Scattered Suns (24 page)

Chapter 45—BENETO

The night on Theroc was silent, but filled with the voices of the forest. Because of his dual nature, Beneto’s mind could mingle and become one with the worldtrees, or he could withdraw and be himself. In truth, he was neither, trapped somewhere between the two.

The wooden golem sat alone in the ring of five burned stumps that stood like a temple to the wounded forest. Glowing lamps shone like bright eyes from the restored settlements where Theron survivors now lived. The makeshift homes were full of light, warmth, and amenities thanks to the Roamers who had helped them rebuild. Phosphorescent night insects floated about in faint streaks of bluish-white light, like a blizzard of fallen stars.

Sarein came quietly up to him in the shadows. Sensing his eldest sister’s approach, Beneto realized she had lost all of her natural feeling for the worldforest. She carried no lamp, not because she was trying to sneak up on her brother, merely to make sure that no one else noticed she had joined him.

“Beneto, I need to talk to you. I need to understand.”

“Yes, Sarein. You do.”

For days, he had been surrounded by former friends and amazed well-wishers. Now that he had issued the worldforest’s call, instructed them to disperse treelings as widely as possible, the exhausted people worked even harder, green priests volunteered to take treelings to other Hansa colonies, and everyone watched the skies for the return of the dreaded hydrogues.

Sarein had promised to assist by calling for Hansa ships—it was her obvious duty, and she understood how to accomplish that—but she had remained curiously apart from
him
. As if reluctant to believe his fantastic story, she watched the wooden image of her dead brother. She had spent too much time on Earth among businessmen and scientists, studying instead of accepting.

Now, at last, Sarein appeared before him ready to ask questions. He could feel that she was torn between two worlds: Born of Theroc, she longed to be on Earth, yet returned to her disaster-struck home, obligated to help.

With wood-grain eyes, he saw her perfectly well despite the darkness. Since he’d last seen her, when she’d departed for Earth, Sarein’s face had grown leaner, her expression harder. The responsibilities and stresses had been unkind to her, compared to the nurturing wilderness of Theroc. Beneto wondered if she regretted her bold choice to leave, to cut ties with her heritage. Perhaps she herself didn’t see the toll it had taken.

Now she looked at him, fighting an awe that was tinged with intimidation. “What are you? Really.”

“What do you see?”

“I see something that looks like my brother, but we have already grieved for his death. We lost Reynald, as well. Why did you come back?”

His limbs creaked and popped as he stood. “I am a son of Theroc. The worldforest that I so loved in life chose me, called me, recreated me so that I could be a clear voice for the verdani and, if necessary, a general in our war.” Beneto stepped closer to his sister. “The reason for my return is easily explained, Sarein. Yours, however, is not. You came back to Theroc, but the worldforest can see your feelings. We know that in your heart, you do not wish to be here. I, and the worldforest, can sense it in your soul.”

Sarein was flustered and confused. She had always been a no-nonsense person, and his mystical rebirth was out of her control. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Coming back to Theroc seemed the right thing to do. I am the oldest surviving child of the ruling family. It is my responsibility.”

“You have been told to feel that way. You yourself do not believe it.”

She arched her eyebrows. “I see. Do you intend to take over as the next ruler here?”

“I have no interest in that.” Beneto paused just a moment before adding, “And neither do you.”

Sarein responded with an indignant expression, but they both knew it was an act. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know you don’t belong here. Your heart and mind lie elsewhere. It has always been so.”

“I’ve discussed my obligations at great length with Chairman Wenceslas.”

“The people of Theroc deserve someone whose roots go deep here. But you, Sarein, are a leaf in the wind, not an anchored tree.”

His sister looked away, clearly unsettled. “But...how can I
not
help Theroc? These are my people too.”

Beneto rested a warm wood-grained hand on her arm. “I mean no insult when I tell you this, Sarein. You are our ambassador to Earth. Truly, you will accomplish more for Theroc if you return to the Hansa and work at what you do best. This is not for you.”

Sarein’s breathing grew faster, harder. Beneto sensed that she was near tears. “But...but look at what the hydrogues did to Theroc. And those faeros creatures! Our people need protection.”

“The hydrogues will return, and you can do nothing about it. But you
can
help us spread the treelings from ship to ship and world to world, starting with the Hansa colonies.” Beneto showed his perfectly carved wooden teeth in a smile. “Don’t worry, Sarein. A call went out beyond the Spiral Arm more than a year ago, when the hydrogues obliterated the first worldtree grove on Corvus Landing. Even before the hydrogues found Theroc, our reinforcements were under way, voyaging at top speed across impossible distances.”

He turned his head toward her. “Next time, if we can hold off the enemy for long enough, the forest will no longer fight alone. Allies are on their way.”

Chapter 46—BASIL WENCESLAS

The smell of medicines and the hum of diagnostic machinery always made the Chairman uneasy. He hated these regular rejuvenation treatments, but he knew the necessity of free-radical-expunging geriatric baths and fine-toxin filtering from his tissues and bloodstream. Very few people could afford such extraordinary measures to retain their youthful vitality, but Basil was a man with more responsibilities and pressures than anyone else in the Spiral Arm. It was imperative that he maintain his stamina.

Meticulous Hansa doctors watched him diligently for any deviation from normal health, aggressively dealing with the slightest anomaly. He simply could not afford to waste away. Accepting graceful retirement like Maureen Fitzpatrick had never been—and never would be—an option. He wasn’t ready to retire...and certainly no one was ready to replace him.

His heir apparent, Eldred Cain, had never disappointed him, but neither had he ever surprised Basil. Yes, Cain understood the Hansa Charter and the law; he was intimately familiar with the workings of politics and the Earth Defense Forces; he grasped everything that was necessary for running the Hanseatic League. But would it be sufficient? Was the quiet and pallid deputy shrewd enough and determined enough to become the next Chairman?

As the doctors tended Basil, injecting him with vitamins and wrapping his skin with fixative films and moisturizers, he looked up to see his expediter Franz Pellidor enter the room, bypassing the guards without so much as a word. Pellidor had neatly trimmed short blond hair, a square jaw, and a nose too perfect to be anything but the result of cosmetic modification. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he usually chose suits that were slightly undersized to enhance his imposing appearance.

“I know these procedures are necessary, but I resent the waste of hours of my time here,” Basil said to him. “I wish these doctors would consider how much my time is worth. I have so many more important things to do.”

The technicians looked at him with uncertain expressions, but did not respond. Pellidor answered calmly, “Even your time is probably not worth as much as these treatments cost, Mr. Chairman.”

“I have an inflated sense of my own importance?”

“Mr. Chairman, you are more than worth your weight in ekti.” Pellidor stopped where Basil lay prone on the table. “And speaking of ekti, I have the report you requested. Our modular skymine at Qronha 3 continues to produce acceptable amounts of stardrive fuel, in spite of the recent territorial unpleasantness with the Ildirans. Sullivan Gold assures us that their work proceeds without interference. Both groups are staying out of each other’s way.”

“After our recent visit to Mage-Imperator Jora’h, I’m not convinced the Ildirans have much to offer us, at the moment.” Though the Ildiran leader had said nothing, the Chairman had quickly picked up hints that the ancient empire was having internal problems. “Even so, we have to keep them as allies. The Hansa certainly can’t afford a conflict on yet another front.”

Lying back on his medical table, Basil scanned Pellidor’s report, noting the production numbers and the anticipated deliveries of stardrive fuel from the Qronha 3 cloud harvester. He hoped the expensive, rushed facility would survive long enough to pay for itself. It seemed to be a good investment so far, but the hydrogues could return at any time, without warning. At least Sullivan Gold had his own green priest aboard, so they would know immediately if hydrogues threatened the skymine.

He winced as a doctor prodded him with another needle. Pellidor waited to see whether the Chairman would snap at the medical attendant or if he would pretend to be invulnerable to pain.

Basil concentrated on his work, mulling over a million problems and many more possible solutions. Thinking of the green priest aboard the skymine only reminded him of how many others had left Hansa service and returned to their damaged world. Perhaps Basil had made an error in not sending the EDF to assist in the forest reconstruction. The Roamers had, and now the Therons felt indebted to the clans. He hated a missed opportunity.

Basil heaved a sigh. “Roamers and Therons both have such a narrow perspective. The entire Spiral Arm has been in a state of emergency for more than seven years, and it’s increasingly difficult for me to run the Hansa without effective communication. Ah, maybe Sarein will come through for us.”

Unbidden, an image of lovely, intelligent, and ambitious Sarein came to him. Perhaps it was the drugs and the treatment, but Basil felt a pang of longing for her. He had sent her to Theroc with instructions to work her way into governmental decisions, proposing herself as the next Mother. Even in the back of his mind, he didn’t want to admit how much he missed her sweet young body and—more erotic still—the electric heat of her ruthless determination. He had never realized how much energy her very presence gave him.

Basil tried to sit up, but the medical attendants surrounded him like a group of busy hens. “You still have at least an hour to go, Mr. Chairman. We will lose all progress if we stop now.”

He clenched his jaw and lay back, looking up at the expediter as he felt—but tried hard not to show—the weight of the universe on his shoulders. “I used to revel in the challenges, Mr. Pellidor. Roamers, hydrogues, green priests, Klikiss worlds, ekti, even King Peter. I swear I will not let them defeat me now.”

Chapter 47—KING PETER

When the first shipload of unexpected refugees arrived from Crenna, Hansa protocol operations rushed to prepare a showy reception for them. Davlin Lotze, piloting a ship he’d commandeered from Relleker, communicated directly with Basil Wenceslas over private channels. In response, the Chairman called for King Peter to put on his colorful fall robes for an impromptu welcome as soon as the ship landed. “Showing an unexpected compassionate side, Basil? Or is there something else I need to know?”

“I tell you everything you need to know. And nothing more.” Basil paced outside the door of the royal quarters as attendants surrounded Queen Estarra and dressed her in a fine gown spattered with jewels and pearls. “But the news greatly disturbs me. Hydrogues and faeros actively destroying suns, obliterating habitable planets like Crenna. Lotze suspects there’ll be more to come. We’ve been lucky so far.”

“I doubt the Crenna refugees consider themselves very lucky.”

“They’re lucky to be alive,” Basil said. “Since these people were saved from certain death, we can put a positive spin on this.”

With crews working overtime, a ribbon-decked reviewing stand was erected and pushed into place by the time Lotze’s vessel landed in the Palace District. There hadn’t been time to arrange for a formal crowd, but the court protocol ministers and ever-present media representatives rushed to their places to watch the King and Queen welcome these brave escapees from a hydrogue-destroyed star system.

As usual, a royal honor guard marched briskly in front of them, leading the way. Breaking from his usual reticence, Basil accompanied them, along with Eldred Cain and four other Hansa officials.
Why not bring Prince Daniel as well?
Peter thought.
To show that the Hansa is one big happy family.

Ever since their return from Ildira a few days ago, Peter had detected a different attitude from the Chairman, a more careful scrutiny and veiled suspicions. Estarra sensed it too. He could see it in the tension in her stance, but her expression remained perfectly clear. Had something about her pregnancy slipped? They both feared the Chairman’s reaction once he learned of the baby.

Basil had grown volatile and edgy in recent months, and Peter didn’t expect the formerly cool and cautious man to react rationally now. Basil hated any unexpected turn of events.

Peter held the Queen’s hand as they climbed the steps of the reviewing stand. Although he had received much formal instruction in etiquette from his Teacher compy OX, in truth Peter had learned manners long ago from his hardworking mother—his
real
mother, Rita Aguerra.

At the thought of his mother, who had never failed her boys despite a lack of almost everything she needed, Peter felt a deep sadness. He looked over at Estarra, his eyes briefly stinging. He would never have the joy of introducing his beloved Queen to his mother. In the political schemes to cover Peter’s true background, the Hansa—no,
Basil himself
—had arranged for the destruction of their dwelling complex, incinerating Peter’s mother and young brothers. Someday, Basil would pay for that.

Though a veritable hurricane of emotion passed through his heart and mind, the King allowed none of it to show. Estarra glanced at him with concern when his hand clenched, but he forced a smile. Never would he let Basil know what really took place in his head. He knew better than to let the Chairman suspect. It was too dangerous.

King and Queen stood in front of the reviewing stand as the refugee ship landed in the Palace District’s paved and painted reception zone. Commercial and military traffic had been moved aside to avoid interfering with the media coverage.

The official band played a fanfare as hatches opened on the ship and dusty, bedraggled-looking Crenna colonists filed out. Lower-ranking Hansa representatives went forward to meet them, shaking hands and letting functionaries direct the passengers off to one side for a more efficient disembarkation.

Peter stood close to the Queen, watching, waving, smiling. They were both amazed that so many people had fit aboard the ship, and apparently another vessel was coming behind them in a day or so. He had lived in crowded quarters with his mother and brothers, a long time ago. With a tolerant mind-set, humans could put up with difficult conditions.

The Crenna refugees made a slow single-file procession in front of the reviewing stand. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, and breezes from the nearby ocean kept the air crisp—a far cry from the circumstances these people had experienced over the last few days aboard their ship.

As two men walked by, jostling against each other, Peter heard one mutter, “Never thought we’d end up back on Earth again. Spent half a damn year getting away and setting up our own colony in the first place.”

The other sighed. “I’ve been sent back to square one so many times in my life, I’m starting to leave footprints.”

The Chairman whispered close to Peter’s ear, “Here comes Lotze. Thank him for his service and invite him to join us up here on the reviewing stand.”

The King gave a slight nod. “Davlin Lotze, my Queen and I wish to thank you for a mission well accomplished. While I can congratulate you with all the pomp and ceremony of this office, my gratitude is nothing compared to the thanks these Crenna colonists owe you. Come, be our guest for this ceremony.”

Lotze looked past the King to Chairman Wenceslas. “It would be my honor, Majesty.” He glided up the steps; Peter doubted the man ever made a sound when he chose not to. Lotze took his place close to the Chairman so the two of them could have a discreet conversation.

“How is your retirement so far, Davlin?” Basil said with clear sarcasm.

“Pleasant enough, until the hydrogues came.”

“And now that you’re a knight in shining armor to these people”—they both stared forward, smiling—“what exactly do you expect us to do with them? Rlinda Kett is due to bring another shipment within a day or so.”

Alert and listening to every word, Eldred Cain leaned in. “Think of all the good press the Hansa will receive. 'Rescued from the jaws of the enemy hydrogues.'”

Basil snorted. “After the media spotlight fades, they’ll just be refugees.”

Lotze said, “I intend to speak as their advocate. These people gave up everything to settle on Crenna and make a new start for themselves. They don’t particularly want to stay on Earth. Find another Klikiss world. They’re already adept at setting up colony facilities—the failure of Crenna was no fault of their own. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Basil gave a bitter laugh. “I always have things to worry about, Davlin. Now more than ever before.”

In the afternoon following the reception ceremony, Peter and Estarra needed more time alone together, to draw strength from the comfort of each other’s presence. As they swam in the warm water of the Palace’s dolphin pool, the King knew they were being observed by Hansa spies. But he and Estarra had learned to block off those thoughts, while remaining wary.

The dolphins enjoyed swimming with the royal visitors. Sleek gray shapes sped by. Sometimes the King and Queen played with them; other times, the two were just intent on each other. Like now.

Peter looked into Estarra’s brown eyes. He stroked and then cupped her delicately pointed chin, turning her face up so he could just stare at her. Her thick black hair, done up in tight braids and twists, seemed impervious to the water, slick and shiny with clear droplets. He moved closer to kiss her, and the concern melted from her face. “I love you very much,” he said.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” she said.

Peter wished he could pour his thoughts directly into her mind, as they had seen Mage-Imperator Jora’h do with his subjects via the
thism
. The Mage-Imperator must have such a beautiful and satisfying link with his people, without the need for secrets, veiled diplomacy, misdirection, or cryptic messages...

There was much Peter wanted to tell her in open conversation, if he could, things both crucial and meaningless. But they needed to be so careful together. He understood Estarra, and could express complex concerns and ideas with a glance, an expression, a lifting of his eyebrows, a touch of his fingertip. Always under scrutiny, the King and Queen had developed their own private language. But it wasn’t enough.

Under the water, he moved his hand and traced his fingertips across the smooth skin of her belly. The meaning was very clear, and she drew him closer as the dolphins swam around, splashing and impatient for more-vigorous play.

He used the hand signals they had developed. “It will be all right.”

She responded with a dance of her fingers. “Only if we’re careful. Very careful.”

He lowered his voice to the barest breath of a whisper, speaking aloud. “Then we will be.”