Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (60 page)

His last contact had been from Ulio, where he’d stopped to refuel and resupply, and he had added a code phrase to his message to let her know he would make a brief trip to Vaconda, as he had many times before.

But he should have been back days ago.

Zoe contemplated sending out searchers to trace his route from Ulio, but if Tom Rom didn’t want to be found, no one would ever track him. What if he was hurt? Or lost? If it would help, she might even leave her sterile dome and go after him herself. Only for him. But that would be a last resort.

Her concerned thoughts were interrupted by a message from Orbiting Research Sphere 12—Dr. Hannig’s lab. The scientist looked worried, and his bristly white hair had a distinct sparkle of perspiration. “Ms. Alakis, we’ve had a . . . slight problem.”

Zoe’s eyes hardened. With the dangerous work on Pergamus, there was no such thing as a “slight” problem. She even momentarily forgot about Tom Rom. “What sort of slight problem?”

His chuckle held an undertone of anxiety, so she knew not to believe his dismissive attitude. “It’s probably just an administrative error. Nothing to worry about, but I wanted to let you know.”

Her expression turned icy, her voice even colder. “Details, please.” She leaned closer so she could watch his face.

“As you requested for the library, Ms. Alakis, we finished our work with Tamborr’s Dementia, isolated the virus, purified it, and stored it in capsules. One of our notebooks states that we had twelve vials, but our final inventory lists only eleven. We’ve double-checked it, and I just wanted you to know there was an accounting error in our original submission.”

“An accounting error.” Zoe didn’t even try to hide her skepticism. “Your team has never had accounting errors.”

Dr. Hannig chuckled again, that awkward nervous titter. “There’s always a first time. I’ve reprimanded my team and will launch a full investigation. When cleaning up the lab, we did find the twelfth vial, but it was empty.”

“You mean it was spilled.”

“No, of course not!” Hannig sounded more nervous now. “Absolutely not. I’m positive.”

Zoe frowned and thought,
Meaning, “I don’t think so
.”

In its natural state, according to Hannig’s report, Tamborr’s Dementia was very difficult to contract, but Hannig’s work had isolated and concentrated the virus. If that vial had spilled, every member of the research team would be infected now. The symptoms would manifest within a few days.

Dr. Hannig’s words petered out, and he fell silent, staring at her on the screen, as if hoping. Zoe stared back without responding. Rules were rules, considering the extreme hazards of their work. There could be no room for flexibility, no possibility for compassion. Another example of why she refused to befriend her researchers.

Hannig’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Please!”

She made up her mind. “Dr. Hannig, I want to thank you and your team for your years of service. We have copies of your documentation, as well as an archival sample of the Tamborr virus, which we’ll seal away in the Pergamus library. Your work will not be lost.”

The panicked researchers gathered around Hannig on the screen, shouting. “At least wait a few days, see if we show any symptoms! You’ve got to be sure. You can’t just—”

“Protocol is protocol,” she said. “You all signed on to it. You’ve known from the very beginning.”

“But it’s just a damned counting mistake!” one of the scientists cried.

“We have to be sure. Thank you for understanding.”

Zoe muted the voice pickup, because she had no interest in hearing desperate excuses or pleas. From her desk, she initiated a full decontamination protocol for ORS 12.

Hannig would know how much time he had. The magnetic charge at the heart of the station would take fifteen minutes to build up enough energy for the gamma-ray burst, which would release five times the amount of energy needed to destroy any known virus or bacteria. Just to be sure.

She supposed Hannig would try to rip apart the control systems to access the central magnetic canister, but he couldn’t possibly do it in time. If he was an honorable man, he would accept his situation and not further damage the ORS. The station would be put back to good use after she sent her teams to clean up and repair all of the systems.

She watched her screen, saw the power buildup in the ORS core. She blocked the comm screen, even though Dr. Hannig repeatedly sent requests for communication.

The gamma-ray burst ended that, vaporizing all organic matter inside the sphere, down to every individual cell and the smallest virus. Afterward, the ORS would be subjected to twenty-four hours of thermal decontamination to cook away any remnants. And after that, the hatches would be opened to vent the station to space, leaving the chambers in hard vacuum with temperatures near absolute zero. That should be sufficient to make it a safe environment for the next team in the ORS.

Fortunately, because all of her research groups were isolated, no one else even needed to know about the disaster.

She called up her files to review the applications of other scientists who might be candidates for the new research team. She scanned down the names, read their specialties and accomplishments. Hannig would be difficult to replace, she knew, but she would have plenty of time to find someone. Her cleanup crew would take a week to scour and then reequip ORS 12 for further research anyway.

Zoe closed the file on Dr. Hannig and his team. Her attorneys would handle closing out their employment, releasing insurance payments for the designated beneficiaries. They had excuses to make, false stories to file, loose ends to tie up. They were used to it by now.

Tom Rom returned that afternoon.

With a suddenly gladdened heart, she watched the images transmitted from her picket line scouts as his ship streaked in toward Pergamus. Her eyes sparkled, and her pulse quickened just to know he was all right, but his ship looked more battered than usual.

“What took you so long?” she cried. “I was worried.”

“Unforeseen difficulties. My ship was damaged on Vaconda, and I needed a few days to fix it up. It’ll require a full overhaul and cleaning, engine upgrades, resupply, and spare parts replacement, but my repairs were good enough to get me home.”

“What happened? Tell me.”

“It’s a long story. Nothing to concern yourself about. I am fine. I managed to obtain the records from Kuivahr, as well as intact samples of the Ramah brain parasite you asked for—and, of course, the shipment of prisdiamonds. That was what caused me a little trouble.”

Zoe didn’t care about prisdiamonds. She had never been concerned with budgets or resources, because she always had enough to pay for whatever she wanted. After worrying about him for days, Zoe now needed to see Tom Rom, face-to-face, just like two normal people, and listen to the harrowing adventures he’d had on her behalf. “Land your ship. Our teams can make the necessary repairs while you go through the decontamination stages to see me.”

Staring at her from the screen, Tom Rom looked tired but not weak; his posture remained so straight that she wondered if he ever bent his shoulders. “If I cycle through decon, that’ll be a twelve-hour delay. I’d like to see you very much, but there’s an urgent matter you should know about.”

“How urgent?” Zoe tried to hide her disappointment.

“I intercepted a message as I flew past Rhejak, and word is spreading through the green priest network. There’s a deadly plague sweeping through a Roamer space city.”

Now Zoe perked up. “A new plague? Or something we’ve seen before?”

She saw an unusual shine in his dark eyes. “Nothing any human has
ever
seen, Zoe.” He described the disease carried by the Klikiss, which had killed off an entire unknown race, and now had adapted to infect humans.

Zoe caught her breath listening to this. “We’ve got to have it for the library.”

“I already plotted a course. The Roamers quarantined their entire city, and they will all be dead shortly. I need to get there as soon as possible.”

As much as she longed to see him, as much as she wanted his strength and his presence next to her—to ease the loneliness that was always there inside her cold, clean dome—Zoe wanted that alien plague more.

“Go. Bring me a sample of that virus and any records the Roamers might have left behind.”

No one else would have seen the flicker of a smile on his emotionless face, but she knew Tom Rom all too well. “I’ll do that, Zoe,” he said. “For you.”

N
INETY
-
TWO

P
RINCE
R
EYN

Ildirans instinctively kept time by the positions of multiple suns in the sky, but Reyn had to use a chronometer to tell him when it was time to sleep. With his worsening symptoms, he often became exhausted at inopportune times. On the other hand, the amazing sights and experiences in Mijistra gave him energy he hadn’t known he had. And he very much enjoyed Osira’h’s company.

She was a considerate and enthusiastic tour guide. When the Mage-Imperator suggested the names of others who could show him highlights of Ildiran culture, Reyn assured him that he preferred Osira’h’s company. Nira gave them such a warm and indulgent smile that Reyn felt embarrassed.

Now, when the Prince was well rested from a satisfying sleep, Osira’h said she had something important to show him. Laughing, she took him to one of the Prism Palace’s open landing decks where a long-range cutter waited. “I’m going to take you to one of the seven suns of Ildira. Durris-B.”

Reyn adjusted his protective filmgoggles. “I’m seeing too much sun as it is.”

“Not up close. And there’s something special about Durris-B. You’ll see.”

“I wouldn’t argue with my hostess.”

She led him aboard a cutter much too large for just the two of them, but Ildirans always liked to crowd too many aboard, so the combined
thism
would keep them from feeling isolated. Osira’h, though, was different in many ways, and when Reyn asked who else was going with them, she told him that his company would be enough.

With the Ildiran stardrive at full power, they arrived at the nearby star within two hours.

Durris was a trinary star system, a white and a yellow sun orbited by a red dwarf, and as Osira’h flew closer, the yellow sun filled the cutter’s view, blocking out its white and red companions. Durris-B swelled to become a sea of hot gases in front of them. With all shields on maximum and filters in place, Osira’h streaked forward as if she meant to plunge directly into the sun.

Reyn felt awed and more than a bit intimidated. “Aren’t we close enough?”

She shook her head. “You can’t see them yet.”

He spotted cells of roiling gases, plumes of solar flares, ethereal coronal discharges . . . and something else. Bright flashes darted about like embers in a breeze.

Osira’h glanced at him with her captivating eyes. “The faeros.”

Reyn tried to cover his instinctive shiver. He’d only been a baby when the faeros devastated the worldforest. His parents had barely escaped, whisking him to safety as the trees burned. “I don’t . . . have fond memories of the faeros.”

Osira’h remained at the controls but closed her eyes, as if she wanted to fly blind on purpose. “They’re neutralized—I helped neutralize them.” She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. “I can communicate, after a fashion.”

“Do they listen to you?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t tried to exert my powers over them for a long time—there’s been no need. Nothing to worry about.”

Prince Reyn did a brave thing and said, “In that case, I’ll trust you.”

She guided the cutter close to Durris-B, where thousands of faeros frolicked in the star layers, riding the arcs of flares. Several fireballs streaked past their ship as if they could sense Osira’h. Reyn followed them through the filtered windowports, amazed. Like an angry nest of buzzbeetles stirred up in the sunlight, faeros circled the cutter before diving back into Durris-B.

“I’ve never seen them this active before,” she said. “Something has riled them up.”

“I thought you could communicate with them.”

“I can send messages I want them to hear, but I don’t understand how they
think.
They are made of living, sentient fire—we don’t exactly have a common set of experiences.”

Another shudder went through him, searing pain along his nerve lines, like the fire bursting from the faeros. He winced, fighting back his reaction, which had nothing to do with the faeros.

Osira’h was deep in thought. “I wish I could understand what agitated them. . . .”

She noticed his trembling, and her gaze locked on his arm, then traveled up to his drawn face. She stared at him, waiting, and he felt his walls breaking down. Reyn had told few people—his sister, Rlinda, some researchers—but as he sat close to Osira’h, who was so strange and beautiful and understanding, he had found another ally. A friend. That was one of the reasons he had come to Ildira in the first place.

“I need your help,” he said, and ignoring the inferno outside their shielded cutter, he told her about his mysterious disease. “No one knows how to cure it, and I was hoping an Ildiran physician might. . . .” He couldn’t control his trembling now. “But I don’t want anyone else to know—not until I’m sure.”

Ignoring the faeros, Osira’h veered the cutter away, changed course, and raced back to Ildira. Several of the curious fireballs followed them for a time, flying in fiery loops, before they dropped back to the churning star.

“Our best medical kithmen will devote themselves to the challenge,” Osira’h said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The medical kithmen found Reyn to be a perplexing problem.

After Osira’h made her request, the intense Ildiran doctors were completely dedicated to his case, convinced that if they found a cure then it would also honor the Mage-Imperator. They took samples and ran tests with diagnostic apparatus Reyn had never seen before. One of the doctors ran sensitive fingertips over his skin, as if he could telepathically pick up tiny flaws in Reyn’s DNA.