Blood of the Cosmos (10 page)

“I'm always careful.” He could tell Elisa wasn't bragging.

Cargo ships loaded canisters of stardrive fuel into a tank array, a large framework that would be dropped at a rendezvous point in the middle of nowhere. The
Verne
or some other designated Kett Shipping vessel would pick up the delivery and distribute the ekti-X through Ulio Station or other markets across the Spiral Arm.

“Have your scout ships discovered any other bloater clusters?”

“Five more, sir. They're not even hard to find anymore.”

Iswander shook his head. “How could we not have stumbled upon them before now? In centuries of exploring this Spiral Arm, somebody must have found a cluster or two.”

Elisa didn't flinch. “The only explanation, sir, is that the bloaters weren't there before.”

“Spontaneous generation?” He chuckled. “That theory was disproven many centuries ago.”

“Theories come and go, sir—I'm not trying to explain it. But the bloaters are definitely much more common than they were before, and someone will surely find them before long.”

Iswander was not quite as worried. “
Finding
the bloaters does nothing if nobody knows what they contain. You were the one who made the connection and realized they're made of stardrive fuel.”

“A happy accident, sir.”

Iswander knew there was nothing “happy” about it. Garrison Reeves had kidnapped her son and fled from the Iswander complex on Sheol just before the lava disaster, and Elisa had pursued him. From what Iswander could piece together—though she was reluctant to reveal details—she'd found Garrison and Seth hiding in a mysterious bloater cluster, the first one ever discovered. She fired a warning shot across his bow, which ignited one of the bloaters and triggered a chain reaction that set off all of the bloaters in a galactic firestorm.

Although she'd been sure at the time that the blast had killed her husband and son, what Elisa witnessed made her realize that those things were filled with stardrive fuel—and that Iswander could make a large profit by exploiting the bloaters. No one else had figured that out yet.

Yet.

“I understand your concerns, Elisa. There's a boom now, and while Iswander Industries has a monopoly on ekti-X extraction, we need to produce and sell as much as humanly possible.”

“Our work is causing quite a bit of turmoil,” she said. “Traditional Roamer skyminers are frantic. We're putting them out of business.”

Iswander stared through the windowports of the admin hub. Outside, the extraction operations continued with a diligent urgency. He could rush his workers, demand increased production, but that would make them sloppy—and he couldn't afford another accident.

Fifteen hundred and forty-three casualties on Sheol was quite enough.

“I intend to make an outrageous profit while I can, and bank it,” he told Elisa. “The moment some other Roamer discovers that unlimited stardrive fuel is there for the taking with minimal effort, the market will be flooded, and then collapse. Before that time, I need to accomplish my goals.”

“And those goals are, sir?”

He'd been pushing forward ever since the Sheol disaster, clawing his way up. He'd been satisfied with his achievements, but only now did he have time to think of the larger picture. It still rankled him that a buffoon like Sam Ricks was now Speaker for the Roamer clans. He hated the fact that he had left Newstation behind, left
civilization
behind. The Roamers thought that clan Iswander was hiding under a rock in shame, but everyone knew he must be doing
something
out here.

And they would try to find out what it was.

He gestured toward the bloater operations outside and let out a wistful sigh. “I'm the king of all I survey, but who knows it? We're too isolated for that to be satisfying. I've rebuilt from the lowest disaster, and I want to show Iswander pride to every other Roamer clan.” His voice was rising; he couldn't help it. He turned to the comm officer on the admin deck. “Signal my quarters and ask my wife to bring Arden in here. I've got news that affects all of us.”

Soon afterward, his quiet and mousy wife, Londa, appeared with their thirteen-year-old son, Arden. The boy didn't like being isolated in deep space, though he looked more bored than sullen. He looked up to his father, revered Iswander's accomplishments: Arden wanted to be like him someday. Even during the darkest times, the boy had gotten into fights defending his father—and that was one of the reasons Iswander had decided to pull his family from the carrion crows that wanted to feast on his disgrace.

Londa was quiet and dutiful, not much for conversation, but she did what Iswander expected of a wife. Arden, however, was another matter. Someday, he would be the clan leader.

“I have news for you, son.” Iswander gave Londa a reassuring smile, then turned back to the young man. “You and I are going to make a journey together, something we should have done a while ago.”

Arden perked up. “Where?”

He raised his voice so that everyone in the admin hub could hear. “Thanks to ekti-X, our family is wealthy again, but there's no power or prestige if nobody knows who we are or what we do! Respect is more valuable than money.” He hardened his voice. “And I want to reclaim it all. Arden, you're going to go back to Academ. I need you to be strong. I need you to be
smart
.”

Londa looked worried about letting her son go, but Arden seemed pleased by the decision. Iswander smiled at him. “And this time no one is going to take us lightly.”

 

CHAPTER

12

MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H

A mission to the Confederation capital required a great deal of pomp and circumstance, and the Mage-Imperator's entourage took days to prepare. While attenders and noble bureaucrats scurried about to make all the necessary arrangements, Jora'h had his own important business to attend to. While he and Nira were gone on Theroc, he would leave the Ildiran Empire in the hands of his son Daro'h, the Prime Designate.

Daro'h was not Jora'h's firstborn noble son, but the events of the Elemental War had left him in line to be the next Mage-Imperator—and he was deeply scarred because of it.

Though a score of attender kith bustled after Jora'h to serve his every need, and katana-armed guards strode along to protect him wherever he went, he sent them away as he entered his son's personal quarters in the Prism Palace.

Light from several suns poured through walls of transmission crystal, and lemony filters added a soothing golden glow to the Prime Designate's chambers. Happy chatter filled the room with a warm background drone.

Entering unannounced, Jora'h saw several women in the front chamber, some of the mothers of Daro'h's children. They looked up in surprise to see the Mage-Imperator, and the tone of conversation suddenly changed. Jora'h smiled at the crowded, domestic scene. Daro'h was unusual among his predecessors, in that he invited his numerous assigned lovers to visit whenever they wished, along with his countless children. Right now, the Prime Designate sat on the floor playing a game of multicolored interlocking objects with five boys and girls of varying ages and kith mixtures. Daro'h appeared to be losing, but not through lack of trying.

Jora'h spoke, teasing rather than chiding. “My father would have been horrified to see such casual behavior from a Prime Designate.”

Daro'h chuckled. “He lived in very different times, Father. I am sure that when you were Prime Designate, you must have horrified him too.”

Jora'h couldn't argue with that, especially when he'd announced that he had fallen in love with a human woman, a green priest. His father had been a wicked man who caused a great deal of pain—and oh, the terrible things that man had done to Nira!

As the children continued to play with the colored objects on the floor, Daro'h rose to his feet and straightened his robes. The burn scar on one side of his face looked like flesh-colored wax, a constant reminder of the horrors Daro'h—and the Empire—had endured when the violent faeros tried to burn all of Ildira.

Jora'h said, “Nira and I shall journey to Theroc, and the Empire will be yours for a time, Daro'h.” He added an encouraging smile. “I am confident the Ildiran people are in good hands.”

Daro'h tried to hide his flush of pride with a joke. “Countless thousands of hands, Father. I can barely take a breath without assistance. I will not be alone.”

The Prime Designate's children, unimpressed with the importance of the Mage-Imperator, squealed and argued over their game. Jora'h indulged them, though some of the mothers of different kiths hurried to shush the boys and girls. With a wistful sigh, he remembered his own hedonistic days as Prime Designate. The heir to the Prism Palace had certain pleasurable requirements and responsibilities that were far different from the weight of leadership that Daro'h would have to endure once he became Mage-Imperator.

As the pinnacle of Ildiran genetics, the man who would one day control the myriad strands of
thism
, the Prime Designate was obligated to spread his bloodline as widely as possible among the kiths. Functionaries compared breeding charts and arranged an endless succession of lovers for him, so that by the time a Prime Designate underwent the castration ceremony to become Mage-Imperator, he had thousands of offspring. Jora'h had followed long-established tradition until he met a human green priest. Nira had changed everything.…

“I tried to set a good example for you,” he told Daro'h. “I want you to be as prepared as you can possibly be.”

Daro'h had a shine in his eyes that made Jora'h proud. “We cannot always be prepared for what we have to face. We just do our best.”

Two of his lovers came up, offering refreshments. One woman presented a tray with two crystal finger-sized glasses of strong kirae, a potent and delicious liquor distilled by clan Kellum on Kuivahr. Jora'h had little interest in kirae, but knew the assigned mates would be deeply disappointed if he did not accept. He and Daro'h each took a small sip, nodded thanks to the women, then took a seat together out on the sunny balcony.

“You were never born to the role, but you are a good Prime Designate,” Jora'h said. “You have already proved your worth. I was proud of how you faced the faeros, how you stood up to mad Designate Rusa'h when he was possessed by the fire elementals and caused so much damage to us all.”

Daro'h scratched his burn scar—a nervous habit. “Rusa'h was not aware of what he was doing.” He swallowed hard, disturbed by the memory. Jora'h could feel the quaver of his son's emotions through the strands of
thism
. “Is he still in exile?”

Jora'h was grim. Few people knew the truth. “Rusa'h has spent years as a penitent at the Lightsource shrine on Hiltos. He studies and meditates with the lens kithmen. He says he wants to atone, but I think the lens kithmen are more curious to learn from him. I warned them to be very careful with that man. He nearly destroyed us all.”

Daro'h nodded, troubled. “But in this time of shadows reappearing, do we not need to understand everything we possibly can? Just in case?”

Jora'h felt a deep chill, but the Prime Designate was right. Daro'h would be a good Mage-Imperator someday. He gave the young man a smile. “I know the Ildiran Empire will be safe while I am gone to Theroc.”

 

CHAPTER

13

XANDER BRINDLE

The
Verne
flew a brief delivery run to cloudy Dremen, fulfilling a Kett Shipping contract. A world known primarily for fog and fungus wasn't high on any list of tourist spots in the Spiral Arm, but Xander liked being able to check off another planet in his “places visited” logbook.

Still, it just didn't seem right to be flying anywhere without their compy. As he and Terry approached the cloud-wreathed world, Xander glanced at his partner in the copilot seat. “You got the controls under control?”

Terry gave him a wan smile. “I'm a fully qualified professional—and next trip we'll have OK back good as new.”

“I wish they'd hurry up with the repairs,” Xander muttered.

“There was a lot of damage, and we want it done right.”

“I couldn't agree more, but I feel at a loss without him here,” Xander said. One of the compy-repair techs on Earth had suggested that they simply purchase a newer model, which would be less expensive; Terry had stopped Xander from punching the oblivious tech in the face.

During the busywork flight to Dremen, he couldn't stop thinking about how he'd grown up with OK, how his parents had taught him to fly spaceships with the compy at his side. He had been traveling with Terry for only the past two years, but he had been flying with OK for most of his life.

As the
Verne
entered Dremen orbital space, Terry used the comm to request an assigned landing area at the small, sleepy Dremen spaceport. “Kett Shipping vessel
Verne
bearing an assortment of notions, special-order foodstuffs, and a load of high-end medical supplies. On our way down.”

The delivery of boutique med supplies was the main reason for the Dremen run. Kett Shipping made occasional deliveries here, as needed, and while he and Terry waited for OK to be repaired, neither of them wanted to just loiter around. A medical contractor named Aldo Cerf had paid extravagantly to have Kett Shipping deliver the special-order medical supplies, no questions asked, and that crate alone made the entire flight profitable; the rest of the cargo was just gravy.

The Dremen route was normally flown by a curmudgeonly old pilot named Dando Yoder, but Xander and Terry volunteered for this one so Yoder could fill a conflicting but equally uninteresting run to Ikbir, another out-of-the-way colony planet.