A grin filled Dale’s face. “You and I just discovered a new alien race!”
“At least the remnants of one,” Shelud said.
Astonished, Shelud remembered where he had seen something like this: During the Elemental War, when the first giant treeships had come back from deep space, one of them had held a mysterious pilot, whose alien features had fused after millennia, becoming part of the tree’s heartwood. The pilot came from a forgotten race that had been connected with the worldforest. Long ago.
This creature looked similar. Could they be the same race?
Such a discovery was too important to keep hidden. When Dale confessed to his father that they had been exploring, he acted tentative and nervous. When Olaf began to rebuke Dale for wasting time and effort, Shelud insisted that he had encouraged Dale to search, because the worldforest had asked for details about the original builders and any cultural artifacts they had left behind.
After Dale and Shelud explained what they had discovered, Olaf could not keep the other Roamers from investigating their mysterious new home. Curiosity seekers and treasure hunters crowded into the library chamber, pressing enameled triangular plates and watching the projected images. All the recordings showed a similar lecturing alien, perhaps even the same individual. But since the Roamers could not understand the language, the records meant little beyond the novelty of observing a new alien race.
Despite Olaf’s disapproval, clan Reeves could not keep this great discovery a secret. Shelud reported the exciting news through telink, spending hours with his treeling to explain the treasure trove of knowledge aboard the empty city they had named Okiah.
Back in the Confederation, numerous xeno-archaeologists were fascinated, and offered to send large teams to complete the exploration “in a professional fashion,” but Shelud honored his promise and refused to reveal the location of the space city.
“I won’t have swarms of strangers picking our place apart,” Olaf grumbled. “We came here. We took the risk, and this is our home.” The clan leader did, however, grudgingly allow exploration parties to continue the investigation, provided their work did not suffer. And Shelud reported the findings.
Pursuing an idea, Shelud brought his treeling into the library chamber. Although humans couldn’t understand the alien language—not yet—he thought the knowledge might exist somewhere in the vast verdani mind. He depressed the point of an enameled triangle, playing a report while his mind was connected to the worldforest and all the ancient knowledge there. The strange-sounding alien language droned in his ears.
To Shelud’s delight, the worldtrees understood.
As the green priest played the alien records, the verdani mind passed information back to him—not a word-for-word translation, but a basic summary of concepts. Listening to the unfolding story, he was filled with wonder. . . .
Later, he met with the Roamer families in an amphitheater chamber for a small clan convocation. Beside him, Dale Reeves listened with bright eyes, as Shelud said, “They called themselves the Onthos, a quiet and passive race that inhabited a dozen star systems. The Onthos did not conquer worlds, did not build a vast empire. The verdani were aware of them ages ago.”
“What do the records say?” Olaf asked. “Why did the Onthos build this city so far from any planet?”
“The Klikiss preyed upon their race in a swarm war. The Onthos were attacked on their planets, wiped out on one colony world after another—the Klikiss destroyed anything in their way. The Onthos were nearly exterminated, and the survivors fled here. Over the years they built this refuge fortress far from any planetary system the Klikiss might be interested in, living where they would not be hunted. They took in refugees from their devastated Onthos planetary colonies. This was their last hiding place.”
“If this city was their sanctuary, then where did the aliens go?” asked Dale’s wife, Sendra.
“That part isn’t in the records,” Shelud said.
Dale suggested, “That was thousands of years ago. After the Klikiss left on their swarming, maybe the Onthos didn’t need to stay here anymore. They wouldn’t have to hide.”
“Then why haven’t we found any trace of these aliens anywhere else in the Spiral Arm?” asked another Roamer. Shelud still didn’t know everyone’s name.
“We haven’t explored every planet in the Spiral Arm,” said Bjorn, the head spacecraft engineer.
“It doesn’t matter.” Olaf Reeves was impatient with the discussion. “The important thing is that this city is empty, and we’ve claimed it as our own clan’s sanctuary. Now that the mystery is solved, we can focus on other things.”
Shelud didn’t think the mystery was solved, and numerous questions remained. Countless chambers remained to be explored, including one entire spoke of the derelict city.
Four days later, Shelud and Dale went to one of the last main modules in the only remaining spoke left to explore, the most remote section on its extended axis. Prominent pink triangles were painted on the entry hatch. Unlike the colorful triangles in the library module, these were crude. The electronics of the hatch had been damaged, so Dale had to work for an hour before he could force the barrier open.
Inside, they found the bodies.
SIXTY-EIGHT
OSIRA’H
Adar Zan’nh flew his warliners back to Ildira at top speed, bearing the only survivor of the Kolpraxa.
After rescuing Tal Gale’nh from the command nucleus of the blackencased ship, the uneasy scout team was anxious to depart, fearing the return of the Shana Rei. Zan’nh insisted they remain long enough to scour the ship’s log computers, but all systems had been wiped clean. Gale’nh was the only one who could say what had happened, and he had fallen back into an overwhelmed silence. There were no other survivors.
They marked the position of the Kolpraxa, and abandoned the empty vessel.
During the flight back into the denser star systems of the Spiral Arm, Osira’h did not leave her brother’s side. Except for occasional glimmers of consciousness, pale and ghostly Gale’nh remained in a detached state. The medical kithmen could find no physical damage, no reason for the loss of color in his hair and the bleaching of his skin.
Osira’h wondered if he had been changed by profound and incomprehensible shock, a depth of fear that no other Ildiran could understand. Everyone else aboard the Kolpraxa had been obliterated by it, but her halfbreed brother was different. She understood what it meant to be unique.
As Osira’h reached into his thoughts using her telepathic connection, she began to bring him back from the dark wilderness inside his head. This was a different sort of battle than when she had forced the hydrogues into submission; now she fought against Gale’nh’s own turmoil, tried to take the dark from him.
In his mind, she saw glimpses of the Kolpraxa’s command nucleus, the panic of the crew as the whole ship was engulfed, in murderous shadows, his fellow Ildirans being torn into atoms and winking out of existence. Gale’nh had found an unexpected strength that the rest of his crew did not have, and now Osira’h experienced how he had fought, grabbing a few nearby crewmembers, trying to hold them, save them . . . and failing.
Then he was left all alone on an empty ship in the infinite dark.
Osira’h took those flashes of memory and tried to ease his mental burden, while fighting the instinctive terror it evoked in her too. She shored up her brother’s strength as the warliners flew back to the Ildiran Empire.
And there could be no doubt: it was the Shana Rei, she sensed it, knew it, though she couldn’t comprehend the details that her brother had buried deep within his mind. Osira’h told Adar Zan’nh what she had learned. Though shocked and disturbed, none of the Ildirans were surprised to hear it.
The Shana Rei.
Eventually, Gale’nh awoke, although he couldn’t yet face the thought of speaking, or even remembering.
Back home under the light of the seven suns, with the comforting blanket of millions of other Ildirans nearby, Gale’nh gr
ew stronger. He spent several days in Mijistra’s primary medical facility.
Osira’h remained with him as much as possible, supporting him by being there, touching him with her thoughts to reinforce his mental armor. Nira came to stand vigil beside her son. Though she had no access to the thism, she read to him for hours, as she had once done as an acolyte to the worldforest. Muree’n hovered at the door of Gale’nh’s room, as if standing guard against the shadows. Rod’h stood next to Osira’h, concerned, angry, and insisting that the Mage-Imperator take some kind of action, though he couldn’t define what that might be. Only Tamo’l was absent, responding to a crisis with her misbreeds on Kuivahr. She had also sensed the terrible stress and sent a deeply concerned message, but she could not abandon the hundreds of tortured lives that depended on her.
Finding no physical damage to treat, the medical kithmen released Gale’nh and sent him back to the Prism Palace. For days he sat looking weak and lost, even as he bathed in the bright magnified light that shone through curved crystal ceilings. He would clasp his siblings’ hands, drawing strength from their presence.
Finally, one afternoon he looked at those gathered around him, shuddered, and began to speak in a halting voice. He looked from Nira to Osira’h, to Adar Zan’nh, who also came to visit him every day, and finally he addressed them all.
“I can’t explain what happened to me or where the rest of my crew went. The Kolpraxa investigated a dark nebula—that was our mission, to explore the unknown. The Mage-Imperator commanded it.” His voice was ragged, his pale face drawn. “And the shadow swallowed us.”
Rod’h asked, “But hundreds of Ildirans were aboard the Kolpraxa—why were you spared? Is it because you are a halfbreed, like us? Were you stronger?”
“The darkness came at us through the thism—that much I remember. The others had nothing else to fall back on.” Gale’nh reached out and clutched Osira’h’s and Rod’h’s hands. “Rememberer Ko’sh knew it before anyone else did, and I dismissed his ideas, but it was the Shana Rei . . . and they are more fearsome and more incomprehensible than we could ever imagine.”
Adar Zan’nh had brought a crystal sheet coupled with an image projector, which he placed before Gale’nh. “I did not show you this aboard the warliner, because I thought it might be too terrifying—but I need to know. Are you strong enough to see these images? This is what we encountered near Dhula.”
He activated the crystal screen and showed the robot ships escaping from the ice moon. When Gale’nh saw how the shadow cloud engulfed the enemy ships, he turned away. “That is what we encountered.” He shivered, and his breathing quickened. He closed his eyes, then forced them open to look at the images; perspiration stood out in clear beads on his forehead. “It wasn’t a nebula or a dust cloud. It was . . . alive somehow. It was darkness.”
Rod’h was grim. “It matches the records of the Shana Rei.”
A silence filled the room. No one could argue with the assessment.
Gale’nh gave a slow, weak nod. “They are a darkness in the fabric of the universe, and they are seeping through the cracks, oozing everywhere.” He shivered and held out his hands as if to draw in more of the sunlight. “The Kolpraxa didn’t awaken the Shana Rei—I know that. Something else did. But now the darkness is everywhere.”
Osira’h was concerned. “Is the darkness inside you?”
Rod’h hardened. “And did you bring it back among us?”
Gale’nh touched his chest, his face. “No . . . but it exists.”
Adar Zan’nh said, “This is a new kind of enemy, and we have to understand it. There must still be plans and designs for the old weapons we used against the Shana Rei.”
Nira said, “When I returned from Theroc after we learned of a mysterious shadow attack on a Roamer skymine, the Mage-Imperator commanded the rememberer kith to comb through the Saga. He asked them to find all information about the Shana Rei.”
Adar Zan’nh nodded. “The Solar Navy fought them before, so we need the details. What weapons were effective? Didn’t Tal Bria’nh use sun bombs at Orryx? How do we build them? We need to know again.”
Osira’h said, “The Saga is not complete in its story of the Shana Rei. Many records were sealed away when other Mage-Imperators rewrote parts of history.”
Nira smiled. “That’s why Jora’h also asked Rememberer Anton Colicos to scour all records from that time, even the ones buried in document crypts. He has a more open mind than most Ildiran rememberers.”
“There is one weapon that no one will find in the ancient records.” Rod’h was edgy, defiant. It seemed important to him that he prove his own worth. He faced Adar Zan’nh. “The Kolpraxa’s crew were not strong enough to resist the Shana Rei, but Gale’nh was. Maybe my sisters and I will be, too.”
He looked at Osira’h and Muree’n, then finally rested his eyes on Nira. “Maybe the Ildiran Empire will once again need the strength of your halfbreed children, Mother.”
SIXTY-NINE
SHAREEN FITZKELLUM
Following the evacuation of Golgen, some of the skyminers went to Theroc while others headed to Newstation for transfer back to their own clans. The Kellums and Fitzkellums all came to Kuivahr.
After the traumatic experience, Shareen’s parents thought Howard should go back home to be with his family, but the young man wanted to stay with the Roamers and keep learning. “My parents won’t care. Now that I’m on Kuivahr, I can learn everything about the distillery business.” He blinked at Shareen. “Unless you don’t want me here?”
She gave him a quick hug, then brushed it off with an embarrassed laugh. “Of course I . . . we want you to stay, Howard! You were the only person who made school tolerable. Just imagine how much fun we can have here.”
“I’d rather be with you too.”
When her grandfather stood on the decks of his Kuivahr distillery, he seemed proud and defiant, even after the horrific events on Golgen. Del was a big bearded man looking out across a kingdom composed of soupy mudflats. “We’ll come back and we’ll be just fine, by damn,” he said. “I’ve rebuilt from scratch before.”
“I haven’t,” Shareen said, not impressed. “My whole life was centered around being a skyminer. I knew everything about the reactors and filtration chain, Golgen’s winds and cloud composition. I don’t know anything about running a distillery.”
“Roamers have to learn on-the-fly, my sweet.” Del gestured out toward the mucky plankton-rich tidal flats. “Expand your horizons.”
“Does it always smell like this?” asked Howard Rohandas. He sounded genuinely curious, not complaining.
Shareen was glad he was still here with them. The odor did seem particularly rich that morning.
Del said, “What you smell is a wealth of raw materials. We scoop up the slime, process it, and make a fortune.”
“Or at least we make a mess,” Patrick Fitzpatrick said.
Shareen’s mother was more optimistic. “By the Guiding Star, Dad, we’ll make this the most efficient distillery in the Spiral Arm. Your granddaughter’s a genius. Who knows? She and Howard might even figure out how to make a brew that’s halfway drinkable.”
Del felt the need to continue his pep talk. “Our clan ran shipyards in the rings of Osquivel, by damn, and when we lost those, we moved our operations up to the cometary cloud. When I got tired of that, I went back to skymining. Then I served fifteen years as Speaker for the clans. Now I’ve got this distillery.” He stomped his foot on the metal deck. “And I’m damn pleased with it.”
Patrick pointed out, “Your grandfather is saying that he hopes you lead a much more stable life than he did.”
Shareen knew they would indeed survive. Once she and Howard learned the basic distilling principles, she was sure the two of them could improve the production operations, much as they had done on the Golgen skymine.
Marius Denva, the distillery manager, said he was glad to have Del Kellum back. Puffed up, Del said, “Did everything fall apart while I was away?”<
br />
Marius couldn’t hide his teasing smile. “Actually, in day-to-day operations we didn’t notice a bit of difference. I just wanted you back as our first taster to fine-tune that special eyeballs-boiled-in-urine taste you appreciate so well.”
Shareen and Howard made plans to tour the facility, and Toff wanted to tag along so he could tease the two of them, just like a pesky brother. But when Zhett suggested that he check out a mudskimmer and cruise across the plankton flats, Toff decided that making a mess of himself in the mud sounded like fun.
Instead of showing them the engineering and mechanics of the distillery, Marius Denva suggested that Shareen and Howard first take advantage of the extreme low tide. “Have a look at the distillery from the shore. Get the big picture. You don’t often see it so high and dry.”
So she and Howard donned work boots and protective jumpsuits, then went down to the water line. It was a hazy, sunny day, and the retreating water had left a foul-smelling slurry. They stayed on the support deck, wary. Shareen bent down to dangle her fingers in the muck. The greenish brown slime, rich with plankton, had the consistency of thick phlegm. “This would suck you right down like quicksand—unless the smell itself keeps you afloat.”
The distillery towered above them on tall support legs with retractable launching chutes that could be adjusted according to the rising and falling sea level. Howard drank in the details, shading his eyes to look across the tidal basin.
The Kuivahr mudflats swirled with colors, magenta and yellow blooms splotched the surface like spilled paint where plankton species thrived in the ocean interface zone. With each lunar cycle, the waters rushed in to flood the mudflats and stir the nutrients, then rushed back out again, leaving thick layers of plankton redolent with minerals and oxidation chemicals.
Mobile Kuivahr kelp colonies were like forests that migrated from place to place; during low tide the kelp anchored its roots and burst forth dazzling green and blue blossoms. From where they stood at the base of the support walk, Shareen could see one of the transient kelp forests half a kilometer away.
The Dark Between the Stars Page 35