Of Fire and Night (4 page)

7

DENN PERONI

A
fter centuries of skin-of-the-teeth survival, Roamers never expected things to go exactly as planned. The unforeseen happened with alarming regularity.

Denn Peroni had left the water mines of Plumas, still nursing a hangover and wondering how he had gotten drunk enough to join the Tamblyn brothers in the crackpot piracy scheme that had ended in the capture of a Hansa merchant vessel with its pilot and copilot. Cringing at the magnitude of their collective stupidity, he had flown away, leaving the captives behind. Sooner or later, Caleb and his brothers would realize they didn’t know what to do with Rlinda Kett and Branson Roberts. Meanwhile, he was glad to be alone aboard his ship—without the constant chatter, complaints, and sloppiness of Caleb Tamblyn.

Denn flew the
Dogged Persistence
from one known clan settlement to another, adjusting his trading schedule as he received news (much of it out of date). With the angry Roamers ready to chew up metal ore and spit out nails, Denn got little more than rumors, tall tales, and a lot of admitted ignorance from the other outposts he visited.

He learned that his daughter Cesca was holed up on a small planetoid called Jonah 12 on the other side of the Spiral Arm. In her capacity as Speaker she had sent out messages calling for the clans to hold steady and prepare for rebuilding now that Rendezvous was destroyed. Denn worried about his daughter, but he was sure Cesca could handle the brunt of the Roamers’ emergency—probably a lot better than he could!

He heard positive news as well. Nikko Chan Tylar had been passing the word that Golgen was free of hydrogues—a gas giant was safe for skymining again! Denn decided to help spread the word, at least until Cesca made some sort of official pronouncement.

Forrey’s Folly was the largest metal asteroid in a strip of rubble around a cool orange K2 star. While coalescing, the sun had lost its grip on most of the material in its primordial cloud and hadn’t had enough mass left over to create any planets worth counting. But Forrey’s Folly was a large ripe fruit ready to be plucked: Metals were simply there for the taking, and mining tunnels honeycombed the asteroid.

Numerous stony satellites orbited the large oblong rock, low-density moonlets that the metal asteroid had captured in its wanderings through the rubble belt. The small satellites whirled like a group of moths around a bright flame. Though computer models could predict the orbits, the paths changed frequently as the moonlets collided and ricocheted off each other.

A century ago, Karlton Forrey had been the first Roamer to invest money in mining equipment and bring his clan ship here for excavations. Before his family or machinery could be shuttled down, though, Forrey had miscalculated the orbits of the stony moonlets. Collisions sent rocks careening like giant birdshot into his temporary habitation ships. Most of Forrey’s family had died, and all the equipment was ruined. A misplaced decimal point, incalculable consequences. Thus, Forrey’s Folly had earned its name.

As the
Dogged Persistence
approached, Denn checked and rechecked his calculations, transmitting ahead for the current listing of safe paths. As he came within visual range, he noticed a large group of Roamer ships parked far outside the orbital radii of the rocky satellites. He saw evacuation ships, mobile mining equipment converted to interstellar craft, even components from spacedocks. Denn was puzzled; this looked like a full-scale operation, packed up and ready for reassembly. But Forrey’s Folly was strictly a resource-stripping operation.

Then he noted the clan markings on the ships.
Kellum
.

“This is Denn Peroni on final approach, with trading goods and news. I haven’t seen Oscar in years. Who are your visitors? Is Del Kellum there?”

The station operator acknowledged. “Yes, he brought all of his refugees after they evacuated from Osquivel.”

“Evacuated from Osquivel?” He couldn’t wait to hear the full details. “Expect me down there in a few minutes. I’ve got a shipload of farm-fresh produce from Yreka, if anybody’s interested.”

“That’s the best news we’ve heard all day,
Dogged Persistence
.”

“Oh, you heard something better yesterday, huh? Then maybe I’ll just save some of this sweet corn for another customer.”

Because Forrey’s Folly had so many extra mouths to feed, thanks to Kellum’s refugees, Denn subtracted all but a token profit on his load of fruits, vegetables, and grains. The hard-bitten asteroid miners from clan Kowalski, along with the hundreds who had left the Osquivel shipyards, decided to have a feast. Roamers believed in making the most out of each day, since disasters happened too frequently for anyone to count on unending tomorrows.

Kellum was pleased to see Denn. The barrel-chested man sat at the table, talking too loudly, acting as if he ran Forrey’s Folly, rather than being a guest. Denn suspected he was working some sort of cooperative deal with the Kowalskis to combine equipment and resources.

Del Kellum had obviously told the story many times. “After the damned Eddies left, we knew we had only a few days to get out of there before they changed their minds.” He reached over to pat his daughter’s arm. “Zhett learned the hard way not to trust anything they say.”

The young woman tossed her dark hair. “Just tell him what happened, Dad.”

“We only had short-range craft at the shipyard, in-system vessels without Ildiran stardrives. We knew we’d never make it to another clan settlement. But we didn’t want to leave all of our equipment there, by damn. You know the Eddies would strip it clean and use it for themselves.”

There were grumbles around the table. Kellum picked up a yellow ear of corn and chewed down a row, taking a break from his tale to enjoy the food. A few kernels clung to his salt-and-pepper beard.

“So we decided to pull up stakes, grab everything we could, and ferry it to our cometary extraction facilities high in the Kuiper Belt. The Eddies aren’t bright enough to look up there. It’s an awfully big chunk of real estate.”

More grumbles, mostly mutters of agreement.

“We had plenty of long-range ships at the cometary extraction facilities, and half a dozen stardrive units for installation into new ships from the spacedocks. So we modified a few big ships and abandoned Osquivel. Now we’re here, safe by the grace of clan Kowalski.” He looked over at a string-bean-thin man with ice-blue eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a corona of white hair that stuck out in a fringe around his bald scalp. “Our friends at Forrey’s Folly offered sanctuary, but we don’t want to overstay our welcome. Do we, Oscar?”

“You haven’t . . . yet,” said Oscar Kowalski. “But no Roamer facility has enough surplus to handle so many refugees for more than a little while.”

“Unless we work out a deal to establish new shipyards here, I expect we’ll head out in a week,” Kellum said. “Always on the move. We are Roamers, you know. So where’s the Speaker during all this, Denn? We need to hear from her.”

“Last I heard, my daughter was on Jonah 12 trying to call clans together. I think Jhy Okiah was there, too. They’ll sort it out.”

“By the Guiding Star, I hope so!” Oscar said, clearing his throat. “We’ve got a lot of business to do.”

Denn watched the miners take second helpings of fresh food. “Since you’re digesting most of my cargo from the
Dogged Persistence,
does anybody have goods for me to trade? I could use a cargo for my next port of call.”

Oscar Kowalski seemed to be doing calculations in his head. “Let us know what metals you need. We can fill you to capacity.”

Kellum grinned down at the gnawed cob of corn on his plate. “By damn, we’ve even got a cargo of ekti from the comet processors. You want to take it to the Ildirans, Denn? You reopened trade with them, right?”

“Caleb Tamblyn and I set things up with the Mage-Imperator himself. If you give me a load, I’ll head straight to Ildira. Better than selling it to the Big Goose.” The Roamers’ deprecating nickname for the Hansa seemed almost too mild to express the contempt Denn felt.

“Be sure you get a good price for it. My clan’s going to need to capitalize our new operations—whatever they are. I sure don’t look forward to rebuilding a shipyard from scratch. That was a hell of a lot of work.”

Denn brightened with an idea. “That brings up an interesting possibility I heard about on my travels. How would you like to go back to skymining?” He explained how Golgen’s clouds were now safe again for ekti harvesting.

Kellum slapped his big hand on the table. “By damn, what a fabulous idea! We’ve still got our big equipment in cold storage up in the cometary cloud at Osquivel—two skymines we haven’t used since the drogue ultimatum. But I knew we’d eventually go back to our old ways. Ah, skymining again. Hear that, Zhett? Clan Kellum’s going to get back into the ekti business!” He beamed at his daughter. “We’re going to Golgen, my sweet—and we can leave tomorrow.” He patted his stomach. “As soon as all this digests.”

8

OSIRA’H

C
enturies of planning had culminated in this meeting between the Mage-Imperator and the hydrogue emissary. Osira’h had not expected the leader of the Ildiran Empire to appear so helpless and desperate. This communication, this “negotiation,” was entirely one-sided. What had she missed? Did he not have a plan? He must have!

In the skies above, visible through the dome’s colored panes, hovered the armada of warglobes that had carried her from the depths of Qronha 3. After forcing the hydrogues to look inside her mind, Osira’h had coerced them into this encounter. Violent hydrogue thoughts still streamed through the conduit of her mind, splashing hot droplets of comprehension along the way. The hydrogues reached into her brain and stole whatever information they needed, but they had no interest in understanding.

Osira’h had been inside their heads, as well, and knew they would not react to an attempted negotiation in the way her father expected. Through her, they had seen what the Mage-Imperator hoped to achieve from this meeting, and they were unimpressed. She sensed that the emissary meant what he threatened. Even as hydrogues suffered casualties and great damage in their clashes with the faeros, they were ready to annihilate the Ildirans merely to get rid of a nuisance.

She listened carefully, without speaking, watching the Mage-Imperator. The girl had met her father for the first time only recently and did not yet understand what sort of man Jora’h was. She had many different images of him: father, Mage-Imperator, her mother’s cherished lover, and brother of deceitful Dobro Designate Udru’h.

Osira’h had detailed memories of Jora’h from her mother. Those flashbacks were heartwarming, filled with love and tenderness. Yet the girl remembered feeling that same sort of loving pride toward the Dobro Designate—and
he
had fooled her. Had Jora’h done the same to Nira?

Right now, Osira’h wanted—
needed
—to see him not as a father or a cherished lover, but as the Mage-Imperator, leader of billions of Ildirans. She wanted him to demonstrate his strength, the strength of the Empire.

But the hydrogues were much stronger.

The emissary continued in a booming, accusatory voice: “Ildirans once had a powerful connection with the faeros, our mortal enemies. In our current battle, we have already extinguished one of your suns. It is just the beginning.”

“We have no alliance with the faeros,” Jora’h insisted. “The faeros attack you, and humans use their Torches to ignite your planets, but Ildirans are not part of your war. We have no interest in hydrogue planets. There is no dispute between our races. We are neutral.”

“You do not understand our war.”

“No, I do not! I understand only that we have become part of it, through no desire of our own.”

The emissary paused as he sifted for a name. “Your . . .
Adar Kori’nh
destroyed many of our warglobes.”

Osira’h sat up abruptly. The hydrogues had taken that specific name from her memory, proving that the strange aliens understood more about Ildirans than they admitted.

Even the Mage-Imperator showed surprise at how much they had drawn from his daughter. “Adar Kori’nh did no more than defend Ildirans against unprovoked hydrogue attacks.” Jora’h took a step closer to the environment chamber, and his voice hardened. “Thus, you have glimpsed what we could do if forced to bring our military might to bear. The Solar Navy has thousands more ships. Do not underestimate us. We could inflict extreme damage on you.”

The emissary’s indignation crashed into Osira’h’s mind like breakers against a seawall. “And we can exterminate your race.”

“Yes, you could. But if you chose that course, we would weaken you—maybe enough for the faeros to finish you off. Are you willing to risk that? What purpose would it serve?” The emissary remained silent, and the Mage-Imperator continued in a threatening tone: “In the ten thousand years since our last conflict, our scientists and engineers have developed tremendous defenses. You will not find us easy prey.”

Osira’h fought to keep her silence. She knew that the Ildirans had changed little in many centuries, that the
Saga
had gone so far as to cover up all record of the previous war, that the Mage-Imperator’s people had not prepared in the slightest to battle the deep-core aliens. In fact, they had developed only one new defense: Osira’h herself. Though she tried, she could not hide her disappointment in her father and his people. The lives of so many humans had been sacrificed on Dobro.
All for . . . this?

And though she struggled to cover her reaction, the hydrogues drew the revelation from her mind. The emissary didn’t spare a glance for Osira’h. “Your attempts at deception are feeble. We do not believe you. You have developed no new defenses against us.”

The girl squirmed with anger and frustration. Jora’h looked at her, as if his own daughter had betrayed him.

But she was upset with him as well. The Mage-Imperator
must
have planned something before sending her on her mission. Right now, he could at least call in Adar Zan’nh with his warliners. A full-fledged attack would surely destroy the warglobes overhead, though it might cost much of the Solar Navy and probably ruin most of Mijistra as well.

The emissary no longer had any patience for the meeting. He seemed very disappointed in what the hydrogues had found here. He spoke dismissively. “We cannot waste time trading threats with Ildirans. The wentals are not extinct, as we believed, and humans continue to harass us. We have a greater war.”

Jora’h walked down the dais steps to stand directly in front of the emissary’s chamber. His voice was strong, but Osira’h could sense his fear. “Long ago, we worked out terms not to engage in mutual hostilities. We must do the same now, as we did in the last war. It might save you from the faeros.”

“You can do nothing for us. We do not need Ildiran assistance. We are strong enough against the faeros—whether or not you fight us.”

Osira’h felt a tug-of-war in her head, and she tried to balance the condemnation of the emissary with the thoughts of the Mage-Imperator. As if thrusting a dagger into an enemy’s heart, she pounded the
demand
into the hydrogue that he must offer a solution, must grant the Ildiran race a stay of execution.

Reeling from her mental onslaught, the emissary paused. Finally he said, “All rock-dwellers damage the song of the universe. Unnecessary notes must be eliminated, but discordant notes must be eliminated first.” The shifting shape paused, as if forming a new idea. “Ildirans cannot help in our war with the faeros. However, you can assist us against another insignificant opponent.”

Jora’h stonily regarded the quicksilver shape, waiting for the explanation.

“Among rock-dwellers, humans are our greatest enemies.” Thick mists swirled around his sculpted face. “Help us destroy them all, and perhaps we will ignore your planets.”

Osira’h had never been to Earth or Theroc, had met no other humans except for the isolated
Burton
descendants on Dobro. But they were her mother’s people! She hammered a deafening mental
No!
at the emissary, but the hydrogue shut her off.

Jora’h swayed. “Humans have never harmed us! They are our allies.”

“Humans are enemies of the hydrogues. You cannot ally yourselves with both. Choose.”

Osira’h stared at her father, but his attention was centered on the terrible choice he had to make, obviously torn between honor and survival. Above, through the skysphere, she could see the warglobes looming closer. With such a deadly armada, the hydrogues could level Mijistra much more swiftly than Adar Zan’nh could bring Ildiran warships to defend it.

But to exterminate all humans! Osira’h longed to beg her father not to agree. She knew too little about his true character. Her experience thus far had been with the breeding camps, with the teachings of Designate Udru’h, with Nira’s memories. She knew that Ildirans kept many secrets and told many lies, both subtle and blatant. Betrayal seemed to come easily to them.

Would her father capitulate and agree to obliterate another race in order to save his own? He would show his true colors by demonstrating whether he stood on principle, or whether his loyalty could be changed with a simple threat. She tried to influence his thoughts with her own, shouting inside her mind.
How strong are your convictions, Father? Are you a good person, or is your honor for sale, just like Designate Udru’h’s?

A true leader of the Ildiran people
must
find another way. She had seen into the hydrogue minds. She knew their rigid alien thought patterns and their mighty firepower. Even so, the girl believed that a real Mage-Imperator would stand up to the enemy. Would Jora’h betray Nira?

In another flood of memories the girl saw how her mother had held this man, listened to his promises, responded to his expressions of love. Were those memories a lie? The man Nira had loved would never bow to such a threat, would never consider it for a moment. She thought about Theroc, saw through her mother’s joyful past the tall worldtrees, the camaraderie of green priests, the mysteries of the great forest. And then she imagined them all turned to smoking, smashed ruins. Because of Jora’h’s weakness.

Standing before the hydrogue emissary, with hundreds of warglobes overhead, the Mage-Imperator wrestled with this impossible choice. Obviously, he saw no way out. Jora’h lowered his eyes and answered in a whisper, “I will do what I must. No matter what it costs.”