample and scan.

  More swiftly than Reyn thought possible, the medical team delivered a confidential preliminary analysis that was key-coded to his thumbprint. When Reyn activated the report, Dr. Paolus’s quiet voice droned as he delivered his summary. “This is a degenerative neurological disorder, as you correctly surmised. I believe you were exposed to an exotic microfungus somewhere in the worldforest, perhaps from a berry or insect you consumed.”

  The screen displayed Reyn’s scans, body profile, and genetic map. “The microfungus has adhered to your DNA, which changes your cellular profile. Given the markers of the microfungus, we can track the progress of the disease.” Another scan of Reyn’s body appeared, showing highlighted tracings. Dr. Paolus didn’t waste time with platitudes, but gave a dry assessment. “The microfungus is fully involved throughout your nervous system. We will study it, although we’re starting from scratch. I can’t offer any realistic hope for a cure at this time.”

  Reyn hadn’t expected a miracle or even a resolution, but Arita insisted that he not give up hope, so he would remain stoic for her. He studied the report, took a deep breath, and viewed it again.

  Very soon, he was due to spend several months on Ildira as part of a formal cultural exchange. Again, Reyn would perform his diplomatic duties as expected, but he also intended to meet with their medical kithmen. While he realized the alien doctors were not likely to know much about human genetics or exotic microfungi, they did have different techniques and fewer preconceptions.

  He code-locked the report so no one else could access it, then reviewed his schedule—two more days of meetings, handshakes, banquets, and interviews before he could go home. People loved the fairy tale of the handsome young Prince who would someday be King, but he was a flawed Prince who would soon become incapable of doing his duties.

  He thought of Arita, though, and drove those negative thoughts from his mind. She would have insisted that he be strong.

  A somber messenger came to his guest quarters in the diplomatic residence. “I have news that arrived within the past hour, Prince Reyn. It was sent through the green priest network. You needed to be informed without delay.”

  He took a moment to calm himself, fearing some disaster. “What is it?”

  The messenger looked down at a note in his hand, though he had already read the message that was given to him by a green priest. “I’m sorry to inform you that Father Idriss of Theroc passed away yesterday. According to the message, he died quietly in his sleep after attending a gala celebration.”

  Jarred from his thoughts about his own medical condition, Reyn blinked, not sure he had heard the report correctly. “My grandfather?” It was a surprise, yet not a surprise. Father Idriss had always been there throughout Reyn’s life, but although the changes were gradual, the old man’s health had been fading. He had grown weaker, looked older.

  Reyn would degenerate as well, over the course of only a few years.

  “Word is being spread across the Confederation, Prince Reynald. We will help you make whatever arrangements are necessary for your return to Theroc with all possible speed.” The messenger gave a curt bow and departed.

  Reyn tried to sort his thoughts. He let out a long sigh and felt empty inside. He’d had too many reminders of his own mortality in a single day. He thought of his grandfather and closed his eyes.

  An hour later, Rlinda Kett arrived, her round face full of caring. “I heard about Father Idriss, Raindrop. You’ll need to go home—and I’m taking you there. No arguments. It’s time I paid a surprise visit
to my restaurant on Theroc anyway, and I was the Confederation’s trade minister, spent a lot of time with old Idriss, so it’s appropriate that I’m there for the funeral.”

  Reyn hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Yes, there’ll be a funeral . . .”

  “A big state funeral. Deputy Cain needs transport as well, and I’ve offered to take him with us. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.” She gave him a big hug, did not ask any questions about his visit to Dr. Paolus. He felt the warmth of her comforting bulk and held her for a long time.

  “I’m ready,” he said. “I want to go home.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  ZOE ALAKIS

  Even with Tom Rom off hunting down interesting diseases, Pergamus remained a bustling place. Zoe’s teams added more and more knowledge until she felt that her databases would burst.

  She refused to give up the battle. Each new discovery expanded her arsenal in the never-ending war against enemy microorganisms. Zoe could never be victorious against so many mutable strains of viruses, disease, and bacteria, but she would put up the best possible fight. No one had better resources than she did.

  From inside her sterile dome, Zoe reviewed progress reports and pored over study proposals. She ate a bland but nutritious meal, took her high-dosage supplements, then completed the day’s body measurements—pulse, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, temperature, body composition index—and logged the data in her extensive file. No single human body had ever been so thoroughly and consistently documented.

  Finished, Zoe sat back at her desk with a weary sigh. Two more interim reports had come in, and one of her freelance operatives arrived from Earth, broadcasting appropriate priority clearances, so that her security teams allowed him through the picket line.

  After the unsettling arrival of James Duggan, Zoe had dressed down every member of her security team, and they were now far more alert. What if, instead of a distraught husband, the intruder had been part of an active military operation against Pergamus? Or some terrorist intent on stealing her vast collection of deadly biological organisms?