The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Zoe closed the file on Dr. Hannig and his team. Her attorneys would handle closing out their employment, releasing insurance payments for the designated beneficiaries. They had excuses to make, false stories to file, loose ends to tie up. They were used to it by now.

  Tom Rom returned that afternoon.

  With a suddenly gladdened heart, she watched the images transmitted from her picket line scouts as his ship streaked in toward Pergamus. Her eyes sparkled, and her pulse quickened just to know he was all right, but his ship looked more battered than usual.

  “What took you so long?” she cried. “I was worried.”

  “Unforeseen difficulties. My ship was damaged on Vaconda, and I needed a few days to fix it up. It’ll require a full overhaul and cleaning, engine upgrades, resupply, and spare parts replacement, but my repairs were good enough to get me home.”

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  “It’s a long story. Nothing to concern yourself about. I am fine. I managed to obtain the records from Kuivahr, as well as intact samples of the Ramah brain parasite you asked for—and, of course, the shipment of prisdiamonds. That was what caused me a little trouble.”

  Zoe didn’t care about prisdiamonds. She had never been concerned with budgets or resources, because she always had enough to pay for whatever she wanted. After worrying about him for days, Zoe now needed to see Tom Rom, face-to-face, just like two normal people, and listen to the harrowing adventures he’d had on her behalf. “Land your ship. Our teams can make the necessary repairs while you go through the decontamination stages to see me.”

  Staring at her from the screen, Tom Rom looked tired but not weak; his posture remained so straight that she wondered if he ever bent his shoulders. “If I cycle through decon, that’ll be a twelve-hour delay. I’d like to see you very much, but there’s an urgent matter you should know about.”

  “How urgent?” Zoe tried to hide her disappointment.

  “I intercepted a message as I flew past Rhejak, and word is spreading through the green priest network. There’s a deadly plague sweeping through a Roamer space city.”

  Now Zoe perked up. “A new plague? Or something we’ve seen before?”

  She saw an unusual shine in his dark eyes. “Nothing any human has ever seen, Zoe.” He described the disease carried by the Klikiss, which had killed off an entire unknown race, and now had adapted to infect humans.

  Zoe caught her breath listening to this. “We’ve got to have it for the library.”

  “I already plotted a course. The Roamers quarantined their entire city, and they will all be dead shortly. I need to get there as soon as possible.”

  As much as she longed to see him, as much as she wanted his strength and his presence next to her—to ease the loneliness that was always there inside her cold, clean dome—Zoe wanted that alien plague more.

  “Go. Bring me a sample of that virus and any records the Roamers might have left behind.”

  No one else would have seen the flicker of a smile on his emotionless face, but she knew Tom Rom all too well. “I’ll do that, Zoe,” he said. “For you.”

  NINETY-TWO

  PRINCE REYN

  Ildirans instinctively kept time by the positions of multiple suns in the sky, but Reyn had to use a chronometer to tell him when it was time to sleep. With his worsening symptoms, he often became exhausted at inopportune times. On the other hand, the amazing sights and experiences in Mijistra gave him energy he hadn’t known he had. And he very much enjoyed Osira’h’s company.

  She was a considerate and enthusiastic tour guide. When the Mage-Imperator suggested the names of others who could show him highlights of Ildiran culture, Reyn assured him that he preferred Osira’h’s company. Nira gave them such a warm and indulgent smile that Reyn felt embarrassed.

  Now, when the Prince was well rested from a satisfying sleep, Osira’h said she had something important to show him. Laughing, she took him to one of the Prism Palace’s open landing decks where a long-range cutter waited. “I’m going to take you to one of the seven suns of Ildira. Durris-B.”

  Reyn adjusted his protective filmgoggles. “I’m seeing too much sun as it is.”

  “Not up close. And there’s something special about Durris-B. You’ll see.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with my hostess.”

  She led him aboard a cutter much too large for just the two of them, but Ildirans always liked to crowd too many aboard, so the combined thism would keep them from feeling isolated. Osira’h, though, was different in many ways, and when Reyn asked who else was going with them, she told him that his company would be enough.

  With the Ildiran stardrive at full power, they arrived at the nearby star within two hours.

  Durris was a trinary star system, a white and a yellow sun orbited by a red dwarf, and as Osira’h flew closer, the yellow sun filled the cutter’s view, blocking out its white and red companions. Durris-B swelled to become a sea of hot gases in front of them. With all shields on maximum and filters in place, Osira’h streaked forward as if she meant to plunge directly into the sun.

  Reyn felt awed and more than a bit intimidated. “Aren’t we close enough?”

  She shook her head. “You can’t see them yet.”

  He spotted cells of roiling gases, plumes of solar flares, ethereal coronal discharges . . . and something else. Bright flashes darted about like embers in a breeze.

  Osira’h glanced at him with her captivating eyes. “The faeros.”

  Reyn tried to cover his instinctive shiver. He’d only been a baby when the faeros devastated the worldforest. His parents had barely escaped, whisking him to safety as the trees burned. “I don’t . . . have fond memories of the faeros.”

  Osira’h remained at the controls but closed her eyes, as if she wanted to fly blind on purpose. “They’re neutralized—I helped neutralize them.” She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. “I can communicate, after a fashion.”

  “Do they listen to you?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t tried to exert my powers over them for a long time—there’s been no need. Nothing to worry about.”

  Prince Reyn did a brave thing and said, “In that case, I’ll trust you.”

  She guided the cutter close to Durris-B, where thousands of faeros frolicked in the star layers, riding the arcs of flares. Several fireballs streaked past their ship as if they could sense Osira’h. Reyn followed them through the filtered windowports, amazed. Like an angry nest of buzzbeetles stirred up in the sunlight, faeros circled the cutter before diving back into Durris-B.

  “I’ve never seen them this active before,” she said. “Something has riled them up.”

  “I thought you could communicate with them.”

  “I can send messages I want them to hear, but I don’t understand how they think. They are made of living, sentient fire—we don’t exactly have a common set of experiences.”

  Another shudder went through him, searing pain along his nerve lines, like the fire bursting from the faeros. He winced, fighting back his reaction, which had nothing to do with the faeros.

  Osira’h was deep in thought. “I wish I could understand what agitated them. . . .”

  She noticed his trembling, and her gaze locked on his arm, then traveled up to his drawn face. She stared at him, waiting, and he felt his walls breaking down. Reyn had told few people—his sister, Rlinda, some researchers—but as he sat close to Osira’h, who was so strange and beautiful and understanding, he had found another ally. A friend. That was one of the reasons he had come to Ildira in the first place.

  “I need your help,” he said, and ignoring the inferno outside their shielded cutter, he told her about his mysterious disease. “No one knows how to cure it, and I was hoping an Ildiran physician might. . . .” He couldn’t control his trembling now. “But I don’t want anyone else to know—not until I’m sure.”

  Ignoring the faeros, Osira’h veered the cutter away, changed course, and raced back to Ildira. Several
of the curious fireballs followed them for a time, flying in fiery loops, before they dropped back to the churning star.

  “Our best medical kithmen will devote themselves to the challenge,” Osira’h said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  The medical kithmen found Reyn to be a perplexing problem.

  After Osira’h made her request, the intense Ildiran doctors were completely dedicated to his case, convinced that if they found a cure then it would also honor the Mage-Imperator. They took samples and ran tests with diagnostic apparatus Reyn had never seen before. One of the doctors ran sensitive fingertips over his skin, as if he could telepathically pick up tiny flaws in Reyn’s DNA.

  They were fascinated by the challenge, in part because it gave them an opportunity to learn more about human genetics. Unfortunately, although they were eager and curious, they could offer Reyn little hope beyond promising to find out all that they could about the mysterious disease.

  He maintained his confidence, remembering what he had promised his sister, but Osira’h beseeched the researchers. “In the name of the Mage-Imperator, apply all your knowledge, all your imagination, all your skills to find a cure for this man.” Her eyes sparkled. “He is important to me.”

  The doctors bowed. “We will do everything possible, with all the resources of our kith. If it is within our power, we will find a treatment.”

  Reyn said, “Thank you.” And when Osira’h reached over and squeezed his hand, he felt even stronger.

  NINETY-THREE

  ARITA

  Arita spent her days in the Wild surrounded by the lush Theron forest and thousands of species just waiting to be documented and categorized. For the most part, Kennebar and his green priests ignored her, but how could she feel alone out here? She found the ecosystem endlessly fascinating, and it was a full-time job just to glimpse as many species as she could. Genuine understanding would come after years of investigation conducted by armies of naturalists. Arita could never do it all, but at least she was laying the groundwork.

  She would have been able to learn so much more if she could tap into the verdani mind like a green priest. Instead, when she was alone in the wilderness the tantalizing, even maddening, echo whispers did nothing to help. The sounds and thoughts simply reminded her how much of the worldforest remained out of her reach.

  The trees were huge and powerful, and occasionally the ghost whispers grew louder in her head. When she closed her eyes, she saw faint flashes of light, as if she were at the edge of a presence that was incredibly vast . . . more vast than even the worldforest.

  Arita continued her work, gathering vials of interesting spores, imaging fungal growths without destroying their delicate soft tissue, scanning myriad insects, even hard seedpods that startlingly took flight when she tried to pick them up.

  Arita could have stayed at home and not managed to document all the species within a few kilometers of the main fungus-reef city, but she wanted to put footprints in unexplored territory, to see exciting new plants and creatures in the Wild. She also wanted to get away—like her aunt Sarein had when she chose to exile herself to the empty continent.

  Decades ago, Sarein had been an influential person in the Hansa. Before the Elemental War, she’d been the lover of Chairman Wenceslas, an ambassador, and a manipulator who had made many questionable decisions, as well as a few wise ones. Arita didn’t know the full story; her mother did not talk much about her own sister, leaving the details in shadow, but Arita had always wanted to know more.

  One day, she packed up supplies, records, and equipment, double-checked the logs so that she had a general idea of where she was going, and set off in search of Sarein. She knew the general location where her aunt made her isolated home, and Arita wanted to get to know her and understand what she had done that caused her to hide from other people.

  On the way, Arita continued to image and collect samples. Of course, she would never convince Sarein that she had “accidentally” stumbled upon her out in the empty worldforest.

  She wandered farther afield, but found no sign of Sarein, though she was sure she had the location right. After two days, Arita focused her efforts more intensely, but gradually realized that she had no idea where to go. Eventually, Arita admitted that she was lost in the depths of the worldforest. She couldn’t even find her way back to the meadow and her ship.

  While growing up and running free through the forests, she had always had an instinctive feel for direction, but here, nothing looked familiar. With a sinking feeling, she sat down with her back against one of the worldtrees and forced herself to gather her thoughts. “Now what?”

  Collin descended from the fronds above, working his way down the trunk from one bark scale to another. He landed in front of her. “Need some help?”

  “I’m so glad to see you!” She didn’t want to let him see her relief. “Wait—have you been spying on me?”

  He shrugged his bare shoulders. “I don’t have to spy—the worldtrees see everything. But you are far from your ship—far from anything, in fact.”

  “I was looking for Sarein. I know she can’t be far from here.” Arita lowered her head. She’d gotten herself into this mess.

  Collin said, “All right, I confess, I was watching to make sure you were all right. You’re not even close to where Sarein lives, you know. Would you like a hint?”

  Indignant, Arita said, “I’m on the right continent, at least.” Chuckling, he took her hand. “Follow me.” He led her back to where she had been an hour before, then set off in a different direction. “I was going to try that way,” she said, “but I didn’t know.”

  He nodded. “It’s because you can’t hear the trees.” “Stop reminding me.”

  They were actually closer than Collin had implied. By late afternoon he led Arita to a tree from which dangled an empty hiveworm nest, a papery structure suspended between branches. The hive had once been filled with thrashing, ravenous worms, but after transforming into giant moths, they left their nest behind. Therons had long used hiveworm nests as dwellings.

  “There she is.” Collin pointed up at the hive, then lowered his voice. “Good luck.” He darted off into the worldtrees, and Arita was amazed at how quickly he vanished.

  From below, the hiveworm nest looked to be a clean, though austere, home, with a few window hangings and some technological conveniences Sarein had brought from the main continent.

  Hearing the voices, a woman appeared at one of the windows cut from the side of the papery nest and frowned down on Arita. “I came out of hiding for my father’s funeral, and now everyone thinks I’m ready to receive visitors?”

  “Not everyone,” Arita said. “Just me.”

  Sarein recognized her niece, of course, but she had never shown any particular warmth toward her. Arita lifted up her pack and samples to show them. “I’m collecting and cataloguing specimens from the Wild. Since I was on the continent, I wanted to talk with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Do I need a written agenda? I’ve been here alone for a couple of weeks. Kennebar and his green priests aren’t very hospitable.”

  Sarein made a sound of disapproval. “They choose to be alone as if it’s some matter of pride. I’m alone because the other parts of my life required it.”

  “Like when you used to work for the Hansa?” A troubled look crossed Sarein’s face, but she didn’t move from the window above. Arita continued. “I just want to visit, get to know you. But I’ll leave if I’m not welcome.” She started to walk away, hoping her aunt would respond.

  Eventually, she did. “Come on up, then, but I don’t have a lift. You’ll have to climb.”

  Arita laughed—as if that would present some sort of challenge. She secured her specimens, tightened her pack, and scrambled up to the nest.

  Everything in Sarein’s home was functional: no artwork, decorations, or other frippery. Expecting no guests, she had only one lightweight polymer seat, so Arita swung up into the cocoonweave hammock that served
as a bed. “What do you do here all day?”

  Sarein took the lone chair, which sat next to a flat platform she used as a writing desk. “I think, and I write down what I remember, the decisions I made, the events I was part of.” She hesitated. “All the crimes I watched Basil commit. I’ve tried to recreate my rationalizations for why I didn’t stop him. The reasons seem pretty weak now.”

  “So you’re writing your memoir?”

  “I’m documenting history—as objectively as I can. No excuses. I don’t need to paint myself with pretty colors.”

  “Can I read what you’ve written?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it for?”

  “For myself. I’ve spent years working through what I remember.”

  Now Arita thought she understood. “Ah, like a kind of confession.”

  Sarein frowned. “As I said, I’m documenting history. Sometimes when I get lonely I need to remind myself why I withdrew from public view.” She glanced at Arita’s sample packs and noted the Confederation logo. “I don’t miss any of it, and I don’t like interruptions. That’s why I wish those green priests hadn’t moved into my Wild.”

  Arita felt awkward, decided to respect her aunt’s privacy. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Back home I stay away from politics. Exploring nature is what makes me happy. Even though I’m the daughter of the King and Queen, all I ever wanted was to be a simple green priest.”

  Sarein looked at her with greater interest now. “Then why didn’t you? It’s a good tradition. My sister Celli is a green priest. So was my brother Beneto.”

  Arita’s eyes burned. “I tried . . . but that’s my story, and if you’re not going to tell me about yourself, then I have a right to keep my own secrets.”

  “Yes,” Sarein said. “Yes, you do.”

  At her small stove unit, she began heating water, to which she added ground worldtree seeds, making them each a cup of klee. “You can use my hive as a base camp, if you like. It’s better than sleeping on the ground—as long as you don’t bother me too much.”