The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  With the safety of the Confederation at stake, the King and Queen had to put aside their grief to avert a possible greater tragedy. Peter gave his permission, issuing orders to dispatch scouts and follow-up teams, widespread inquiries, full reports on all the ships in the CDF, strategic ekti reserves.

  They didn’t even know the enemy yet, but once again Peter had to prepare for war.

  FIFTY-NINE

  RLINDA KETT

  Rlinda had named her finest and favorite restaurant Arbor, for obvious reasons. It was a sheltered overhang on the Theron canopy with numerous finger decks and open balconies that could be enclosed during occasional inclement weather.

  Colorful insects flitted about, some of them nuisances, some of them delicious. A stream of customers came and went, and Rlinda liked to think that some of them made excuses for business trips here to Theroc just so they could eat dinner at Arbor. She had commanded her chefs to be absolutely impressive.

  During her years of travel as the Confederation’s trade minister, Rlinda always kept her eyes open for new delicacies and recipes. She did her work, while running her trading company, but she really wanted to run the perfect restaurant. Now she had three: one on Relleker, one on Earth, one here.

  She had insisted on providing the food for Father Idriss’s funeral banquet, telling the King and Queen not to concern themselves. Rlinda instructed her chefs to give the meal understated elegance. The meal had been perfect—except for the disastrous news of the Golgen skymine and the ominous shadow clouds.

  In the following days, while the Confederation buzzed with the reappearance of hydrogues and black robots, and possibly the Shana Rei, Rlinda reminded herself that she was done with all that. No longer her concern. Instead, she met with her “culinary explorers,” who constantly sampled the bounty of the Theron forest, while teams of chefs concocted new recipes and preparation methods with all the dedication of scientific researchers. Now that was important.

  They created various dishes of insect meat, succulent grubs, sweet or tart berries, herbs with indescribable flavors, stems, leaves, roots, bulbs, tubers. Yes, she loved this restaurant, and her chefs went out of their way to show off their favorite new creations, indulging her, overstuffing her—exactly as she liked.

  Sitting at her own canopy table on her own finger deck, she ate only small servings in order to save room for more entrees. She didn’t want to eat too much, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. The chefs and servers brought out sample plates, one after another. For months, they had been experimenting with new concoctions, but each menu item needed her approval, and Rlinda had very high standards.

  She glanced at tables on the other decks, where offworlders as well as some adventurous Therons—even a few green priests—were expanding their gourmet tastes. With so much bounty in the worldforest, Theron natives rarely bothered to sample outside delicacies. When she noticed a green priest couple trying several dishes from the “offworld menu,” as opposed to the “Theron specialties” pages, she watched as they tasted, shared, and exchanged opinions.

  Smiling, Rlinda called for Zachary Wisskoff, the manager and maître d’ of Arbor. The man gave excellent service and knew his business, so she found him indispensable. On the other hand, Wisskoff’s prissy arrogance also made him insufferable. Although the maître d’ seemed stressed no matter when she visited, Rlinda suspected that he enjoyed regularly having something new to complain about.

  The officious maître d’ arrived immediately, like a specially trained silver beret responding to a threat. She nodded toward the green priests at the other table. “Zachary, I’m picking up the tab of that couple over there. The meals are on me.”

  Wisskoff had a long and narrow face, as if it had been pinched too much in the birth canal. His skinny nose was chiseled to a fine point, and his chin wasn’t much more rounded. Thanks to his close-set eyes he could look down his nose with great disdain. “I’ll have to discuss the matter with our accountants to see if we can afford it, madam.”

  “Buy their meals now, ask the accountants later. And if there’s a problem, then I must be paying you too much. I’ll deduct the bill from your next paycheck.”

  “Delightful,” he said with a sniff. “I’m so pleased I can subsidize your generosity.”

  “You should be even more pleased that you have a job managing the finest restaurant in the Spiral Arm.”

  His eyebrows rose up like two Theron insects taking wing. “I thought it was the finest restaurant because I manage it.” Wisskoff took out a small pad, consulted the screen, tapped a command into it. “There, the entire bill is deleted. It’s as if they never ordered a meal, and the food simply vanished without a trace from our kitchens.” He put the pad away. “I’ll see about overcharging some planetary delegations to make up for it. They’ll never know the difference.”

  Two members of the kitchen staff arrived bearing plates of sweet confections—gossamer sculptures made of spun fruit gelatins and crystallized sugars, topped off with seeds that looked like tiny gemstones.

  Wisskoff turned to go. “By the way, madam, do you know a woman who has a compy? She arrived demanding to speak with you. I informed her that since I am in charge of this establishment, she would speak with me, but she refused. Only you. Her compy seems polite enough, even friendly, but we don’t generally allow them in Arbor. The woman was quite persistent to the point of being annoying.”

  “You’re quite an expert on annoying people, Zachary, so I’ll trust your judgment in the matter.”

  “Oh, very witty, madam.”

  “Did this woman give a name? Is she from Theroc?” Rlinda knew there weren’t many compies here.

  Wisskoff sighed as if she had just asked him to redo two years of tax forms. “She’s an offworlder . . . Relleker, I believe, though I don’t know why she couldn’t bother you at your restaurant there. She had an odd name, Orli something. I sent her away.”

  Rlinda perked up. “Orli Covitz? Get her back! I don’t care if you have to send out search parties.”

  “That would be unnecessary, and also melodramatic,” Wisskoff said. “I’m certain she’s still here, as she was quite a nuisance. Did I mention the compy was polite?”

  The maître d’ tracked down Orli and DD and sent them onto the finger deck. Rlinda rose to her feet and opened her arms in a hug so wide that even a black hole could not have escaped from it.

  DD gave a formal greeting. “Captain Kett, it is an honor to see you again.”

  Orli looked oddly conflicted. She accepted Rlinda’s hug and then something broke loose in her. She clung more tightly, burying herself in the broad embrace. She began shaking, trying to restrain sobs, and finally gave up restraining them at all. Rlinda was at first startled by the outpouring, but she put away her questions and just held onto Orli.

  Wisskoff stood embarrassed by the awkward tableau. With a not-so-polite clearing of his throat, he asked, “Is there anything I could bring you for now, madam?”

  “Two cups of hot klee, Zachary.” She glanced down at the resplendent, fruity confections. “We’ve got desserts to share, and obviously we need a heart-to-heart, so once we have our klee, ignore us for a while.”

  “With pleasure, madam. Do I take it that you’ll be footing the bill for the klee as well?”

  Rlinda’s dark eyes flashed, and the maître d’ seemed to realize he had pushed too far, so he retreated with as much grace as he could manage.

  Orli tried to straighten. “It’s all right, Rlinda. I’m fine.” She sniffled, and her lips trembled.

  “If you’re fine, then I’m skinny,” Rlinda said. “Now tell me about it.”

  “I’ve had some . . . life changes.” Orli turned away. “Damn! I thought this would be easier. I rehearsed it over and over again on the trip here to find you.”

  “Some things aren’t supposed to be easy.” Rlinda turned to the Friendly compy. “DD, help us out here. Tell me what happened—just a summary please.”

  The little compy was h
appy to oblige. “Orli Covitz and Matthew Freling have dissolved their relationship. Matthew found a home for the wayward compies from our Relleker facility. Orli placed them with a new colony on Ikbir, but she kept me as her companion—I’m very pleased about this. We traveled here to find you.”

  “To find me? How did you know to come here instead of Earth?” Rlinda asked.

  With a heavy sigh, Orli dodged the painful part of the conversation. “We went there first and learned about the funeral. Even here, though, we almost didn’t get to see you. That maître d’ is very rude.”

  “He gets away with it only because he’s amazingly competent. The moment he makes a mistake he’ll be fired.”

  “I don’t need to worry about being fired then, madam.” Wisskoff appeared next to them, set two cups of klee down on the table, and turned away without a further word.

  “Enough about him,” Rlinda said. “If you need to talk to me about Matthew, I’m here.” She pushed one of the fruit confections toward Orli. “And so is dessert. Help me test this.”

  Orli picked at her dessert, but smiled as she tasted it. She sipped the hot klee and gradually started to relax. “I shouldn’t be acting like this. Mine isn’t the first marriage to break up. It wasn’t right in the first place, and it was as much my fault as it was his.”

  “I’ve got my own collection of ex-husbands,” Rlinda said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not painful. In fact BeBob—” Her words cut off as her voice shut down. It always surprised her how swiftly the sadness came upon her, like an ambush. She forced herself to take a bite of her own dessert. “This reminds me of one of BeBob’s favorite dishes. He was my favorite ex-husband.”

  “I know. I used to fly with him a lot.”

  Rlinda nodded, still feeling the heaviness of loss. “If you can put up with a man in a cramped spaceship, that means he’s a man worth knowing.”

  Twenty years ago, she and BeBob had been happy. She would bustle from planet to planet as trade minister. At first BeBob followed her like a puppy dog, took care of her, kept her company, but over the years, he’d grown weary of the “glamour” and the constant travel of Rlinda’s powerful position, so he chose to stay on Earth more often. She flew about the Spiral Arm, doing her duties, and flitting back home to see him. She kept herself so busy that she hadn’t noticed that BeBob wasn’t feeling well, that his energy seemed low.

  Ten years ago, she’d been away on Ildira for the gala opening of the rebuilt Prism Palace when Branson Roberts dropped dead of a brain hemorrhage while crossing the street.

  Rlinda swallowed hard now, trying to hide the tears. After all of their adventures, their perils, their harrowing escapes, she couldn’t believe he had died while crossing a street. . . . As Rlinda spoke, the words rattled out in a flood; if she talked quickly enough, she could stay one step ahead of the tears.

  Her favorite ex-husband was cremated and his ashes compacted and placed in a capsule, which she kept on her desk. When she died (preferably after a glorious meal served with the best wines) Rlinda had left instructions that her remains were to be placed in an identical capsule, and they would be launched together into interstellar space.

  “That’s very romantic,” Orli said.

  Rlinda shrugged and sniffled. “It seemed like a good idea.”

  They finished the desserts, and Rlinda folded her big hands on the tabletop. With her napkin, she reached over to dab a sparkle of sugar from Orli’s cheek. “Other than needing a shoulder to cry on, is there some way I can help you?”

  Orli froze for a moment, then spilled her request. “I’m done with the Relleker compy facility, done with staying at home and keeping my feet dirtside. I need a change of scenery, a change of pace.”

  Rlinda drew her brows together. “Running away won’t solve anything.”

  “Maybe I’m running toward something . . . or maybe I just need to keep moving. You know I can fly ships. Does Kett Shipping need any pilots? Somebody to make a few runs?” She seized on this sudden direction for her life, which only pointed out just how aimless and lost she had been feeling.

  Rlinda chuckled. “Why, yes, in fact, I do. One of my pilots, Mary Coven, is retiring, and I bought her ship for a song, but I don’t have a captain yet. That sort of paperwork usually falls to Tasia and Robb.”

  “What do I need to do to get approvals?”

  “You need to ask me.” Rlinda tapped her on the head. “There, you’re approved. The ship is called the Proud Mary. We can rename it if you like.”

  Orli shook her head. “The name sounds fine.”

  “Go to Earth, spend a week or two arranging matters, take the Proud Mary on a shakedown flight. I assume DD will be your copilot, given the appropriate upgrades?”

  Orli threw her arms around Rlinda and gave her a big hug again. “Thank you. This is just what I needed.”

  SIXTY

  ADAR ZAN’NH

  The Solar Navy search ships headed out into uncharted space above the Spiral Arm, attempting to follow the course the Kolpraxa had taken. Adar Zan’nh’s septa flew for days, seven fully equipped warliners with sensors extended, hunting for any sign of the lost exploration ship.

  There had been no report, no distress signal, but every Ildiran had felt the crew’s outcry in the thism, then utter silence. Osira’h had felt it more sharply than anyone else.

  As the warliners flew through empty space, the crew remembered stars, but there were few stars nearby in this vast void. It would be so easy to get lost out here in the void. . . .

  Zan’nh forced himself not to think about that. Through the faint threads of thism that connected them, he felt the crew’s uneasiness. Out here in the universe’s darkest spaces, he had to be the strongest tie that bound them all. Yet he could not ignore the fact that he was worried for the Kolpraxa and its commander. The expedition should have been a shining moment in Tal Gale’nh’s career.

  Throughout the voyage, Osira’h remained in the command nucleus, alert, guiding the search by following the connection she maintained with her brother. Though none of the warliner’s sensors detected any trace of the lost ship, she reached out with her enhanced telepathic powers, feeling a vibrant sense of purpose again.

  Looking up, she reassured Zan’nh, “Gale’nh is still alive, Adar. We will find him—I can still sense him.”

  Zan’nh kept his voice low, so as not to feed the fears of the crew. “I am personally concerned for Tal Gale’nh and the Kolpraxa’s crew, and as Adar of the Solar Navy, I am also concerned about the threat they may have encountered.” He could not push away the sight of the ominous shadow cloud that had swallowed—destroyed?—the fleeing black robots. What if the Shana Rei truly had returned? It seemed impossible. What could have awakened them? And how could the Solar Navy fight them?

  Beside him, Osira’h held on to the command rail and closed her eyes. Her feathery hair twitched with a hint of her thoughts.

  Zan’nh regarded the halfbreed girl who had grown into a beautiful young woman. Osira’h was slender, with an elfin face and small rounded nose reminiscent of her mother’s, the noble cheekbones and generous lips of the Mage-Imperator.

  Zan’nh remembered when Osira’h was just a little girl, the most perfect product of the Ildiran breeding program. Unlike the others, she was a halfbreed child born of love instead of scientific experimentation. Trained to use her mental powers, Osira’h had bravely confronted the hydrogues. Zan’nh remembered how impressive she had looked, forcing her will on the great elemental beings and commanding them to cease their destruction.

  Now she concentrated, finding the faintest gossamer connections that told her Gale’nh was alive. Zan’nh knew she was trying to send strength to her brother, and she continued even when she sensed no response from him.

  “I will not underestimate the power of hope,” she said.

  The search ships flew onward, guided only by Osira’h’s reassurances that they were following the correct course.

  Five days later, Osira’h called
out, “He is here.” She raised her voice so everyone in the command nucleus could hear her. “He is here!”

  At Adar Zan’nh’s command, all seven warliners decelerated and hung together in the middle of an infinite emptiness. Osira’h’s eyes remained closed as she guided them, confident and insistent.

  Sensor operators deployed fast-moving probes in all directions, like fluff from a seedpod, but they detected nothing. The communications array sent out persistent signals hailing the Kolpraxa. Still no response.

  They combed the emptiness for hours with no result.

  Osira’h paced the command nucleus. “I know Gale’nh is here, but I’m trying to find one small spark in all this emptiness. The stars are far away. It’s so dark.” She could not suppress a shudder.

  Finally, they blundered into the Kolpraxa almost by accident, detecting a mass anomaly in the vacuum, even though the expeditionary ship was all but invisible. It emitted no electromagnetic or heat signature; its running lights were dead; its anodized metallic hull didn’t reflect even a hint of starlight.

  The seven warliners approached cautiously, shining forward blazers on the exploration ship, which was little more than a silhouette that drank light, as if the Kolpraxa had been painted with a matte coating of deepest black.

  “It is the Shana Rei,” someone whispered. “Just like in the story of the planet Orryx.” Zan’nh remembered the tales from the Saga of Seven Suns, how the creatures of darkness had englobed entire worlds and battle fleets with impenetrable black armor.

  Osira’h leaned against the command rail, her eyes wide. “Gale’nh is inside there. He’s nearly smothered. We have to get to him.” Her voice grew more urgent. “We have to break through!”

  Zan’nh pushed back his uneasiness. “Dispatch a full team with high-powered lasers. Maybe concentrated light will break through.” If Osira’h sensed Tal Gale’nh was alive in there, then the Kolpraxa must still have life support and atmosphere.