Horizon Storms (56 page)

Only his stubborn brother had refused. The new Imperator’s unquestioning guards still held Designate-in-waiting Pery’h under house arrest within the citadel palace, refusing to let him see anyone. Thor’h had gone to speak with his brother several times, alternately taunting and pleading with him, but still Pery’h refused to see the obvious, though he was utterly isolated and suffering for it.

Unlike the rest of Hyrillka’s population, no one of the Mage-Imperator’s bloodline could be forced to cooperate with the new network of thism.

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Pery’h had to change his mind willingly, had to break of his own accord from his deluded father. But the young man refused—and it was beginning to be a problem for his uncle’s plans. . . .

Within three days, Thor’h proudly presented the new chrysalis chair to Rusa’h, who lay with glazed eyes, still recovering from the castration knife that had given him complete access to the parallel thism network.

Rusa’h was nearly strong enough to go out among his people again, and when he saw the chrysalis chair, his face lightened like the brightest sunrise in the Horizon Cluster. “It is magnificent. Thor’h, you are truly my Prime Designate.”

Thor’h stood beside his uncle, beaming with pride. Because the new Imperator had issued orders that none of his converted followers was to consume any more shiing and thereby weaken the restrung thism network, he felt a bit unsteady from the first stages of withdrawal. All of the drug Hyrillka produced would now be stockpiled for the conversion of other worlds. Thor’h had depended on the stimulant for so long that now his body craved it, shook with his need for it. But simply being a part of Rusa’h’s bright new thism was enough to give him strength.

Assisted by Thor’h and a chattering group of attenders, the Imperator raised himself and took his position in the new chrysalis chair. He settled in, grasped the curved sides, then activated the lifting mechanism that held him above the polished floor.

“According to the pilgrims I have dispatched to observe him, my brother Jora’h now allows his feet to touch the ground. He claims to be the Mage-Imperator, yet he walks about like a man, equal to other men.”

Rusa’h’s face darkened with disgust. “He has so lost his way that he will never regain the shining path. As the true and real Imperator of our people, I intend to adhere to the purity of our traditions, as decreed by the Lightsource.”

“Another reason why we must follow you, Uncle.” Thor’h ran his fingers over the chair’s inlaid jewels and meticulous carvings.

“Now that I am mobile, I wish to inspect the new nialia fields, the irrigation canals, and the shiing-production facilities. They will become the cornerstone of my expanding rule.”

“No one has rested since their conversion, Liege. All other crops have been burned and plowed under for fertilizer. New canals are being dug, P R I M E D E S I G N A T E T H O R ’ H

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and every single agricultural kithman is devoting his or her greatest ingenuity to expanding the plantmoth growth and distribution.”

The chrysalis chair started forward, and Thor’h accompanied it. They passed vine-covered columns that framed the open courtyard where Rusa’h had once held his celebrations and parties . . . and now his important audiences. Attender kithmen scrambled about, clearing the way, while four loyal courtiers strode ahead to announce the Imperator’s passage.

Rusa’h sent them all away. “I wish to travel alone with my Prime Designate. Tell the workers in the nialia fields that I will address them when I reach the harvesting and distillation facility.”

Attenders ran about like a swarm of insects, frantically doing what they were told; noble kithmen stepped aside, bowing reverently as the chrysalis chair passed. Reaching the nearest fields, Rusa’h guided the chair out onto one of the silvery irrigation channels. As Thor’h walked beside him at the edge of the waterway, the chrysalis chair moved like a ceremonial barge along the mirrorlike water.

Glittering creatures swam in the canals, jellyfish that fed on water, nutrients, and sunlight to grow into a protein-rich gelatinous food source. Pe-riodically workers skimmed the canals with large screens to catch the jellyfish, which were consumed raw in joyous feasts. Rusa’h had given orders for the jellyfish to be harvested regularly, preserved, and added to the food stockpiles, which were then rationed, now that all of Hyrillka’s agricultural lands had been converted to shiing production.

“Will we have enough food for our population, Liege?” Thor’h had asked.

“We will soon conquer other worlds, starting with the Horizon Cluster. Shiing is the key, and therefore other crops are secondary. Once my new thism web spreads, we will have all the food of other planets, and my new armies of loyal Ildiran subjects will feed us.”

As the two gracefully moved among the nialias, male plantmoths fluttered about, seeking female flowers to fertilize. Organized laborers marched through the fields, harvesting transplantable shoots and hard seeds. Other Ildirans drained milky bloodsap from ripe pods, collecting every drop and passing it along to runners, who delivered the vessels to the distillation facility, where the potent liquid drug would be preserved in its raw pearlescent form.

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The majority of these workers were not agricultural kithmen bred to serve in the nialia fields, but Imperator Rusa’h’s new thism had shaped all kithmen into a combined unit, and now he needed farmers more than he needed other castes. Even bureaucrats, singers, and diggers went to work in the sweeping fields, planting, tilling, harvesting. Across the Hyrillkan continents, people of all kiths continued to spread the nialia plantings.

Rusa’h’s objective was to increase shiing production tenfold. It was the only way he could bring other Ildirans into the tapestry of his vision.

At the mosaic-tiled spaceport, where Adar Kori’nh had long ago arrived with his warliners to take the young Prime Designate back to Ildira—the first part of his father’s treachery—Thor’h had now issued orders for all of Hyrillka’s spaceships to be modified and refitted. Even cargo vessels were given additional hull armor and outfitted with both defensive and offensive weapons. Previously, only Solar Navy ships had borne arms, but Imperator Rusa’h insisted that many ways must change in order to wrench the Ildiran race back onto the Lightsource path from which it had strayed.

Shiploads of concentrated raw shiing were readied for Imperator Rusa’h’s next step. Thor’h did not know his uncle’s plans, nor did any of the lens kithmen, but they all had complete faith in the enlightened Imperator. All of the armored cargo ships were ready to take off as soon as Rusa’h chose his next conquest and decided to make his move.

At the end of the irrigation canals, they reached a bustling factory complex filled with Ildirans of all kiths, who were working diligently on the shiing packaging lines. After the hydrogue attack, when Thor’h had returned here to reconstruct the facilities, this building had not been a factory at all, but an entertainment pavilion where performers had danced with reflective ribbons and pennants. Formerly, this had been the Hyrillka Designate’s favorite spectacle.

Now, though, priorities had changed, and Rusa’h had called a mora-torium on “unnecessary cultural activities.” All Hyrillkans must save their time and energy for his vital work.

When the Imperator’s chrysalis chair glided up to the production factory, the dedicated workers were reluctant to turn from their intensive tasks, but when Rusa’h raised both hands, his subjects came close to hear him speak. “You are my chosen soldiers of the future! Not just warriors and P R I M E D E S I G N A T E T H O R ’ H

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guards, but combatants in a larger battle for the soul of the Ildiran race. We must hope we are not too late to save our people.”

The people nodded, listening with rapt attention. Thor’h basked in the Imperator’s words.

“It has been made clear to me that the hydrogues are not simply aliens, not mere enemies—they have returned as a demonic punishment! The Lightsource brought this upon us. Did not the hydrogues emerge from a burst of light at Oncier? Jora’h, the so-called Mage-Imperator, refuses to see this. Even my father Cyroc’h did not recognize the connection, for he too was blinded to the true path of the thism.

“But I have been guided by a vision. You will all help me bring about the painful but necessary changes to rescue our lost people. Under my guidance, the Empire shall grow great again, and the hydrogues will disappear when the Lightsource is satisfied that we have found our way.”

The people absorbed his words, not just through his voice but also through their taut new thism connection. Imperator Rusa’h stared at them for a long while with benevolent satisfaction, then asked Thor’h to follow him as he turned the chrysalis chair around.

“We will begin our next operations soon, Prime Designate. One planet after another in the Horizon Cluster will join my network. And with each acquisition, I will grow stronger.”

Thor’h followed his uncle back through the nialia fields toward the citadel palace, puzzled. “How will we exert control over the whole Horizon Cluster, Liege? How can we, just a small group here on Hyrillka, defeat the Solar Navy?”

Leaning back in his ornate womblike vessel, Rusa’h smiled placidly.

“The Solar Navy will soon be ours, too. We will use warliners to control other splinter colonies in the Horizon Cluster. But first we must capture those ships.”

Thor’h turned to him in quick surprise. “How?”

The Imperator held up a finger that had once worn many jeweled rings. “We must lure them to Hyrillka. That is the next step.”

Thor’h imagined a Solar Navy fleet bristling with arms, rushing to Hyrillka and angry at Rusa’h’s apparent rebellion.

The new Imperator continued to smile. “And I know exactly how to bring them running here.”

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On her way to Earth, Cesca had plenty of time to stew about what the Hansa had done.

Leaving Theroc, she raced straight out to a meeting place where she’d arranged to intercept Nikko Chan Tylar. Jess’s volunteer water bearers were already delivering the news to many scattered clan outposts, but she needed to meet the young man in person to receive his tangible evidence. Cesca waited in the empty vastness, searching for the blip indicating the young Roamer’s approach. Finally the Aquarius arrived—almost on time.

Looking agitated and out of his element—exactly as when he’d found the EDF-blasted wreckage of Raven Kamarov’s ship—Nikko crossed over to the Speaker’s ship. He clutched his data packs that held the numerous stored images and recordings of all the Eddy transmissions he had intercepted at Hurricane Depot.

“This just keeps getting worse, Speaker,” he said, playing the images for her on the small screen in the cockpit of her diplomatic craft. Cesca stared at the wanton destruction, the brutal conquest that had captured hostages and matériel, then the callous annihilation of the equilibrium station. Her cockpit suddenly felt very cold.

“When they hit Raven’s ship, they were trying to be sneaky,” Cesca said. “Now—this is open warfare.” She held up the data packs. “The Big Goose thinks it can step all over us, but I guarantee that other colonies will remember what happened on Yreka, where the EDF hammered Hansa citizens because they kept a small ekti stockpile for their own uses.”

“But Roamers aren’t even Hansa citizens,” Nikko said. “The Goose doesn’t have any authority over us.”

“They have a large standing army. Some people think that’s all they need.”

The young Roamer still looked frazzled. “But what are you going to do, Speaker?”

Cesca gathered her strength and determination, wishing the clan lead-

ers hadn’t forced her into the brash embargo in the first place. She’d known the Roamers would suffer scorn and discomfort because of it, but she hadn’t expected King Peter—or was it the Chairman?—to retaliate so aggressively.

“I’m going to make them understand the error of their ways, Nikko.

Someone in the Terran Hanseatic League has to see reason.”

When her vessel finally reached Earth, Cesca set a course toward the Palace District. Instantly, space traffic control officers shouted at her to enter a holding orbit until her authorization could be cleared, but she ignored them. When EDF Remoras flew into the sky, threatening to shoot her down, she transmitted on a broad channel. “I am Cesca Peroni, the Speaker for all Roamer clans. I have urgent business with the Hansa.”

The transport control officer said, “I wasn’t notified that the Roamers were sending a diplomatic representative to Earth. You will have to go through regular ambassadorial channels if you want to speak to someone in the Hanseatic League.”

She answered in a cool, firm voice, “I don’t wish to speak to ‘some-one.’ I need to see the King himself.”

The transport officer was brusque. “We don’t control the King’s appointment calendar, ma’am.”

“Cut off our ekti and now they think they own the Spiral Arm,” one of the Remora pilots grumbled, knowing Cesca could hear him.

Now that she was finally here, she wondered what she could accomplish by negotiating. The clans had already ceased all deliveries of stardrive fuel and resource materials. What more could she threaten or do? In all likelihood, the Hansa must think she was bluffing, that the Roamers depended on the commerce as much as the Big Goose did. But Roamers had numerous ways to tighten their belts and become self-sufficient.

What if the Hansa simply seized her, took her hostage as they had done with the inhabitants on Hurricane Depot? If they thought the squabbling families would ever agree to ransom terms, they did not understand the pride and independence of the Roamers.

Finally the voice of a Hansa official came over the channel. “We will allow Speaker Peroni to land. A meeting will be arranged as soon as possible.”

Cesca brought her ship down, following directions provided by the Re-

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