Horizon Storms (19 page)

Now, weeks later, Udru’h was returning to the island to make sure Nira still survived. As he circled, he saw where the woman had built a shelter for herself out of dead wood. Her emerald skin would photosynthesize sunlight for nourishment. For an Ildiran, such isolation would have been the most appalling punishment. But Nira was strong. He had observed that much through her tribulations in the breeding camp.

Landing his ship in an area without dense trees, he climbed out of his craft and breathed the moist air, so different from the dry grassy hills to the north. The sun prickled his scalp as he narrowed his eyes and looked war-ily for her. He wondered if Nira had gone mad, if she would rush out at him holding a rock as a weapon.

Instead, she came forward, standing tall, naked except for a loincloth.

She looked at him with anger on her face, but no fear. He saw as much con-tempt as resignation. “You are recovered from your injuries,” Udru’h said.

“You appear healthy and strong, even in complete isolation.”

“I am not alone. I have the trees.” She seemed to draw strength from the strange knobbly growths with wide fanlike leaves. “And anyplace is better than your breeding camps.”

“Many of the Burton descendants would disagree.” He looked back and forth, feeling the growing anxiety of isolation under the vast openness of the broad lake, the empty sky. The company of the human gave him no comfort, for she was separate from the thism.

Nira approached him, so confident and strong that Udru’h took a half step backward. She knew that he hated to be alone, damn her! “I have weapons,” he said, and she smiled. He cursed himself for showing a glint of fear.

“You may think you have sent me into a terrible exile, but to me this is a small section of paradise, with plenty of water, trees, and sun. I have found edible fruits and roots to supplement my diet.” She raised her emerald arms. “This is not the terrible prison you intended. I can live here for years.”

Both of them knew she had no chance of escaping. The calm lake extended to the uninhabited horizon, with no other land in sight. Even if Nira managed to traverse the unmarked water to the nearest shore, where would she go from there? She was better off here, where Udru’h knew her location. Someday he might need to take her back to civilization. . . .

“I know what you’re doing,” Nira said. “Your life is a lie. Everything about Dobro is a lie, and you’re hiding me here just as you’re hiding all the descendants of the Burton.”

“Perhaps.” The Designate retreated another step closer to his ship, anxiety growing within him. He was eager to get back to the breeding colony, where he could be around other Ildirans and feel their comforting presence. “But bringing you here was necessary. Humans are easily fooled.

My brother Jora’h is not quite so . . . gullible.”

“No,” she said with a smile. “He will find me.”

315BASIL WENCESLAS

Behind closed doors Basil looked each of his closest advisers in the eye and knew that they would give him honest opinions and careful analyses. They’d better. This was how work got done. This was how progress was made. And this was how the future of human civilization was determined.

The true details of how the Hansa was run need not concern the majority of its citizens.

106

Basil left his cardamom coffee untouched as he took charge of the private meeting. “First off, Admiral Stromo, display a complete summary of ekti stockpiles across the Spiral Arm. For the new colonization initiative, I need to know which supplies are most conveniently placed next to Klikiss planets. Those will serve as our main hubs.”

The liaison officer’s underlings had already prepared the report, sketching out distribution points and EDF depots. Ever since the harsh suppression of the stockpilers on Yreka, other fringe colonies had fallen in line and surrendered their illicit caches. Basil was confident of a fairly accurate projection.

Now, as the tablescreen displayed the datapoints, Basil turned to his deputy. “Mr. Cain, give me reasonable projections of how much stardrive fuel we can acquire in the next six months, factoring in regular Roamer production as well as the anticipated output of the Hansa’s own cloud harvester on Qronha 3. We’re expecting the first shipment soon, aren’t we?”

“By tomorrow or the next day, sir.”

The modular cloud harvester was up and operational four full days sooner than expected, and the green priest Kolker was sending regular updates. Sullivan Gold had sent the first cargo of ekti back faster than Basil’s most optimistic projections.

“Earmark it for the colonization initiative. I want to keep moving full steam ahead while people are optimistic.”

The pallid deputy nodded. “It’s like the land rush in the Old West, bound to affect markets everywhere. Investors will be scrambling to get a piece of the resources on unmapped planets.”

Basil tapped his fingertips on the table and finally sipped his coffee.

“We are in the business of making fortunes, even dynasties. To do so, we have to keep the ball rolling.”

“Considering our vital military needs, Mr. Chairman,” General Lanyan grumbled, “I don’t think it’s wise to give so much stardrive fuel to colonists. It runs counter to your argument that the Klikiss transportals eliminate our requirement for ekti.”

Basil frowned at the EDF commander. “Eventually that will be true, General, but our start-up expenditures of ekti are enormous. We’ll have to deplete our current stockpiles to deliver equipment, food supplies, prefab housing, even people. It’s like railway transportation. Once you get on the

rail lines, you can move anywhere from one station to another—but first everyone has to get to the nearest train station.”

Cain continued the explanation in a calm voice. “Also, General, once the transportal network is in place, we can bypass our dependence on the Roamers for their overpriced ekti supplies. Nor will we need to pander to Theroc for their green priests—who keep leaving the EDF—because we’ll have our own method of instantaneous communication, at least around a planetary network. And finally, because we’ll not need hydrogen from gas giants, we won’t even be provoking the drogues.”

Admiral Stromo looked relieved. “I remember when our biggest worry was trouncing rebellious colonists who didn’t pay their tariffs.”

“For now, though, the war goes on,” the General said. “As you ordered, Mr. Chairman, we have prepared three more Klikiss Torches and are ready to deploy them. We must determine appropriate targets.”

“One must ask, Mr. Chairman, if now is truly the best time to escalate tensions with the hydrogues.” Cain kept his expression bland, playing devil’s advocate. “Why not just lie low and let the hydrogues keep fighting the faeros while we get the transportal initiative going at full capacity?”

“Because they will keep hitting us,” Lanyan said. “The hydrogues have shown that they mean to crush us wherever they can. We need another target to show them that we mean business, that we can hurt them.”

“I concur. Any gas giant will do, so long as it has hydrogues inside.”

Basil took a breath, anxious for results now that he had finally made up his mind to use their ultimate weapon. “And how is the performance of the new-model Soldier compies so far?”

“We are quite pleased, Mr. Chairman. Considering how well the compy-crewed warships performed in test missions, I intend to put them to wider use. In the meantime, our shipyards are cranking out battleships—Juggernauts, Mantas, Thunderheads, and Remoras—by the thousands. Without the supplemental Soldier compies, we wouldn’t have adequate crews to place aboard all those vessels.”

Cain interrupted the General, smiling with a little pride. “So, I thought, why not use the Soldier compies more extensively? The EDF

seems satisfied with this approach—it’s the new idea you requested of me, Mr. Chairman.”

“Modified ship designs that take advantage of the expendable nature 108

of the compies.” Lanyan pushed a plan across the tabletop to Basil, who scrutinized the designs.

Stromo eagerly explained, wanting to take credit. “Notice that the armor in these modified cruisers is significantly increased, and the engines occupy more of the available space. We’ve eliminated living quarters and unnecessary life-support systems. In front, it’s basically a flying hunk of solid, impenetrable armor.” He shrugged as if that were all the information Basil needed.

“And what is the purpose? Soldier compies fly them?”

Cain said, “They’re designed to ram hydrogues, just like that Ildiran Adar did on Qronha 3. We can build these ships, use Soldier compies to perform most of the vital functions, then turn them loose. We’ll need only a bare skeleton crew of humans to make snap decisions.”

Basil continued to study the plans, nodding, but raised a question.

“We sent one reconnaissance fleet to Golgen that was crewed by Soldier compies, but that entire group vanished without a trace. Five Mantas and a Juggernaut gone.”

“They were doing hydrogue surveillance, Mr. Chairman,” Stromo said, sounding apologetic. “No wonder they were destroyed. But if we turn that fact on its head, design these ships to be destroyed, we’ll take out the big pointy beachballs each time.”

“All right,” Basil said. “But do you expect the human skeleton crews to become kamikazes? Why should they sit on the bridge of these rammers and drive them smack into a warglobe?”

Lanyan and Stromo looked at each other as if the answer was obvious.

“I’m sure we can find enough volunteers, Mr. Chairman—”

“But not necessary,” Cain interrupted in a quiet, reasonable voice. “We could modify the design so that the bridge crew ejects some sort of lifeboat at the last minute. It would give them a chance, at least.”

“If you like,” Lanyan said, frowning.

“All right. I authorize it—reallocate shipyard resources and get this into the production schedule. The people want to see us killing hydrogues. It might cost us dearly, but we’ve got to sting back.”

“We can have the first group of sixty ships completed in six months, Mr. Chairman,” Stromo said.

General Lanyan added, “This rammer fleet will allow us to pick and

choose our targets, wipe out drogue infestations at our convenience. One planet at a time.”

“An excellent start,” the Chairman said.

An emergency message appeared on Cain’s deskstream. The deputy leaned forward, perplexed. Basil set down his coffee cup and waited in silence. When Cain looked up, Basil took hope from the fact that the deputy’s expression was more puzzled than horrified.

“The datapoints have been accumulating for days, Mr. Chairman. One of my assistants recognized a pattern and checked other reports. The result is clear, though I don’t understand what it means.”

Basil tried to control his impatience; by now everyone else in the room had fallen silent, waiting.

“It’s the ekti shipments from the Roamers. All of the regularly scheduled deliveries failed to arrive. Every single one. The clans have cut us off everywhere . . . with no explanation.”

Since normal hours meant nothing to the Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League, Sarein came to him in his private rooms before dawn.

She was one of a very few people who could slip through his guard, and he had allowed it for many years. Their long-standing relationship had grown surprisingly comfortable, and Basil tried not to pay much attention to it, taking her for granted. It would be a weakness to rely on her too much, but he enjoyed her company.

Basil had slept for four hours—more than usual—and the young Theron woman had clearly made up her mind to wake him pleasurably. Recently, after losing both of her brothers to the hydrogues, Sarein had seemed to need his companionship more and more, but instead of letting her get closer, Basil found himself drawing away. For the time being, however, her increased dependence on him hadn’t reached the point of being bothersome. Not yet.

Sarein had used her own passcode, a gift he’d presented to her many years before and one that she dared not abuse. She wore filmy cocoon-weaves and a scarf around her shoulders to signify her ambassadorial status. The clinging garments showed off the contours of her body to good effect. She stood at his doorway, smiling in the golden light that spilled 110

through the transparent roof of his penthouse. “Good morning, Mr. Chairman.”

He sat up in bed, granting her a smile, which she took as encouragement. Sarein began a seductive peeling of her clothes, unwinding one exotic cloth after another. By now, he should have grown tired of looking at her, or at least accustomed to her body—but he still found considerable merit in watching Sarein.

Since the attack on Theroc, she and Queen Estarra had eagerly awaited any report from their world, and the two sisters had pored over all images and summaries delivered by EDF recon ships after the initial rescue mission. Sarein had asked Basil, as a personal favor, to send more aid to Theroc, but he had decided not to, since the people there had always blithely ignored all of his requests for help in the past. He didn’t want to burn bridges, but neither did he want to be too helpful.

In the meantime, Sarein had lost some of her focus, slipping, growing needier, which set off warning bells in Basil’s mind. As the official ambassador, Sarein realized that she should go back home, at least to tour the destruction, but she was clearly glad to stay on Earth. Basil gave her all the political excuses she needed to remain in the Palace District, since he preferred to have her around. Stability was a rare enough commodity these days.

When she stood naked in the light of sunrise, Basil did not hide his genuine admiration. Sarein was perfect, not just in her breasts and thighs and mocha skin, but also in her understanding of politics and her desire to accomplish goals that were very similar to his own. They did fit very well together.