Scattered Suns (10 page)

Chapter 16—CELLI

When Celli looked at the figure made of animated wood, she couldn’t help seeing her brother Beneto, who had departed from Theroc almost eight years ago. The golem’s features were a perfect replica of the calm and smiling face she remembered from her childhood. Her facsimile brother’s expressions were the same, though his movements were jerky and unpracticed.

Preoccupied with the ruin of the worldforest around her, Celli hadn’t realized how much she missed him. After learning that the hydrogues had killed her brother last year on Corvus Landing, Celli had never imagined she’d see him again.

Now the Beneto golem stood in the clearing under the rebuilt fungus-reef city, staring with grain-swirled eyes at the gathering crowd. Celli was sure he could do something to help them all. The people watched the apparition in amazement. The green priests stared in hope and confusion at the strange and wonderful emissary from the worldforest.

“You are all connected to the worldforest,” Beneto said in a voice that could never have come from a human throat, yet it had a vaguely familiar timbre. “We are satellites of the trees, bound by telink. After the hydrogues destroyed me and my entire grove, my spirit lived within the nurturing mind of the verdani.”

Climbing down from the fungus-reef city, Celli’s older sister Sarein came to watch and listen. Though she was the official Theron ambassador to the Hansa, Sarein seemed uncomfortable here in the damaged forest, as if she had forgotten about the trees and remembered only cities and shops and palaces and Hansa boardrooms. Sarein had come home to help, but with obvious reluctance. Celli knew her sister would much rather have been on Earth dealing with the subtleties of politics than with the unending recovery efforts.

Seeing the replica of her dead brother, Sarein seemed entirely at a loss. Celli felt like giggling at her stuffy sister’s discomfiture.

Beneto, covered with vibrant woodlike flesh, was a man-shaped manifestation of the worldforest, a mobile extension of the great trees. The role was perfect for him. Celli remembered her brother’s joy in serving the sentient trees, before he had gone off to be a steward of the grove on Corvus Landing. Now, reincarnated like this, he seemed to relish the feel of beaten earth under his feet. He could move his arms and legs, even smile with pliable lips when he saw his parents, his sisters. And the trees could experience everything through him.

“A spark of all green priests lives inside the memory of the trees,” he continued to the fascinated audience. “I carry a seed of every previous green priest, yet I still have my own memories and personality intact.” The golem reached up with blunt wooden fingers to touch the contours of his face. “Beneto,” he said, as if reassuring himself of his own identity.

Celli hunkered down next to her good friend Solimar, sitting with her limber knees pulled to her chest, and let her arm touch his. He nudged her, and she nudged him playfully back. Enjoying Solimar’s closeness, she leaned against the broad-shouldered young green priest. He grinned.

Around them, the worldforest remained oddly silent. For months, teams of Roamer engineers had worked to clear deadwood, establish irrigation trenches, shore up retention walls, and plant soil-matrix mats of fast-growing grasses. But only a few days earlier, the work teams of Roamer engineers had packed up and departed, fearing that the Earth Defense Forces would hunt them down here, even though Theroc was supposed to be an independent world. Reluctantly, they had left the Therons to complete the restoration of their devastated forest.

Celli could see the forest still had far to go in its recovery. Why did the EDF have to cause problems at a time like this?

“The worldforest knows its danger,” Beneto said, his voice portentous. Her brother did not seem to breathe at all. His chest did not rise and fall, but he took in enough air to make his words. “The hydrogues know where to find us, and they will return. They will not forget their vendetta against the verdani. We cannot adequately defend ourselves. Therons and Roamers alone cannot protect us, nor can the Earth Defense Forces. Therefore, we must do something new to ensure the survival of the worldforest.”

The priests reacted anxiously to the news, though none of them pretended that the hydrogues would simply forget about them. Many glanced toward the cloud-dappled skies, as if warglobes might descend at any moment.

Celli’s uncle Yarrod stood next to her parents, looking grim, though now that she thought about it, she couldn’t ever remember Yarrod having much of a sense of humor. Alexa and Idriss couldn’t hide their excitement at seeing their son, even if he was no longer their flesh and blood.

“I speak for the trees now. That is why I have been grown from the heartwood, to come among you—and to ensure that the verdani survive.” He swiveled his head. “I call on the green priests to begin an urgent dispersal now. Instead of planting the new treelings here on our burned and barren slopes, distribute the worldforest to as many safe planets as possible.”

Sarein reacted with delight when she heard the suggestion. Celli could see the gleam of excitement in her sister’s eyes. This would be quite a political triumph for Sarein, who, for some time now, had been trying to encourage more green priests to ride Hansa spacecraft, where their telink communication skills would prove invaluable for the timely exchange of information.

“The Hansa will be glad to assist your efforts by carrying the trees and green priests on its ships,” Sarein blurted. “Planting more treelings and distributing green priests will expand the communications network across our colony planets.” Obviously, she wished the green priests would stay aboard the ships themselves, but she would be happy enough to bring this small victory back to Chairman Wenceslas.

Beneto nodded ponderously. “This endeavor will keep the verdani alive—no matter what happens here.”

Celli whispered to Solimar, “It’s kind of like that old story of Johnny Appleseed, wandering the countryside and planting trees, spreading orchard after orchard.”

Yarrod remained anxious. “But if we take the treelings offworld, how then will we restore Theroc? Isn’t that our priority? This is our home!”

Beneto paused for a long moment, as if receiving messages from the widely dispersed worldforest. Then, with his swirling bronze eyes, he looked strangely at Celli and Solimar. “We can achieve both. The forest here has great power. To recover from these great wounds, it needs only to be awakened again.”

Chapter 17—DENN PERONI

With the EDF hunting down Roamer traders wherever they found them, the ringed gas giant Osquivel, a designated gathering point, seemed one of the safest places for the clans to congregate. Here, a giant Eddy battle group had been defeated by the hydrogues, and the military wasn’t likely to come back anytime soon. As far as the Hansa knew, there had never been any clan operations here, so why would they bother to look again?

Denn Peroni flew the
Dogged Persistence
to the shipyards run by clan Kellum. He had no doubt that plenty of other outlaws would come here to grumble with indignation, to wait and plan. He hoped his daughter Cesca, the Speaker of the clans, might be here. He didn’t even know if she had survived the attack on Rendezvous...And if she was alive, had she escaped or been captured? No one knew where the prisoners had been taken, and the turmoil was still spreading.

Only a few days ago, Denn had been on Theroc helping the people rebuild their worldforest settlement, when Nahton, the green priest from the Whisper Palace on Earth, had delivered the astonishing news about Rendezvous. Mother Alexa and Father Idriss understood that Denn and his fellow workers were now at risk. “Chairman Wenceslas knows you are here assisting us,” Alexa had said. “You must leave. We can’t protect you if the EDF comes.”

Denn had felt sick inside. “There’s still plenty of work to do, but we don’t want to put you in the middle of this. You’ve already suffered enough.”

And so the engineers and construction specialists had vanished into the stellar distances. First Denn had gone to Plumas, hoping to find Cesca there; instead, he found one of the old Tamblyn brothers running the water mines, and the two of them had flown to Osquivel. They hoped some sort of organization might be occurring; Del Kellum had always gotten things done.

“Shizz, the Eddies are pissed off at the drogues, so they’re lashing out at anything in reach—and we happen to be convenient targets,” Denn muttered to Caleb beside him. Now the Roamers had no customers and no external economy—and the Big Goose still didn’t have its ekti.

Caleb Tamblyn scratched his gray-yellow hair; for a water miner, he seemed awfully stingy using the stuff for washing. “Damned stupid politics!” he said with a snort.

While Denn tried to dress the part of a respectable trader, Caleb paid little attention to his appearance; in fact, much of the “embroidery” on his clothes was really just patches and stitches that repaired rips in the worn fabric. Denn would never have been seen in public like that, though Caleb had already made several snide comments about him being a “dandy.” Obviously, they saw things from drastically different perspectives.

“Damned stupid politics, you bet. Say, Caleb, didn’t your niece Tasia go join the Eddies? Maybe we can get in touch with her through a back door—”

Caleb flashed an angry glance back at him. “Don’t confuse her with one of those goose-stepping morons. Tasia went to fight the drogues at the start of this bloody war. She didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she’s a Tamblyn!” He grumbled under his breath, “What more do you need to know?”

Not wanting to press the issue, Denn kept his silence as he carefully guided the
Dogged Persistence
through the obstacle course of Osquivel’s outer rings. He was not surprised to see dozens of other Roamer ships already there. Many had reached the same conclusion: This was the safest gathering point.

With his blustery voice, clan leader Del Kellum personally welcomed the
Persistence
and announced a meeting of all available family representatives. “Since we can’t have any more clan gatherings at Rendezvous, we’ll do our best here, by damn! Somebody’s got to get organized and make decisions.”

After Denn docked his ship among the other vessels, he and Caleb met a harried-looking organizer who assigned them sleeping quarters in an outlying administrative asteroid. The two men each took a shower of distilled cometary water (which Caleb claimed was far inferior to Plumas water, though Denn noticed no difference at all), then made their way to the central complex for the meeting. Denn greeted friends and acquaintances from his trade runs, while Caleb found longtime water customers from the Plumas water mines. Despite the camaraderie, all of the Roamers were tense and unsettled.

Talking with clan representatives in the largest meeting hall, Denn was disheartened to learn that they all expected
him
to have news about the Speaker. “I am as isolated and disoriented as the rest of you. I have no idea where my daughter is.”

“It’s not like anyone had time to send out memos while evacuating Rendezvous,” Caleb pointed out.

“At least you figured out to come here,” raven-haired Zhett Kellum said, standing next to her father. “We’ve sent out messengers, hoping to get an overall picture of what’s going on.”

“If we don’t hear from the Speaker soon, we’ll have to make plans without her. Since we cut off all trade with the Big Goose, our families need new markets to supply and purchase vital goods.” Kellum slipped a beefy arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

“Cesca will get in touch with us as soon as she can. I’m sure she’s already sent out word, but it may take a while for any message to be disseminated,” Denn said. “But I agree that we can’t wait. We have to start deciding what to do right away. So how do we deal with the Hansa?”

Kellum put his hands on his hips. “We’re holding some EDF soldiers, by damn—if we want to use them as bargaining chips. We rescued them here after the Big Goose got its butt kicked by the drogues.”

“Not that they’ve written us any thank-you notes.” Zhett gave a sour laugh. “It’s been more like playing host to thirty-one princesses.” Then she lowered her eyes. “Except one of them died in a bungled escape attempt, which just made the rest of the bunch angrier than ever.”

“No reason to avoid calling them POWs now,” Caleb said. “Tit for tat. Who knows how many Roamer hostages the Big Goose grabbed at Rendezvous. Or Hurricane Depot.”

“And they’re still doing it,” another clan head said. “They just hit the Chan greenhouses at Hhrenni.”

Denn made a disbelieving sound. “The Big Goose is letting rabid dogs do its decision-making.”

“Yeah, and those rabid dogs have huge ships and lots of weapons,” Caleb pointed out. “We don’t.”

“We might have something eventually,” Kellum said. “We’ve got Kotto Okiah studying the systems of a hydrogue derelict we found here in the rings. Pretty soon now we’ll know what makes the drogues and their vessels tick, by damn.” Though the meeting hadn’t actually started yet, listeners coalesced around Kellum. “Then we’ll have something to use against the Eddies—or at least against the drogues.”

“Let’s think about this a minute before we get ready to go to war,” Denn cautioned. “We’re traders first and foremost, not soldiers. We find resources, mine metals, produce stardrive fuel, and we used to sell a lot of our product to the Big Goose. Now that we’re not doing business with them anymore, are we going to curl up and whimper?” He raised his fist. “Or are we going to find new customers? It’s a big galaxy.”

“Would you listen to him,” Caleb grumbled good-naturedly. “He sounds just like the Speaker.”

“Like daughter, like father,” Denn quipped. “In fact,
I’ll
volunteer to sneak to some outlying Hansa colonies cut off from regular supplies. I know for a fact that settlements like Yreka have no great love for the Big Goose. They’ll keep their mouths shut and trade for whatever we can supply.”

Caleb scratched his gray-blond hair, which was still damp and clumpy from his shower. “I wouldn’t be averse to setting up a few profitable black-market operations with people who’ve never done us any harm.”

A grin formed in the nest of Kellum’s salt-and-pepper beard. “By damn, if we’re going to do that, we might as well also send representatives straight into the Ildiran Empire too. The Big Goose throws around the patriotic line that we’re supposed to help 'our own people,' but after their attacks I don’t feel bound to that anymore. Does anybody?”

The answer was a resounding No.

“We’re Roamers. We can do it,” Caleb called. “What else do we have to trade?”

Denn shrugged. “I’ve got a whole cargo of worldtree wood aboard my ship.”