The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “I suggest dispatching a battle group to Theroc to strengthen defenses around the King and Queen,” Cain said. “And launch new patrols across all ten grids. We have to be on high alert until we know the nature of the threat.”

  General Keah couldn’t agree fast enough. “If there are any more robot infestations, we’ll find them and wipe them out. I’ve got a vendetta against those bugbots, and I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning than smashing a few thousand of them.”

  “All well and good, General,” Cain said, “but a handful of surviving Klikiss robots can’t possibly be more than a nuisance. We don’t want to cause a panic among colonists by telling them the sky is falling.”

  As if the heavens had heard him, six shooting stars came down in rapid succession. One large bolide made a sighing, crackling sound as it tumbled in the atmosphere.

  Keah agreed. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Deputy, that shadow cloud we encountered makes me more nervous than the bugbots. I’ve never seen anything like it. Adar Zan’nh believes it could be very dangerous.”

  “Send an astronomical investigation team to map it, find out if it’s a dust cloud or a nebula.”

  The General set down her coffee cup. “I did send a scout back there, but the cloud was gone.”

  That took him aback. “How can a nebula disappear?”

  “A standard-issue nebula can’t—but that shadow cloud moved. It messed with our systems, it swallowed up the robot ships. The Ildirans have legends about some ancient enemy called the Shana Rei, creatures of darkness. After what we saw, the Adar believes the Shana Rei may be more than just legends, and I’m inclined to agree. If he’s right, we’ll need to know whatever they know. We may even need their help.”

  “I agree,” Cain said. “Launch more joint patrols if you like.”

  “I’m on it, Mr. Deputy—anything to keep me away from a desk job.”

  Overhead, the meteors continued to fall.

  SIXTY-SIX

  GARRISON REEVES

  For the first few years after the destruction of the Moon, it had taken a massive effort to map the orbits of the largest remnants and then to stabilize the rubble. Groups of celestial mechanics plotted orbital perturbations and ran simulations to determine which asteroids would intersect the Earth’s path. The primary concern was to identify any chunks on an imminent collision course, so the cleanup teams could work to deflect them.

  In a few centuries—an eyeblink on an astronomical scale—the Moon’s rubble would have distributed itself into a lovely ring around Earth, but with so many fresh fragments in unstable orbits, collisions occurred faster than they could be mapped, and the impacts deflected previously benign rubble, which forced the cleanup teams to react and make changes.

  Garrison loved the work. In the Prodigal Son, he was one of the surveyors sent out to respond and submit recommendations each time the automated network of telescopes detected a large-scale impact.

  Growing up in clan Reeves, he had spent a lot of time studying celestial mechanics, because Olaf Reeves insisted that every Roamer needed to know how the universe worked. He had a particular intuition for nuances and subtle effects, which was why he noticed slight perturbations at Sheol that others had discounted.

  Garrison took no pride in being right about Sheol, and carried a weight of guilt, wondering if he could have done more to warn about the danger. If Elisa had believed him and supported him, he would have had enough leverage to convince Lee Iswander. But it had been a long time since his own wife had given him the benefit of the doubt. At least he had saved Seth. . . .

  He received regular updates on his son’s progress at Academ. Seth thrived there with other students, swimming with the wentals, being taught by compies as well as Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni. The cheerful messages Garrison received allowed him to remain satisfied with his work at the LOC.

  On his patrol, he flew past the gravitational stable points of L-4 and L-5, where much of the lunar rubble had already collected. The flight was like a constant sandblasting barrage, but his enhanced shields protected him against the majority of the debris, which was no larger than pebbles or dust grains. He rode the Moon’s old orbit in a great circle, taking a week to make each circuit. Some might have called it lonely work, but he found it peaceful.

  Earth was always at the center of the orbit: a large blue and green sphere swirled with white. This was much different from Rendezvous, the stark cluster of rocks where clan Reeves had spent so much time. The bustle of activity in lunar orbit gave this planet—the birthplace of humanity—a vibrant energy.

  It was where he had first met Elisa. He pushed those thoughts aside. He had made his choices, set his course, and then changed course. He decided to let go of the bad choices, let go of those thoughts entirely. Elisa was gone. The past was part of him, but it was the past. Seth was at Academ, and happy; Garrison was here now, and content. They had the whole future ahead of them.

  He discovered a tumbler ahead, a large sharp-edged rock that spun across his path where it shouldn’t have been. So he marked its location and sent a high-priority signal back to the main LOC operations. The tumbler would be tagged and tracked, its orbit mapped in detail, then deflected if necessary.

  During his mapping activities, Garrison surveyed the rubble composition, identifying metal-rich fragments from which miners could extract valuable materials. It was merely a sorting job, and in a month or two he would request a transfer to something more challenging.

  His short-term goal was to get back on his feet again, to support himself and to take care of his son. Even after only a couple of months, his supervisors had noticed the quality of his work, and he was confident he’d be promoted—if this was even the work Garrison decided he wanted to do. In the long run, he intended to take control of his life and choose its direction. He wouldn’t let himself just fall into a permanent career.

  After he finished his orbital patrol, Garrison headed back to the LOC. The numerous civilian and military structures there represented an industrial boom, a golden age. The retooled CDF set up their main base there, which included freestanding space stations, as well as orbiting survey docks, communication ports, tunnel habitats inside the largest rock fragments, and habitation platforms that looked like swollen ships tethered to rocks.

  Although the LOC did not have the finesse or rough beauty of a Roamer installation, Garrison had grown comfortable with it. He had his own quarters, friends who worked on the sorting and excavation teams, and recreational activities in the primary hab and commercial complex, when he wasn’t on duty. Before his next scout circuit, he would have a day of downtime: playing games, chatting, and relaxing.

  By now, he supposed clan Reeves had abandoned Rendezvous and flown off to their mysterious city in space. Garrison did not regret staying behind and making sure Seth had a normal upbringing.

  On his return flight to the LOC, he organized his survey readings, flagged the items that he felt deserved particular attention. As the Prodigal Son docked, he transmitted his full report, knowing it was all that interested his supervisor Milli Torino. She wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person, and she didn’t like to spend face time with her employees.

  Leaving the dock, he submitted a requisition for refueling, then used only a fraction of his allotment to take a quick mist-shower (conservation was in his Roamer blood), before venturing out into the crowded communal areas of the complex. Instead of a chemically warmed packet from the ship’s galley, he wanted a hot meal prepared by a human, but his son was always his first priority. He went to the hab complex’s marketplace, walked past cafés and entertainment centers, until he found the resident green priest, Lubai.

  Many LOC workers were Earth natives who had scraped together their spare change to secure a job at the rubble site. Other employers, especially the Roamer specialists, came from far away, which made communication with home difficult. Seeing a need, the green priest had set up his shop as a freelance messenger to deliver news and letters t
o loved ones across the Spiral Arm.

  When Garrison paid Lubai the agreed-upon fee, the green priest slid his potted treeling across the table, placing the leafy fronds like a barrier between himself and his customer. The fronds obscured the green priest’s face, which allowed Garrison to concentrate on his words and imagine that he was looking at Seth’s face instead of a tree.

  “I want this message routed to Academ, to be transcribed and delivered to my son, Seth Reeves.”

  Between fronds, he could see a slight smile on Lubai’s face. “As you wish—as always.”

  Garrison began talking, as if to a telegraph operator, and the green priest whisper-mumbled his words back, touching the slender treeling. The message would go out into the verdani mind, and a counterpart green priest at Newstation would receive the message and transfer it to Academ.

  Although he would rather have spoken directly with his son, this was the best way for them to remain in contact. Most important, Seth would understand how much his father missed him.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SHELUD

  On the isolated alien space city, Shelud was far from the lush worldforest of Theroc, but with his treeling, he could touch the verdani mind and remain in contact with all other green priests, including his brother. It was his safety net.

  He had never set foot off of Theroc before. While Shelud had always enjoyed “recalling” the experiences other green priests added to the verdani mind, secondhand events and shared information were not the same as actually being there himself. This was amazing!

  Although he had promised not to reveal the exact coordinates of the derelict city, now named Okiah, Shelud could observe and listen, and tell parts of it to the worldforest. The strangeness of this place was breathtaking as clan Reeves began to settle some of the habitable chambers. He shared his impressions through the treeling, showing the mysteries even though he had no answers. No other green priest had ever experienced anything like this ancient alien city. The trees’ reactions to his news indicated strange gaps in the forest knowledge base. Even so, he felt excitement among the verdani. They were intrigued by the derelict.

  As clan Reeves worked to set up their new home aboard the cold station, however, Shelud missed the smells of foliage, of berries and wildflowers. This air smelled sterile and metallic. He was used to warm, natural sunlight on his green skin, but here the artificial illumination felt too white, too cold. The metal decks were hard and unyielding. His treeling found the light weak and unsatisfying.

  Yet Shelud didn’t regret his decision to come here to Okiah. He had joined the Retroamers to do his duty as a green priest, and he would make certain the worldforest had these new experiences. He occasionally accessed specific data when the Retroamers asked him, although clan Reeves seemed quite self-sufficient and secure in their own practical knowledge.

  They installed power blocks to add light, heat, energy, and life support to the central hub and the habitation modules in the first spoke they had claimed. Olaf Reeves assigned a science team to study the long-dormant alien engines and generators. The Roamers could not decipher the mysterious writings, but they did analyze the alien engineering. Once they discovered that the extant reactors operated on principles they understood, the team managed to reactivate some of the systems. After installing supplemental power blocks, they restored primary lighting and power, which radiated out along all five axes.

  The Teacher compy BO watched over the clan children. Though the students were restless and excited, she continued her usual curriculum. Clan Reeves had five other dedicated compies to work aboard the derelict city, but for the most part the Roamers did the tasks themselves.

  As the days went by, Shelud had no regular role and almost no technical experience that could help the Roamers. Simple data from the worldforest mind wasn’t the same as knowledge, and Roamers seemed to possess an instinctive engineering understanding from the time they were children. While the families kept themselves busy, he tried not to get in the way. Shelud felt selfconscious about standing around and not helping with the frantic activity. Every person kept busy with myriad duties without needing to be told. Shelud didn’t understand how they all just knew what to do.

  Of all the members of clan Reeves, he liked Dale best. The quiet son of the gruff clan leader seemed to be a kindred spirit. Finally, in frustration, he asked a harried Dale, “Please let me help somehow. What can I do?”

  Dale looked grateful for the offer, although it wouldn’t necessarily diminish his workload. “I don’t know, what can you do? We’ve got habitat zones to check, recycling systems to install, galleys to rig so we can prepare food. This city is huge, and there’s so much room!” He chuckled. “At least no one’s fighting over particular quarters. That’s a nice change.”

  “I can keep records,” Shelud said. “I can help unload ships. And if someone shows me how—”

  Dale flashed him a quick, mischievous smile. “Oh, nothing like that. I think you’re most qualified to do exploring—hmm, and I’d better go with you to make sure that it’s done properly. We’ve been so busy setting up our new home, we’ve only explored one of the five spokes. Who knows how many secrets Okiah still has for us?”

  “Your father said we shouldn’t do any discretionary exploring until all the work is done.”

  “The work will never be done—I know my father.” He gave a quirk of a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t you want to share these new discoveries with your fellow green priests?”

  “Yes! The verdani want to know all about this place. Some part of the worldforest already seems to know . . . but it’s forgotten.” He shook his head. “Maybe I can remind them.”

  They had no clue about the race that had built this space complex, or why they had chosen to locate the city so far from any planet, but Olaf Reeves was a man with little curiosity. “If this is our new home, we’ll have all the time in the world to poke around and play. But business first, survival first. We stake out our territory, make the systems functional. Families must help one another. Then, when we are stable, we can move on to sightseeing.”

  Many Retroamers, though—including Dale—found this frustrating. They wanted to investigate all five spokes, searching for treasure or wonders or information. They were hungry for some hint about the strange race that had created this city.

  Looking at Shelud, Dale said, “Worst-case scenario, we could live aboard our ships indefinitely, however long it takes to make Okiah completely habitable. There’s no crisis deadline to get all of the city systems running, so why not explore? Isn’t it more important to learn more about where we are? Okiah is our new home, after all.”

  “Yes, I would say it’s important.”

  Dale continued, stretching his reasons. “What if we find something that makes the habitation more . . . habitable? We might find a water reservoir that the original inhabitants used, or a self-sustaining greenhouse dome full of fruits and vegetables. Who knows? It’s worth a look—I’d only be doing it to help establish our new home, you know.”

  He obviously didn’t expect even the gullible green priest to believe that. Shelud said, “And because you’re curious and want to look around.”

  “That too.”

  Dale monitored his fellow Retroamers as they worked, settling into the private quarters they had chosen throughout the first module. Each day he oversaw a list of required tasks, and when that work was done, he and Shelud set aside several hours to secretly explore new parts of the derelict station. Dale did not announce his plans, nor did he ask explicit permission—therefore, his father could not explicitly forbid him.

  The two went off by themselves, working their way down spoke three, chamber by chamber. When other clan members dropped out of sight for brief periods, Shelud realized that he and Dale weren’t the only ones investigating the derelict city.

  Steeped in the curiosity of the worldforest, Shelud wanted to know who the builders were. What had they called themselves? What had they looked like? Where had they co
me from before constructing this ambitious city in space, and where had they gone after leaving it?

  Each day, Shelud and Dale explored another empty geometrical chamber, and when they came back, Shelud would connect through his treeling and describe what he had seen.

  Most of the station chambers were empty, unadorned, sterile metal, but in one dark room not much larger than a closet they found an astonishing mural. When Shelud and Dale shone their lights inside, they saw that the walls had been painted with dense, tangled foliage, bright leaves and lush fronds, close trunks of crowded and immense trees. It looked like a swatch of pristine worldforest. Shelud stared with awe, running his fingers over the images imprinted on the walls. The worldtrees were unmistakable—but how?

  Most of the chambers and bulkheads were bare metal, with no colors at all. He didn’t understand this particular vibrant painting.

  In a secondary module on spoke three, they discovered a vault where the angled walls were divided into interlocking triangular sections, enameled in bright primary colors. Each colored section was studded with raised designs, embossed symbols that tapered down to the triangles’ points, and unmistakable stylized patterns of worldtree fronds . . . but why here, in a sterile space city far outside an uninhabited solar system?

  Shelud ran his fingers down the vertex of a triangle marked with a frond, touched the raised alien letters. He pressed harder, hoping the language might respond in a tactile way. When he depressed the point, he felt the enameled plate vibrate and grow warm. Then the panel itself dissolved into a projected image.

  He gasped and snatched back his hand. Dale hurried over, and they both watched the image sharpen into the face of a parchment-skinned alien unlike any species Shelud had ever seen. The creature was small-statured and hairless, its head round and craggy, like a crudely formed boulder. It had large black eyes surrounded by jutting orbital ridges. The voice droned out incomprehensible words in an even, soothing sound, like a professor giving a lecture.