Seeing how haggard and weary her father looked, Osira’h wondered if he had experienced the terrible dread as well. Was he afraid to sleep? With the thoughts of all Ildirans thrumming through his mind, he, too, must have been sensitive to the shadow, the darkening strands of racial telepathy. Somehow the Shana Rei had infiltrated their racial network.
“Father, we all felt the nightmare,” Osira’h said.
“Nightmare . . . or maybe it was a message,” Rod’h interrupted. “The thism is growing dark. The Shana Rei are looking for weak points.”
Jora’h lifted his head, squared his shoulders. “I am the Mage-Imperator. I am the heart of the thism. I need to defend our race against all threats.”
In a rough voice, Gale’nh said, “We know the stories of how the Shana Rei attacked—not only by physically destroying worlds but also through subtle and insidious ways. How can Ildirans be strong enough to fight it?”
The Mage-Imperator rose to his feet. “Come to the rooftop. I need to be in the sunlight when we speak of this.”
They followed him to the top of the highest minaret tower where mirrors and lenses bathed the deck in rainbows. Jora’h sounded tired as he confessed, “I thought I was just experiencing nightmares, but they may be a manifestation of a more tangible darkness . . . something inside of me.”
“If it is inside of you, then it is in all Ildirans,” Muree’n said.
Gale’nh added, “You are the Mage-Imperator. You are the soulfire of our race.”
“And I am—I must be—strong enough to save us all,” Jora’h said.
Osira’h watched her father, listened to his voice, observed the determination in his eyes. He raised a hand to wipe the perspiration from his brow. For an instant—just a startlingly quick flicker—the veins on the back of his hand were highlighted by a tracery of black, then they returned to normal.
She grabbed his hand, touched his skin with her fingertips, but she could find no sign. He smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and Osira’h wasn’t sure she had seen anything at all.
ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN
TOM ROM
She was out there. He knew it.
Tom Rom extended his ship’s sensors, scanned for lingering exhaust particles or, more likely, residue leaking from the damaged engines. He knew he had scored at least one solid hit during the chase.
The Proud Mary was limping along, and the desperate pilot maneuvered as best she could, making suicidal moves and surviving them. The woman on that plague ship must be an extraordinarily talented flyer—or maybe just desperate enough to have no inhibitions or limitations.
Tom Rom would have admired that if she wasn’t causing him so much trouble.
Under normal circumstances, she would never have been able to elude him, but during the pursuit, Tom Rom was startled when his superior ship failed to respond as expected. His engines were sluggish; several minor systems failed, while others lit up with alarm indicators.
Then he realized his disadvantage. He had made only stopgap fixes after the Roamer pirates damaged his ship on Vaconda. Ideally, he would have had all repairs completed back at Pergamus, the engines primed, power blocks recharged, hull integrity checked. But he hadn’t taken the time to restore his ship to full operational status.
After hearing the news of the Onthos space city and the fascinating plague, he had raced off too quickly. No, he thought, not too quickly, since he’d arrived just in time. Even an hour later, and the Proud Mary would have been long gone with the only remaining vestiges of the fascinating microorganism.
Even so, his ship wasn’t ready for this. His systems weren’t capable of the full power he needed, which was a disappointing setback.
Now his ship prowled among the asteroids. He doubted Orli Covitz had any plan; she was simply reacting, making random course changes, trying to hide. She was good at that. Tom Rom drifted along, his ship’s systems alert for any trace, and he also kept his eyes open. Over the years, he had found that his own senses were just as reliable as artificial sensors. He had good instincts.
During the first chase, the desperate woman had jettisoned and detonated an ekti canister to distract him. The maneuver, though expected, had been effective. The soup of gases and reflective bodies in the expanding cloud of debris gave her camouflage among the roiling energy signatures. The flash from her exploding fuel canister had blinded him just long enough to let her dive into that briarpatch, and she’d hidden there like a rabbit, waiting. A smart move.
But Tom Rom was smarter. Sooner or later she would have to come out.
While he had hung there in silence, waiting for her to venture out of hiding in the debris cloud, he scoured his databases to learn what he could about his quarry. According to records, the Proud Mary was a trading vessel piloted by a pinch-faced woman named Mary Coven who always traveled alone. That image didn’t match the younger woman he had seen on his screens. Digging deeper, he found a recent notice that the piloting registration had been transferred to someone named Orli Covitz, and this flight must have been one of her first missions. An extraordinary way to start . . .
Hiding in the debris cloud, Orli Covitz lasted six hours longer than he had estimated, but he eventually saw the Proud Mary reactivate and ease out of the field. Covitz would be cautious, watching for any sign of him, but he had to let her get far enough from the debris cloud that it was no longer a viable hiding place. Then he set off in pursuit.
He opened fire without warning, hoping to cripple her ship so he could force his way aboard. All he needed was a blood and tissue sample, easy and efficient, but in the event that Orli refused to cooperate, he could take his sample with a hatchet, if necessary.
He chased the Proud Mary into the asteroid field, trying to match her maneuvers. She slipped through a group of tumbling rocks, but Tom Rom’s ship was larger and less graceful. A rough chunk of rock caromed off his hull; the shields were sufficient to protect him, but the ship went into a spin.
By the time he reoriented himself, Orli Covitz had lost herself among the rubble. He continued his pursuit, picking what he thought was her most obvious route. He tried to think the way she would think, see the opportunities as she would see them.
Unfortunately, he guessed wrong.
Maybe the disease was affecting Orli Covitz’s brain, and she was becoming increasingly irrational. Her flight pattern was erratic. When he finally gave up and doubled back, he studied her path, trying to discern a pattern. He picked up his own trail, but it didn’t lead him back to the Proud Mary. Tom Rom felt himself growing angry, but that could not be allowed. Zoe was counting on him.
His greatest fear was that Orli would just let herself die, or that she would self-destruct the ship—before he could get a sample of the disease. Then Zoe would lose that valuable item for her library, perhaps a vital organism.
He realized he should not have been so aggressive initially. Even without being pressed, the woman had offered to give him the data she had compiled. He should have accepted her files so that at least he had something to bring back to Pergamus. Then he could have found a way to take her blood as well.
It did no good to second-guess what he should have done.
He continued to scour the asteroid field. The disease would be worsening. Orli Covitz was going to die soon, and Tom Rom had to find her.
ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
ARITA
Arita used Sarein’s isolated hiveworm dwelling as a base and spent her days wandering out in the Wild, collecting samples, exploring—and leaving her reclusive aunt alone. The more time they spent together, though, the more intriguing and mysterious Arita found her.
Sarein still didn’t know how to react to having a stranger living with her. Arita had come over to the Wild fully intending to work in solitude, but she had hoped to hear her aunt’s stories about the Hansa and the Elemental War. Sarein had actually been a Theron ambassador trying to build bridges between the isolated and independent forest world and the Terran Hanseatic League!
Arita sensed that if she talked too much, Sarein would ask her to leave. Her aunt seemed to be looking for an excuse to grow annoyed with her, so Arita did not give her one. In the evenings, after coming back from her explorations, Arita didn’t ask questions or try to strike up conversations.
Every day she ranged farther and farther, returning to the hiveworm nest and the small sleeping area Sarein allowed her. As if inspired by her visitor, Sarein had turned her focus to her writing with a renewed vigor, adding extensive sections to her chronicle/confession. Sometimes after dark Sarein went back to her input pad and wrote for hours, glancing up occasionally at Arita as she catalogued her daily samples. Twice, Arita even heard Sarein humming while preoccupied, before the older woman caught herself and fell silent again, turning back to her writing.
One night Arita sat on the branch balcony outside the hiveworm nest and listened to the chirping, humming, simmering sounds of the worldforest after dark. She saw skirling lights, like a mobile constellation, and realized it was a small firefly swarm moving in an intricate ballet; some flew straight up through a gap in the trees, like shooting stars in reverse.
She was startled when Sarein came out to sit on the branch next to her and stared up at the sky visible through the high ceiling of fronds. “There’s so much out there, so many planets. . . . But I’m happy to be here now.”
Arita longed to start a conversation, but wasn’t sure whether or not she’d be successful. “I’ve been to many worlds myself, but I tend to choose isolated ones where I can do my work. On Eljiid, there were Klikiss ruins and a species of cactus that seemed to communicate. They’re called Whistlers.”
Sarein nodded. “When I was your age, I wanted to go away from Theroc too, but I set my sights on Earth. Theron was backward then—I was embarrassed by my own home. We had our green priests and forests, but Father Idriss and Mother Alexa refused to allow trading with the Hansa. I wanted to change all that. I thought it would benefit everyone if we could open commerce—sell worldforest products in Hansa markets, and welcome traders, settlers, visitors, tourists. On Earth, I’d seen the Hansa headquarters, the Whisper Palace, the Chairman himself. Back then, I had so much power, such influence. . . .”
Sarein frowned. “In the end, I achieved everything I wanted, but success wasn’t all I thought it would be.” She continued to stare at the stars. “And when I understood myself better, it brought me back here, full circle.” Though Sarein’s face was in shadow, Arita could see a wistful, forlorn look. Her aunt’s voice was barely a whisper. “Ah, Basil, I’m not even sure how I feel about you anymore.”
Sarein caught herself and stood up quickly. She looked disturbed by her thoughts. “I’m tired. You can stay out here longer, if you like.”
Arita was sure she had broken a thin barrier. Maybe from now on her aunt would give less clipped answers to general questions. Maybe she’d even enjoy Arita’s company, after a fashion. . . .
Before Sarein went to bed, Arita called to her, “Is that why you’re letting me stay here? Because I remind you of yourself when you were my age?”
Sarein answered with an odd laugh. “No. It’s because you don’t.”
ONE HUNDRED AND NINE
KING PETER
The Kutuzov and five other CDF ships arrived at Ildira, where they were met by Solar Navy warliners. General Keah’s flagship had been fully repaired by ambitious crewmembers during the flight carrying King Peter and Queen Estarra, though the hull still showed scarring from the robot and Shana Rei attacks at Plumas. Peter suspected that Keah viewed the marks as a matter of pride, and he noted that some of the colorful Ildiran battleships also showed signs of the recent combat.
On the Juggernaut’s bridge, General Keah turned to Peter and Estarra. “Once the Solar Navy delivers the designs for their sun bombs and laser missiles, I’ll make sure our weapons engineers put them into production at the Lunar Orbital Complex. Maybe our scientists can modify them, intensify them. But they’ll be starting the manufacturing from scratch.”
“Let’s hope we have them ready before the Shana Rei show themselves again,” Peter said.
“I’d rather they didn’t show themselves at all, Sire,” Keah said with a hard smile. “I suppose that’s not an option. We don’t have enough data yet to understand how to fight those things.”
“The Ildirans have more historical records,” Estarra said. “We’ll learn everything we can.”
The General lifted her chin. “You two and the Mage-Imperator can discuss the background and the ramifications. Adar Zan’nh and I will come up with a strategy.”
As their shuttle left the orbiting Kutuzov and descended through the bright atmosphere, forty-nine small streamers zipped past them in a flashy escort. One of the giant warliners even accompanied them down toward the Prism Palace. “The Ildirans always manage to find time for pomp and ceremony,” Peter said with a wry smile.
Keah opened the comm and said conversationally, “You’re such a showoff, Z.”
“Merely demonstrating our capabilities, General. Welcome to Ildira.”
When their shuttle landed at the Prism Palace, the escort streamers looped up and away, performing aerial acrobatics, their reflective hulls glittering in the sunshine. Adar Zan’nh emerged from his streamer and stood ready to accompany them. “When we begin our conversations, only essential personnel will be present,” he said, then lowered his voice. “And guards. We have had recent . . . security issues.”
Through the green priest network, Peter and Estarra knew about the bizarre assassination attempts against Nira. General Keah piped up, “We’ll have our own security detail as well. Just to be sure.”
Soldier kith marched out in a grand parade, and Ildiran nobles and bureaucrats ushered them through the crystal arches into the Prism Palace. Peter saw (but was not surprised) that the “essential personnel” included nearly seventy courtiers, military officers, trade ministers, rememberers, and some Ildiran kiths he could not identify, as well as Mage-Imperator Jora’h, the green priest Nira, and the scholar Anton Colicos. Numerous armed guard kith stood at attention, alert for danger . . . and seemed to be watching one another just as closely, as if they didn’t know where the threat might arise.
Estarra glanced around the crowded meeting room. “I was hoping we’d see Prince Reynald.”
Nira answered, “He and Osira’h may join us soon.”
Mage-Imperator Jora’h sat in his chrysalis chair, ignoring the gathered attendees and addressing the King and Queen. “You are our allies, and we face an enemy that may be greater than both of our civilizations combined. We need to share old fragments of our history that we thought—or hoped—were nothing more than legends. Our rememberers have been trying to learn as much as possible about the Shana Rei—where they come from and how they attack.”
General Keah, sitting at the table to the left of King Peter, said, “If I may, Sire? We know that one of those shadow clouds appeared near the Dhula moon after we discovered the Klikiss robot infestation. Something similar erupted from the clouds of Golgen and destroyed a Roamer skymine after defeating the hydrogues there.” She let the significance of that hang for a moment; everyone remembered how nearly invincible the hydrogues had been. “Another shadow cloud appeared at Plumas and kicked our butts. We don’t know what other targets they might have hit.”
Adar Zan’nh added, “Our exploration ship Kolpraxa also encountered the Shana Rei. Every crewmember was lost—except for Tal Gale’nh.”
He indicated a strikingly pale young man who sat quietly at one of the discussion tables. His vibrant and colorful Solar Navy uniform only seemed to emphasize his unnatural pallor. His drained appearance sent a shiver down Peter’s spine.
Mage-Imperator Jora’h said, “We do not know exactly how he survived. Gale’nh is a halfbreed, Nira’s son by Adar Kori’nh. His mind is different from any Ildiran’s or human’s.”
“We encountered the Shana Rei in the emptiness and they engulfed my ship,” said the pale off
icer. “Something pushed them out of their dark void, and now they are coming back to find us.”
“Worse, they’ve teamed up with the bugbots,” General Keah said, disgust heavy in her voice. “Their stated goal is to exterminate all sentient life in the Spiral Arm.”
Peter looked around, trying to focus the meeting. “I’m afraid we need to begin with even more basic information. Where do the Shana Rei come from, and why do they hate Ildirans so much? What initiated this conflict?” He knew all too well how humans had accidentally provoked the hydrogues.
Jora’h said, “Rememberer Anton Colicos, please enlighten us.”
The human historian wore rememberer robes. He cleared his throat, nervously brushing a hand through his gray-flecked hair. “That’s an ironic turn of phrase, Mage-Imperator. I’ll enlighten you about the creatures of darkness.” He grinned at his joke but no one laughed.
“Rememberers have been inventorying sealed chambers filled with ancient records.” He rearranged crystalline sheets on the table surface and pulled up an image on filmpaper. It was strange and surrealistic, a Rorschach blot of black ink in the center of which gleamed a baleful eye. “This is how the Shana Rei are depicted in the old documents we recently uncovered.” He showed it around, and the Ildirans muttered with great unease.
Anton continued with growing excitement. “Recently we made a remarkable discovery, uncovering an entire archive of prior weapon developments and tests from ancient times. We call it the Vault of Failures—records of every design that Ildiran scientists tried and discarded during the previous conflict. Some ingenious ideas there.”
Zan’nh frowned. “If they are all failures, how is that a useful discovery?”
Keah understood, though. “It saves us the trouble of doing all the development. We can avoid dead ends, maybe modify some of the experiments. That gives us a big head start. We have the sun bombs, but this might lead to something different. Maybe better.”
The Dark Between the Stars Page 53