Blood of the Cosmos (4 page)

Xander saw the nostalgic shine in his partner's eyes. “Does it feel good to be home? Or are you glad you made your way out of here?”

“Well, I'm glad I found
you
,” Terry said with a smile. “This place doesn't feel completely like home anyway. Ulio changes every week as ships come and go, while others dock and stay forever.” He sighed. “It hasn't been the same since Maria flew off to parts unknown.”

As a teenager, Terry had worked at the station as a starship mechanic; he floated around with a jetpack and an environment suit, tinkering with the external stardrive engines of any wreck that came in for repair. He was so nimble and competent at his job that his coworkers hadn't even realized at first that he couldn't walk.

Old Maria Ulio had taken Terry under her wing, and he had worked with her for years, but once Ulio Station became a bustling, self-sufficient hub, Maria got bored with it all. She had her workers repair the battered old Ildiran warliner she had used as her home base for years, said a tearful goodbye to Terry, then flew off by herself with a few compy assistants and plenty of supplies. She had never been seen again.

Ulio Station, meanwhile, remained as bustling as ever.

As the three proceeded toward the star balcony bar inside the refurbished command nucleus of an old Ildiran warliner, OK said, “Do you have an estimate of how long we plan to stay here, sirs? There are fees associated with the docking berth the
Verne
is using, and there is a waiting list of inbound ships.”

Terry looked at Xander. “We don't have to rush off, do we? At least three new restaurants opened since the last time we docked—I'd like to try them.”

“We'll try two of them,” Xander said. “Save one for next time.”

“There'll be more new ones next time.”

“It's great to have options.”

“Right, but difficult to choose.”

Xander relented. “All right, with the recent haul, we can afford to stay a full day.”

“And a half.”

“And a half,” Xander agreed, and turned to the compy. “OK, please make the arrangements.”

“Yes, Xander.”

Before they reached the connector passage to the star balcony, a group of Roamers intercepted them in the narrow station corridor. Four men crowded the passageway with no intention of stepping aside. They wore scuffed jumpsuits embroidered with markings from the Duquesne clan, which operated two refurbished skymines on a gas giant—Belliros, if Xander recalled correctly. The Duquesne ekti operations had fallen on hard times, though, because of the flood of cheap Iswander ekti-X being distributed by Kett Shipping.

The three Duquesnes in the back were husky and muscular, as if they had grown up on a heavy-gravity planet. The man in front was the scrawniest, about thirty with sandy hair, a thin face, and a long aquiline nose. Considering his lack of brawn, Xander decided he must be the brains of the group. He identified the man as Aaron Duquesne, the clan's oldest son and heir apparent to those Belliros skymines, which were rapidly declining in value.

Aaron gave them a smile that had no actual smile behind it. “Xander Brindle, no matter how hard you try, you can't wipe that smug look off your face.” He turned to look at the three men behind him. “He's buying everyone drinks tonight, since the
Verne
made such a profit on this run.”

“I have no problem buying drinks for my friends,” Xander answered with a cocky shrug. “Alas, that doesn't include you.”

“Please excuse us.” OK stepped politely forward. “We have an appointment.”

“Oh, are we blocking your way?” Aaron said. “That's a problem.”

Terry looked nervous. “We don't want any trouble. I can either call Ulio Security or I can call on my friends—and I've got a lot of friends here.”

“Ulio must be a friendly place, then,” said Aaron. “And in the spirit of friendship, my cousins and I would very much like to know your source for ekti-X. Where does Iswander Industries get it?”

“Elisa Enturi arranges for delivery, and we distribute it. We don't push for too many answers. You'd have to ask her.”

Duquesne snorted. “You're the only ones she talks to.”

“A charming personality wins out every time,” Xander said. “I don't ask where the ekti-X comes from, and I don't care.”

“You're driving the rest of us out of business.”

Xander crossed his arms over his chest. “You're a Roamer just like me, Aaron Duquesne. You know that the one with the most innovation reaps the most rewards.”

“
Brindle
is no Roamer clan,” said Aaron. “If you really considered yourself a Roamer, you'd keep your clan Tamblyn name.”

Xander felt a flush of anger. “My mother's a Tamblyn, and my name is my own business.”

“Your own business?” Aaron said. “But we don't like your business.”

Behind him, his burly companions pulled out metal wands that telescoped into stiff cudgels.

Terry recoiled and lost his grip on the compy's shoulder, but his antigrav belt kept his feet suspended a centimeter above the deck. He put a warning tone in his voice. “There's no brawling allowed on Ulio Station—Maria was very clear about that when she laid down the law. If you're guilty of assault, you'll be forbidden from trading here again.”

“Oh, I looked up the rules,” said Aaron. “We have no intention of harming a hair on your pretty little heads—so long as you tell us where ekti-X comes from.”

“Sorry, boys, we honestly don't know,” Xander said. “Stardrive fuel production is above my pay grade. Iswander has some mysterious new process—and good for him. Given the profits, we don't ask questions we're not supposed to ask—and
you're
not supposed to ask either.”

With a disappointed frown, Aaron turned to his three cousins. “I was afraid he'd say that. Let's give him something to think about.”

His three companions snatched OK before Xander could react. The little compy flailed his hands, and the three men hammered him with their metal clubs. One took a vicious swing and battered OK's head, while another smashed the compy's shoulders, tearing open the polymer skin; the third man buckled one of the compy's kneecaps.

OK amplified his voice. “Please stop!”

Xander launched himself off the deck and struck one of the burly men, who caught him easily and slammed him back against a bulkhead. Terry tried to pull himself forward, but he couldn't find a handhold.

The Duquesnes were mostly done anyway. With a quick succession of blows, they smashed and incapacitated the poor compy. OK lay on the deck, squawking in a voice that degenerated into static.

“Stop, damn you!” Xander yelled. “Enough!”

While two of the men held a thrashing Xander, Aaron took one of the clubs and hammered OK's artificial face; then he turned with a smile. “You're right—Ulio Station rules forbid brawling on penalty of banishment. On the other hand, anyone who causes damage to
personal property
just has to pay a fine.” The gangly man tossed out a handful of credit chips, which clattered on the metal deck. “Here you go. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Xander tore himself free of the men holding him, and Terry moved forward to grab OK. The compy tried to get up but collapsed against one of the bulkheads—dented, scraped, torn, and unable to stand on one of his legs.

Satisfied with the damage they had done, the Duquesnes retreated. “Remember that, Brindle,” called Aaron. “Take a little more interest in where your profits come from, and we'd be a lot friendlier if you shared your information.” His companions folded around him as they left.

Though he was sick and furious, Xander was unarmed, and he couldn't fight four men. Terry was not a warrior either. Instead, they tended to the smashed compy. OK's speakerpatch had been damaged, but he kept trying to make sounds.

“We'll get you repaired, OK,” Xander said, his voice cracking. This compy had been his copilot since before he'd even met Terry. They had been through a great deal together. “It's just external damage—a few scuffs, that's all. We'll have you patched up and repainted in no time.”

“They're barbarians!” Terry looked up at him, his face gray. “But they're correct—Ulio Station law says the punishment for property damage is nothing more than a fine.”

Xander felt nauseated. His parents, Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle—the acting administrators of Kett Shipping—had reluctantly agreed to a trading partnership with Lee Iswander, and profits from the stardrive fuel were too extraordinary to dismiss, but Robb and Tasia were worried that the ekti-X operations were shady dealings. Xander had brushed aside those worries, citing the old adage (which he didn't really understand) about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He had remained willfully, and happily, ignorant.

But now …

Simmering with anger, he picked up the damaged compy. OK was incapable of walking, though he made a valiant attempt. “Let's get him back to the
Verne
. Fast.”

Terry swallowed hard. “We'll find OK the best compy repair facility.”

“That'll be on Earth—back at headquarters.” Xander was sorry Terry wouldn't get the gourmet dinner he had been promised, but neither of them was hungry anymore.

 

CHAPTER

3

ARITA

They called themselves the Gardeners—an alien race that had tended the worldtrees millennia ago, just as the human green priests on Theroc did now. But the Gardeners—or the Onthos, in their own language—had been all but exterminated by the Shana Rei long ago, their core worldforest wiped out along with the stored memories contained in that verdani mind. Only a hundred survivors of the small-statured gray-skinned creatures had limped their way to Theroc. They had begged sanctuary, and King Peter and Queen Estarra—Arita's parents—had granted it.

Now, a group of curious green priests gathered under the towering trees to speak with the Onthos, hoping to learn more. Since the worldforest mind could offer only vague hints about the long-lost Gardeners, the green priests had many questions, and the Onthos had many stories to tell.

Without being invited, Arita sat on the edge of the group, even though she was not a green priest, despite her dream of becoming one. She had lost her chance when the forest mind tested her,
changed
her, and ultimately rejected her as a green priest.

Even if she wasn't one of them, the green priests did not shun Arita as a failure—she was, after all, the daughter of Theroc's rulers. Nevertheless, the priests treated her with discernible pity, and it was almost too much for Arita to bear. Now, though, she very much wanted to hear the Gardeners reveal their secret history.

Three seemingly identical aliens sat in a clearing among the gigantic trees, speaking to the group. Ten green priests listened and then delivered what they learned into the tree network, so that any other priest across the Spiral Arm could receive the details. Instantaneous telink communication was just one of the many wonders that Arita was denied because she was not a green priest.…

But she listened now. The primary Gardener representative called himself Ohro, though he seemed indistinguishable from the other aliens. The Onthos were four feet tall with enormous black eyes set within prominent orbital ridges. They wore no clothes over their smooth skin; they seemed entirely sexless.

Ohro traced emphasis in the air with nimble fingers as he spoke to the rapt green priests. “I remember our world, bright pictures and memories of a beautiful place, a peaceful civilization. The Gardeners and the trees—what more could we wish for?” The other aliens murmured, and the green priests listened, smiled, nodded. They touched the towering worldtrees next to them, shared thoughts—and left Arita apart from it all.

But even Ohro's words conjured fantastic images in her mind.

“We had tremendous tree cities, much like this one, and we built our structures to exist in concert with the trunks and fronds—wooden and metal walkways that wove the living forest together. Bridges spanned tree to tree. Towers rose even higher than the canopy!” His dark alien eyes glistened.

“When the ancient trees would eventually die, they became a source of new life. Our spore mothers would enter the dead wood and spawn more Onthos, birthing many more Gardeners who would tend another generation of worldtrees.”

Ohro sighed. “And we became explorers, too—fusing ourselves with the trees. An Onthos volunteer would climb inside the heartwood, meld his body to the great tree, and act as a pilot, a voyager. Together, they underwent a marvelous metamorphosis, becoming more alive, more sentient. The new treeship would uproot itself and rise into the sky … and fly away into the void.” The alien glanced at Arita as if to make sure she understood, then turned to the green priests. “You know of this—you have done it yourselves.”

The green priests nodded. One said, “We created verdani battleships, which fought in the Elemental War.”

“We observed the remaining ones guarding this world when our refugee ships arrived at Theroc,” Ohro said. “We did not use our treeships for war, though, but to explore. We flew off to other worlds and dispersed the trees, built new colonies, even constructed space cities far from any planet.”

Arita could not see what the other priests observed when they tapped into the shared verdani mind. The Onthos could offer no tangible relics, photographic images, or other records apart from their memories, which they shared throughout the worldforest. She could only use her imagination, but right now that was enough.

“Then the Shana Rei came and drove us from our home.” Ohro's voice became deeper, sadder.

Until recently, little was known about the Shana Rei beyond brief mentions in Ildiran legends. Then a shadow cloud came to destroy Theroc. The creatures of darkness had assembled a gigantic orbiting nightshade that plunged the worldforest into a suffocating night. Only the combined efforts of the Confederation Defense Forces, the Ildiran Solar Navy, and even the capricious faeros had driven away the shadows. For now.