The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Fortunately, few outsiders knew exactly what Zoe Alakis did here or how she funded her work. In the worst-case scenario, she had her fail-safe systems, automated self-destructs that would vaporize everything. At all costs, she would keep the deadly samples and records out of any hands but her own.

  She preferred to rely on less extreme preventive measures first, however.

  The operative from Earth expected to be well paid. Dr. Benjamin Paolus appeared on her main screen, cool and humorless, a consummate professional. “Ms. Alakis, I have an interesting delivery for you.”

  She sat back to listen. “You haven’t previously let me down, Doctor.”

  “This one is unlike any other disease in your library—an extremely rare microfungus DNA-adherer, originating from Theroc. I have samples and a complete medical workup—quite an unorthodox spread and progression.”

  “Can you cure it?”

  “Doubtful.”

  Paolus transmitted his files, and she glanced at her desk screen. He would deliver the physical specimens in triply sealed quarantine containers to one of the Orbiting Research Spheres, where the organism could be properly assessed. “Is it fatal?”

  “In this particular case, almost certainly fatal,” Paolus said, then paused. “One other detail adds special interest—the victim is Prince Reynald of Theroc.”

  Her eyes widened. “The Prince is dying? How could I not have heard of this?”

  “He is careful to protect his privacy. I am committing a severe ethical breach by delivering the sample and records here.”

  Paolus didn’t seem to be angling for an increased payment; he was simply stating a fact. She said, “You will not find anyone with more discretion than I have, Doctor.”

  “That’s why I do business with you, Ms. Alakis. I know your penchant for protecting and withholding your data. If your research teams were to find a treatment, however, the King and Queen would be immeasurably grateful. And if Reynald did survive to become the next King, you would forever have a solid ally in the government.”

  Zoe’s voice was as brittle as breaking ice. “Thank you for the suggestion, Dr. Paolus, but I think not. Allies have a tendency to demand more than they give. If I make an exception for one pathetically ill patient, even if he is a Prince, then where do I stop making exceptions?”

  Dr. Paolus fumbled with something out of the range of the screen, then nodded. “As you wish, Ms. Alakis.”

  “You will be compensated well, as before. I am always here if you should encounter anything else of note.”

  She signed off before he could reply. Her security team met his ship and received the sealed medical samples, which they delivered to an assigned ORS. Dr. Paolus departed, his business finished.

  On screen, Zoe skimmed his report, looked over the results and the body scans, glanced at young Prince Reyn’s face before dismissing that part of the file as irrelevant. She would add the disease to her collection with all the others, one more piece in the grand puzzle.

  Her father died on Vaconda, although he had been functionally dead for a month before his last flickering breath. Tom Rom and Zoe were beside him, hovering near his bed and the monitoring instruments. His life signs were already so faint that they didn’t realize he had slipped away until several minutes later.

  Zoe had just turned twenty. Though Adam Alakis had suffered five years of slow decline, she was startled to realize that she had made no plans for his funeral—an intentional blind spot, but now she made the quick and obvious decision. “I want him buried out in the jungle next to my mother’s grave.”

  Tom Rom nodded. “Then that’s what we will do.” If she had said she wanted Adam Alakis to be placed aboard a flammable basket and sent off in a hot air balloon, Tom Rom would likely have reacted the same way.

  But her mother had died twelve years ago, and when Zoe went out to search for the grave, she found that the lichentree jungle and fungus vines had grown so thick and dense that she could not locate the right spot—not that it mattered in a real sense, but it mattered to her.

  That was when the grief finally hit her with a crushing weight, and she broke down, lost. She remembered her mother, but the missing grave marker seemed to have erased Evelyn Alakis’s entire existence.

  There at the bottom of the forest, Tom Rom wrapped his arms around her, held her in silence as he took her back to the watchstation above the treetops. He left her in the empty deck and returned to the forest floor. In the watchstation, she was surprised to see that Tom Rom had quietly cleaned up the death room and put away all the monitoring and medical equipment that had kept her father alive for so long. He had made the bed, and now the research tower appeared to be a normal and comfortable home again.

  Zoe wouldn’t have had the strength to do it herself, hadn’t even thought that far ahead. The lonely station was not a place where she wanted to stay, however. She had no idea what she was going to do now.

  In less than an hour, Tom Rom led her back down to the overgrown forest floor. He had rediscovered Evelyn’s grave and cleared away the underbrush to expose her name marker. He had also made a marker for Adam, which he placed next to Evelyn’s. The new grave marker was perfect, created with great care. Zoe couldn’t imagine how he had done it so quickly—until she realized that Tom Rom must have prepared the marker some time ago without telling her.

  They buried her father out there, knowing that the jungle would creep in swiftly. Standing by the fresh grave, young Zoe looked around her at the scabrous lichens, the feathery pollens blowing through the air, the insects crawling in the undergrowth, the slime molds oozing up the sides of trees. Vaconda was a turgid place where Adam and Evelyn had come to hunt for pharmaceutical possibilities, but Zoe saw it as a place of rot and death.

  She looked up at Tom Rom, cold and businesslike. “The homestead is mine now. Everything automatically transfers into my name upon my father’s passing.”

  Tom Rom nodded. “Yes. I helped him prepare the documents myself.”

  “And you are my guardian.”

  “I am your guardian in actual fact, regardless of the legalities. You are an adult, but I will stay with you if you wish.”

  She looked at him as if he had become a fool. “Of course I wish it.”

  He gave another nod. “I don’t need a document to tell me who I am. I am your guardian regardless, and forever.”

  Zoe knew she was being impetuous, but she made up her mind. “I don’t want this homestead. I don’t want to stay on Vaconda. I don’t want anything to do with this place. I want to leave.”

  Tom Rom said, “I will take you wherever you wish. But what do we do with the homestead?”

  Zoe heard the simmering sounds of the lichentree forest, watched a purple beetle making its way too close to the questing probe-tendril of a sluggish mold, which snapped it up and retracted the pseudopod into its own main spongy mass. Seeing all the festering life, the churning biological cauldron all around her, she turned to one side, vomited, and sank to her knees. “I hate this place. I wish we could just burn it.”

  “I can burn it,” Tom Rom said, “if that is what you want.”

  At first, she was unwilling to consider it a genuine possibility. “But it’s all I have. How will we live?”

  “We know how to survive. I’ll make sure you survive.”

  Zoe looked at him for a long moment, then told him to do it.

  Back at the watchstation above the lichentree forest, they packed their few belongings aboard Tom Rom’s ship and retreated to a safe distance to watch.

  He triggered the fire bombs he had scattered throughout the jungle for kilometers around. Explosions erupted in orange feathers of fire that flattened a large swath and ignited the surrounding lichentrees. As the wildfire spread, it cleared a giant section of the dense forest, leaving only a smoking smear of ash.

  As Zoe watched the fires, she felt a kind of satisfaction, of freedom. Even though there was nothing left, she still owned it. The fire bombing had erased all t
he years of her life there, all the marks her parents had made, everything Vaconda had done to them. The jungle would reclaim its own soon enough, she knew, but Zoe planned to be long gone by then.

  In an irony even greater than the reward, after the smoke cleared and the ashes settled, they discovered that the wildfire had exposed an extensive vein-inclusion of prisdiamonds long buried under the jungle growth.

  And those prisdiamonds were enough to make Zoe Alakis one of the wealthiest women in the Spiral Arm.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  KING PETER

  The funeral for Father Idriss brought visitors from across the Spiral Arm: important businessmen, representatives from Confederation planets, heads of Roamer clans, even an Ildiran delegation that included the Mage-Imperator’s green priest consort, Nira, who was pleased to be back in the original worldforest after so many years on Ildira.

  Normally, Peter conducted the business of the Confederation alongside Queen Estarra, as equal partners, but after her father’s death, Estarra withdrew to mourn silently and sent her apologies to the visitors.

  The throne room would have had two empty chairs, one for the Queen and one where Idriss had sat to listen (or snooze), but Peter’s children joined him. Prince Reyn had returned from Earth, accompanied by Deputy Eldred Cain and Rlinda Kett. Using the facilities of her own Theron restaurant, Rlinda would cater the food for the funeral banquet that evening.

  Reyn sat with Arita, filling their roles as Prince and Princess, dressed in traditional Theron finery, beside their father. They were as close as a brother and sister could be, but they had little time to talk, caught up in the swirl of responsibilities. Peter was glad he didn’t have to face his duties alone, especially today.

  They received the visitors who came to express their sympathy. Green priests gathered around, sending reports and passing messages through telink. The Roamers, through their newly elected Speaker Sam Ricks, sent a beautiful embroidered tapestry.

  Deputy Cain entered the chamber wearing a business suit. The soft-spoken, responsible man had been an unexpected ally in the final days of the Hansa. He gave a polite bow. “Father Idriss was an honest and well-respected man. I present formal condolences on behalf of Earth, but on a more personal note, King Peter, I wanted to give you this. It’s from my own collection.” He lifted a rectangular object the size of a thin briefcase and removed a cloth to reveal a small framed painting that depicted a poignant sunset. “It’s one of my particular favorites done by the twenty-first-century master Dolus. The image is both majestic and sad—I felt it evoked the right feelings on this occasion.”

  As Cain presented the painting, Peter felt a lump in his throat. He knew the Deputy would have found it difficult to part with one of his prized works of art. Peter, Reyn, and Arita marveled at the colors, the beauty, the majesty. It did remind him of Idriss in that indefinable way that only the best art could achieve. “We will hang it on the throne room wall to remember Father Idriss, and also to be reminded of you, Deputy Cain, and all you’ve done for us.”

  The funeral gathering also served as an awkward reunion for members of Estarra’s scattered family. Her sister Celli returned with Solimar from their terrarium dome in Fireheart Station, and—an even greater surprise—their older sister Sarein returned from the Wild, where she had lived in self-imposed exile since the collapse of the Hansa.

  Estarra and her older sister had a strained and scarred relationship. In the political turmoil of the Elemental War, Sarein had done many questionable things that hurt Estarra and Peter, but she had also helped them when they needed it most. By going off to the uninhabited continent, Sarein had avoided any accusations. For a social and ambitious woman who had once fought hard for Theroc to become a vibrant part of the Hansa, Sarein must have found it difficult to live as a virtual hermit. It took the death of Father Idriss to bring her back.

  Now, the three sisters shared grief over the loss of their father. Their brothers, Reynald and Beneto, had both been killed years ago in the Elemental War, and the sisters clung to what they had left.

  After Peter, Reyn, and Arita finished receiving the visitors, a staff member informed them that the green priests had finished preparing Father Idriss for the ceremony. Wearing dark cocoonweave garments adorned with moth wings and segmented beetle shells, Estarra and her sisters came to meet Peter.

  The Queen clasped his hand. “I wish we could just do this privately with the family.”

  “The rest of the Confederation needs the spectacle,” Sarein said in a cool voice. “Peter was trained properly. He understands.” She had once been beautiful, but now looked weathered and hard.

  “I understand it too.” Estarra straightened, looking regal. “I’m just saying what I wish.”

  All the dignitaries and visitors had already gathered on the forest floor. Peter held Estarra’s hand, and they wound their way along an open path through the thick worldtrees, a trail that Peter was sure hadn’t been there before. Somehow, the forest had created a wide avenue for the procession.

  The mourners entered an open glade spangled with small white flowers and fleshy green vines. Father Idriss’s body lay on the ground in the meadow, draped in a pristine white cocoonweave shroud. When Estarra saw the wrapped body, she paused, suddenly uncertain.

  Since Celli had taken the green, she and Solimar led the worldforest in the actual funeral. The two green priests knelt among the vines, touching the white cloth. Celli had tears in her eyes. Solimar turned to the crowds that had gathered at the edges of the meadow. “Father Idriss was not a green priest, but he had a special connection to the forest. He was Theroc for all of us, Father of our people, and the father of my wife.”

  Celli looked up. “And now he joins the worldforest.”

  Together, they lifted the pale vines and draped them over the shrouded figure. The vines stirred, followed by other vines, until all the strands covered the body like an additional blanket. Leaves sprouted, tightening the green embrace that grew at an astonishing speed until buds appeared, rose higher, and unfolded to display dozens of creamy white orchids. A sweet, pervasive perfume filled the air, like scented applause for a life well lived.

  Around the edge of the meadow, the observers murmured sounds of approval and wonderment. Estarra and her sisters hugged one another.

  Grim business intruded as soon as night fell.

  The numerous visitors took part in a large outdoor feast, which Rlinda Kett’s chefs had prepared to perfection. Peter listened to quiet conversations, Confederation representatives making deals, discussing politics. Representing the Roamer clans, Sam Ricks didn’t seem to know what to do at all, didn’t even know most of the guests. He stood with his hands in his pockets, offering condolences but to the wrong people; without the other clans around him, he seemed out of his element.

  A ship arrived with unexpected visitors—Del Kellum, the former Speaker of the clans, as well as his daughter Zhett and their entire family. They looked haggard and distraught. Kellum barged into the funeral banquet, as if he didn’t care what was going on. “I need to see the King, by damn! This is a crisis—he’s got to know.”

  Deputy Cain rose to his feet. Sam Ricks blinked and merely managed to look confused. Peter and Estarra both went forward to meet Kellum, while Ricks deferred.

  All conversation stopped as the bearded man announced, “Our skymine on Golgen was destroyed. The hydrogues are back!” He cut off an outburst of conversation. “But they didn’t attack us, by damn. It was something else—a blight, a black stain that infected the drogues and destroyed their warglobes. A shadow arose from inside the planet itself—and one of the damned drogues even came up to warn us! Told us to get away, and all our skyminers barely got out in time. The whole damn planet was vomiting black when we flew away.”

  Patrick Fitzpatrick uploaded and displayed horrific images of the inky stain welling up from the cloud banks. Peter had never seen anything like it, yet for some reason it reminded him of another strange occurrence—the report G
eneral Keah had sent via green priest not long ago about how her battle group had flushed out a hidden infestation of Klikiss robots, which had escaped into a mysterious shadow cloud. He frowned. Those two events couldn’t be related. . . .

  Nira watched the images with a drawn expression. “Another terrible shadow engulfed an Ildiran exploration ship far outside the Spiral Arm. I think it took my son. Some Ildirans believe it’s the return of the Shana Rei.” She looked around. “And that strikes great fear into their entire race. Adar Zan’nh is investigating now. Of course, we’ll share with you whatever he discovers.”

  “It was awfully strange, by damn,” Del Kellum said. “Unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “General Keah’s battle group just returned to CDF headquarters at Earth,” Peter said. “We will need to compare Del Kellum’s report with images of the shadow cloud they encountered.” He frowned. “I thought it was bad enough news that some of the Klikiss robots were still around.”

  Estarra stood close to him, and as they watched the images of the blackness bleeding into the gas giant’s clouds, Peter felt his skin crawl.

  Deputy Cain showed increasing concern. “It took us too long to realize the hydrogue threat when they first appeared, Sire. I suggest we study this with proper urgency, factor in General Keah’s report, and add whatever information the Ildirans can provide on the Shana Rei.”

  “If there is proof,” Nira said. “We still don’t know. The historical accounts of the Shana Rei are sketchy in the Saga of Seven Suns, but I’ll return to Ildira immediately with the Mage-Imperator’s entourage. If the Saga has any information that we can use, I’ll communicate it via telink.”

  Deputy Cain nodded to the King. “Even if we don’t know exactly what we’re up against, we should start full-scale ramp-up and escalation of the CDF. Just in case. With your permission, Sire?”