Blood of the Cosmos (24 page)

When they were reunited, she gave the historian a vigorous hug, paying no attention to the ichor that covered her skin; Anton gave a grunt of surprise as she squeezed him in her enthusiasm. She gave a less restrained hug to Muree'n, both of them bruised, battered, and triumphant. Yazra'h drew a breath to laugh out loud.

But suddenly her laugh caught like sharp spikes in her throat. The strands of
thism
turned into cracking whips, and mental pain resounded through her. The shock echoed and emanated outward from the relay of the Mage-Imperator. Something terrible was happening to the Ildiran race! A shocking pain erupted through their communal telepathic network, something … another attack.

Beside her, Muree'n also gasped, although the halfbreed girl had a different connection to the
thism
and to her special siblings. “Gale'nh! Something is happening to Gale'nh. The shadows are at Hiltos.”

Though Rememberer Anton and Beltrias demanded answers, Yazra'h just rode out the pain and the shock. When she focused herself, she said, “We must get back to the Mage-Imperator. There has been another disaster in the Ildiran Empire.”

 

CHAPTER

35

MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H

As the sun set across the forest, Jora'h joined the King and Queen up on the canopy for a diplomatic banquet. The Ildiran entourage would depart as soon as Yazra'h and Muree'n returned from their wyvern hunt. A new batch of fresh worldtree saplings had been potted for transport, to be planted as a memorial grove at the site of Mijistra's human enclave.

The colors in the sky became rich, vibrant hues—reds, oranges, golds. Such sunsets never occurred on Ildira, where seven suns always kept the sky bright. Although Ildirans regarded the fall of night as a thing to be dreaded, Jora'h could see the beauty in the gathering dusk.

They were served a lavish dinner catered by Arbor, a noted Theron restaurant owned by former trade minister Rlinda Kett. An officious-looking dictator of a ma
î
tre d' commanded the delivery and presentation of each dish. Jora'h found it amusing to watch him command the serving staff with the same vigor as Adar Zan'nh commanded the Solar Navy.

With an indulgent smile, Nira nudged him, and he turned to look where their daughter Osira'h sat beside Prince Reynald, closer than was necessary. Though the prince looked drawn and pale from his illness, he seemed more energetic next to her. Osira'h talked with him, and they both laughed; she touched his forearm, and he rested his hand on her fingers, as if to encourage them to remain where they were. The two were in their own world, even with the bustle of the banquet around them.

Nira whispered, “They're like us when I first came to visit the Prism Palace.” Jora'h laughed, but he could not disagree.

He felt pleased with their trip, sure that the alliance with the Confederation was strong. They had learned much about the mysterious Onthos race, who were practically wiped out by the shadows, but Jora'h wanted to know more. If many of their memories had been erased from the worldforest mind, the Mage-Imperator had an idea to propose to the King and Queen.

With great pride, the waiter presented an expensive bottle of kirae from the Kellum distillery. The ma
î
tre d' wrinkled his nose in distaste as he popped the top of the bottle and poured for all members of the Ildiran entourage. Jora'h would forgo the liqueur himself, so he could feel the clear tight threads of
thism
when he made his grand proposal.

While food was served, Ohro and numerous Onthos moved about on the canopy nearby, touching fronds, communing with the worldtrees, hovering where they could listen. They did not seem interested in the feast. Jora'h had not, in fact, learned what the Gardeners actually ate.

When the second course arrived—a plate of colorful plants and pickled leaves sprinkled with flower petals and edible moth wings—Jora'h called for attention. “I have another mission to propose, one that will answer questions about the Shana Rei and give us a clearer picture of what happened to the Onthos race.”

The Gardeners all looked up, suddenly paying attention.

General Keah attended the banquet in her full military uniform, though she seemed anxious to be back aboard her flagship and out on patrol. She lifted her goblet. “I'm all for that!”

“What do you suggest?” asked Queen Estarra.

“The Onthos provided the coordinates for their home system, but no such star appears on our charts. If, as they say, the Shana Rei have hidden it somehow, we should go to the Onthos home system and see for ourselves. I suggest a joint expedition with both the Solar Navy and the Confederation Defense Forces.”

The Gardeners chittered in horror. Ohro said, “Our race was exterminated, our sun swallowed up. We will not go back.”

General Keah sat back in her chair, grinning. “No need, we'll do it ourselves.”

Peter said, “That definitely sounds like a worthwhile effort. We could learn a lot about the enemy.”

Keah turned toward the King and Queen. “Majesties, let me take the
Kutuzov
. How soon can we go?”

Jora'h was pleased but not surprised by her enthusiasm. “There are Solar Navy ships to recall, scientists to coordinate, observers to gather. I will ask Adar Zan'nh to coordinate with you, General Keah.”

The Ildiran entourage lifted their small glasses of kirae and toasted. It was good to do something
proactively
, rather than huddle against an enemy they could not understand.

A ripple shot like an electric spark through the
thism
. Attuned to the telepathic strands, the Mage-Imperator sensed a sudden splash of violence … in Mijistra! His people going berserk, possessed by the shadows, killing.

And more. He sensed Ildirans in terror and pain, far away, another crisis. At Hiltos! The Lightsource shrine was under attack!

As the storm of emotions slammed into him from several directions, Jora'h couldn't stop himself from crying out. His insides buckled, and he clenched his hands, trying to control the spasm.

The Onthos began to chitter, staring at him. Nira lurched to her feet, grabbing his shoulder and holding him. “Jora'h, what's wrong?”

But he could barely answer because the strands of
thism
grew darker, tighter, like garroting wires. “The shadows … they are inside us again.”

 

CHAPTER

36

AELIN

Out at the ekti-harvesting complex, Aelin watched the bloater exploitation in silence and in pain. He caused no trouble, did not try to interfere. Eventually, Iswander's workers learned to ignore the green priest, whom they considered eccentric though innocuous, and not worth paying attention to. After hard shifts draining the nodules, pumping ekti-X, filling fuel canisters, and preparing the next large shipment array, the well-paid crew just wanted to relax.

But as the bloaters were drained and their dead husks discarded, Aelin could feel the blood of the cosmos being spilled. Inside his mind and rippling through his soul, he sensed a vague confusion and dismay as one nodule after another died. The echoes of inarticulate calls for help were driving him truly mad. If the green priest couldn't stop it, then at least he had to get away from this space charnel house. Far away.

Alec Pannebaker, Lee Iswander's deputy manager, oversaw the operations while the industrialist was away taking his son to Newstation. Pannebaker was a well-liked man who tried to get to know all workers personally. He socialized with the ekti extractors and admin staff; he even tried to strike up conversations with Aelin, and the green priest did his best to respond adequately. But with so much resonant cacophony in his head, the green priest could no longer have a casual conversation with anyone. He was too preoccupied with the thrumming stew of incomprehensible thoughts that emanated from something
beyond
the bloaters, something that no one else could hear.

Elisa Enturi, Iswander's second-in-command, was a much harder boss than Pannebaker, self-absorbed and impatient with anyone who failed to perform exactly up to her expectations. Aelin knew to tread carefully around her. Despite Lee Iswander's orders, she would be looking for any excuse to come down hard on him.

He was desperate to go where he could find another treeling and get in touch with the worldforest mind again, but the Iswander Industries extraction field was a secure operation. Ships did not come and go, except for clearly scheduled and specialized vehicles, and those were piloted only by the most trusted members of the company.

Right now, Elisa Enturi was preparing the next shipment array for delivery to Ulio Station … and Aelin realized that was his only way out. He would never get past Elisa's scrutiny, though. The real key was Pannebaker.

The deputy was a daredevil who had an appetite for adrenaline-filled sports. Pannebaker had risked himself many times just for fun in the Sheol lava-mining operations, and out in space he was fond of a sport called “gap jumping.” Wearing an environment suit with a limited supply of air and only a few maneuvering jets, he would plot a trajectory, accounting for time and life-support resources, then jump out into open space. He flew free from one point to another and hoped he didn't miscalculate.

Out in the extraction field, Pannebaker could easily take an inspection pod, but sometimes he suited up, grabbed an extra air tank, and just leaped headfirst out of a docking bay. He flew through the vacuum over to the pumping stations, cargo ships, or disposal tugs that removed the withered empty sacks. He thought it was fun.

Though Aelin told no one of his particular interest, he kept an eye on Pannebaker. The eccentric green priest watched unobtrusively as Pannebaker suited up and strapped himself to a carrying framework like a space wheelbarrow, then jumped out.

Aelin had previously learned about environment suits, life-support systems, and stardrive travel times, all of which had been part of the curriculum when he tutored Lee Iswander's son. But Arden had gone with his father to Newstation and Academ.

It was the best time for the green priest to make his move.

He watched Pannebaker kick off from an anchored pumping station and come back to the admin hub. The deputy used the last of his compressed-air jets to maneuver himself to the external airlock and cycled himself through.

Aelin was there, blending into the background as other workers hurried forward to help Pannebaker remove his helmet before his last air ran out. The deputy had a salt-and-pepper goatee and long steel-colored hair. Right now, although heaving deep breaths after nearly emptying his air tank, he wore a large grin. “I cut that one close, but I made it.” Aelin suspected that the deputy was more frightened than he let on.

One of the techs looked at the spacesuit, tapped a readout, and clucked his tongue. “Red lines everywhere, Alec. Five minutes more, and we'd be giving you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

“Not me,” said a burly female tech. “If he's damn fool enough to do stupid stunts, I'm not kissing him back to life.”

Still catching his breath, Pannebaker chuckled again. “If I woke up to that, I might just think I was in heaven, Sherry.” That earned him a round of whistles and catcalls. Pannebaker waved to the green priest as he let the techs strip him out of his suit. “I think I'll rest for a bit back in my quarters. Long shift. See that my suit's refilled and recharged, would you?”

Sherry huffed. “What am I, your personal maid?”

“No, you're my technician, and it's part of your job.”

“As a low-priority item,” she snorted.

Aelin volunteered. “I'll do it for you. I've been trained … and I'd like to do something around here.”

Pannebaker shrugged. “The chief keeps you around for some reason—but I'll double-check your work next time I go out.”

“You're welcome to.”

Pannebaker left the bulky equipment on the deck for cleanup and recharge, and Aelin bent over the components, much to the amusement of the technicians. They left the bay, chatting with one another as they went back to their process lines.

Now that he was alone, the green priest focused on his work, making sure that he made no errors, because his own life would depend on it. Alone in the bay, Aelin refilled the air tanks, installed fully charged power packs, then gathered spare air tanks connected in sequence, along with a triple array of fresh batteries. According to his calculations, that should be enough. He filled the transport barrow with the spare equipment and locked the suit in its storage cabinet, ready to go. His pulse was racing.

Like a drill sergeant, Elisa Enturi used the intership comms to guide workers who moved hundreds of ekti canisters into a large array framework for the next major shipment to Ulio Station. Aelin had already studied the manifests and schedules; Elisa wasn't due to depart for ten hours, but she was often impatient to leave early.

Aware of his window of opportunity, the green priest waited for the shift change. Two long hours.

Pannebaker had gone into his quarters, apparently to sleep. In the usual commotion of a shift change, workers came in from their external assignments, ships docked inside the hub launching bay, inspection pods departed for the extraction fields. So much activity at the end of the shift gave him plenty of camouflage.

Checking, he learned that Elisa was in a last-minute meeting with several team leaders to review their jobs. Once she departed with the tank array for Ulio, Pannebaker would be in charge of the industrial site, and everyone could heave a sigh of relief.

With Elisa busy in the briefing, Aelin knew it was his time to move.

Pannebaker's gap-jumping suit was ready to go. Remembering what he had learned from the worldforest mind, the green priest donned the suit, adjusted the fittings, installed the helmet. As a precaution, he tuned his comm between channels so that he heard mostly static through the speakers, should anyone try to contact him; if he was forced to respond, his words would be distorted and garbled too. It would seem like a simple enough mistake if anyone bothered to ping him.