Scattered Suns (33 page)

Chapter 66—ADMIRAL LEV STROMO

Reluctantly heading for distant Corribus to investigate an alleged massacre, Admiral Stromo was impatient. He wished he could just go back home and leave the risky field duties to younger, more ambitious commanders like Elly Ramirez. He’d barely had time to change his clothes at the EDF base before turning the Manta around and hauling ass to the site of another enemy attack.

On the way, he reviewed the unedited recordings from the interviews with Orli Covitz and Hud Steinman and the images taken by Captain Roberts. A kid, an old man, and a deserter! In the meantime, through an exchange of telink messages sent via the handful of green priests still working for the Hansa, Klikiss gateway planets verified that the Corribus transportal coordinates were indeed shut down. Something was up.

He certainly hoped that whatever had attacked the colony was no longer around. At full emergency speed, his Manta would arrive at Corribus no more than a day after first hearing the disturbing news, and their analysis techs would get some real answers. EDF ships? That simply couldn’t be possible. Klikiss robots and turncoat Soldier compies? He glanced nervously around his own command bridge. Along the Manta’s corridors, day in and day out, hundreds of Soldier compies performed their tasks exactly as expected. His own cruiser relied heavily on them, and the machines had never exhibited any problems. An EDF warship on patrol had as many as one compy to five humans. It was ridiculous even to suggest getting rid of them all.

General Lanyan would wait for Stromo’s report before taking drastic action. Still, it did not look good.

“I get no response from the colony transmitter, Admiral,” Ramirez said from the bridge. “We’ve been hailing them for ten minutes. They should have somebody on duty.”

“We don’t doubt that a disaster occurred there,” Stromo said. “I just hope those witnesses were exaggerating.”

“Getting our first high-res images now.” The screen displayed the granite-walled canyon and the plains spreading outward. Ramirez read from her sensor readout at the commander’s chair. “Corribus’s air is relatively clear of water vapor. We should be able to get higher magnification—Ah!” The image blurred and then sharpened as the Manta’s adaptive optics crystallized the focus through layers of atmosphere.

Now he could see the burn marks and wreckage with painful clarity. A few colorful scraps of what had been prefab colony structures lay scattered, knocked to pieces. The ancient Klikiss ruins had been blasted into rubble.

Stromo stared. “I don’t see anybody moving down there, do you?”

“According to the girl, this happened some weeks ago. We didn’t expect to find anybody.”

“Right, right.” Stromo stood straight-backed, remembering General Lanyan’s instructions. “Put together a crew with full analytical instruments. I want detailed imaging, precise postmortem studies, and a complete map of the destruction. We have to learn what caused this.”

“We have a personnel transport ready to depart, Admiral,” Ramirez said. “I presume you’d like to accompany them?”

He would rather have stayed on the bridge, but the situation seemed to require his presence. “You’ve run a full scan all the way out to the perimeter of the Corribus system? No enemy vessels detected, nothing unusual?”

“Whatever’s been here went away long ago, sir.”

“All right then, get eight crewmen, and I’ll accompany them in the shuttle. I promise to find out what happened down there.”

The dry air held a spoiled tang from old burns. Thin winds whistling through the granite canyon had long ago scoured the smoke away, but a greasy layer of fresh soot covered the rockfaces. Stromo paced the uneven ground, using the toe of his boot to nudge shattered stones and melted lumps of polymer. The investigators found only blackened bones and bloodstains, no other sign of the hundred or so colonists.

Without instructions from him, the team members fanned out, taking detailed three-dimensional images. They probed about, measuring residual energy signatures, scraping the by-products of burns from where weapons blasts had destroyed equipment and material. They marked the locations of any human remains they found.

“Admiral, do we take the cadavers back up to the ship for identification, or should we bury them individually here?”

Stromo didn’t want to stay on this unnerving planet any longer than was necessary; besides, the General was waiting for his immediate report. “We can presume they’re all dead. The colony records will list their names. Instruct the Manta to dispatch digging equipment so we can provide quick graves.” He nodded for emphasis. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Even with the scramble of activity, he found Corribus oppressive. What if the mysterious attackers came back? It could happen at any time.

“How soon until you have a first-order conclusion?” he said to a nearby woman, who was using a scraper to put powder from a burn scar into a diagnostic machine. “I want to have something by sunset.” He worked his jaw, silently cursing the green priests for dropping out of military service. It would have been much easier to send an immediate report through telink.

“I’m verifying my results right now, sir. From what I’ve got so far...I just wanted to be sure.” She looked down at her tiny screen, saw the jagged lines of a spectrographic signature. “No doubt about it—these are scars from jazer blasts. Other debris bears specific signatures of the explosive chemicals we use in EDF heavy-artillery shells. The girl was right.”

Stromo blew out a long breath through his heavy lips. “So you’re claiming that the Earth Defense Forces did this? That our own battleships opened fire and obliterated a legitimate Hansa colony?”

The technician bit her lower lip and answered slowly and cautiously, “What I said, sir, is that these scars are from jazer blasts and that some of the explosives bear identical signatures to the chemicals our military uses. I wouldn’t presume to draw any further conclusions than that.”

Scowling, Stromo walked away and let the technician continue her work. He queried two other specialists and received similarly damning answers. Whoever had attacked Corribus had either done an excellent job of mimicking chemical signatures to implicate the EDF, or they simply didn’t care who learned what had happened here. He shook his head. How could this be?

General Lanyan had received reports from all ten grid admirals. The girl Orli Covitz insisted that a Juggernaut and five Mantas were the culprits, but all the battle groups were accounted for.

“How in the world do you misplace giant EDF warships?” he said aloud.

Were the Ildirans building exact copies and attacking human colonies? That made no sense at all. Had someone retrieved damaged battleships floating in the rings of Osquivel after the hydrogue battle? Five Mantas and one Juggernaut. Something about that grouping nagged at the back of his mind.

Five Mantas and a Juggernaut...

He drew a quick breath as the answer clicked into place. That was the complement of ships sent on a recon mission to the gas giant Golgen a year ago. It had been a test flight to demonstrate how well the Soldier compies could operate EDF vessels under the guidance of only a handful of token human officers. Those five Mantas and one Juggernaut had vanished without a trace.

Though no wreckage was ever found, the EDF had assumed those vessels were destroyed by hydrogues. Stromo paused in his pacing. Some enemy could have captured those ships and turned them against a human colony!

A great weight pressed on his chest. Stromo raised his voice to a shout. “Hurry up and collect what you need! We’ve got to get out of here as soon as possible so I can make my report to General Lanyan.”

Chapter 67—PRINCE DANIEL

Following the Chairman’s specific instructions, OX proved to be a harsh taskmaster. Previously, Daniel had resented the Teacher compy with his endless recollections, his personal stories about long-dead people, his centuries’ worth of boring experiences. Now he actively hated the little machine.

Daniel’s body amazed him with how sore it was able to feel—arms, legs, stomach, back, muscles he hadn’t known existed. He had never exercised so much in his life, and OX showed no sympathy at all. How could a compy even begin to understand what muscle pains felt like?

Though the draconian new regime had not been in effect long, Daniel knew he would die if he had to keep it up. The demands on him were utterly unreasonable. OX made him sit with perfect posture, and he was no longer allowed to relax, much less slouch. He was required to take care of his personal appearance—as if anybody could see him here in the torture chambers of the Whisper Palace.

OX calculated a specific caloric intake and designed meals that forced the Prince to lose weight. The guards brought plates that contained disappointingly small portions of disgusting healthy foods. If the Prince did not exhibit what OX deemed to be an appropriate level of respect and gratitude when they arrived, the Teacher compy thanked the guards and sent them back to the kitchens with the uneaten meal. Why in the world did a
Prince
have to be polite? Everyone else was supposed to be polite to him, not the other way around! Daniel’s stomach growled constantly. He had never been so hungry, and he longed for the taste of a dessert, even a tiny piece of candy.

Despite his exhaustion, he could barely sleep. Princes were supposed to be pampered! He was so angry about all the recent changes that he couldn’t concentrate on his studies. Each time his mind wandered, however, the Teacher compy made him stand for the remainder of the lesson and summarize each point as it was taught.

Thus, picturing a bleak future that would be endless and intolerable, he decided to revolt. He had to show Chairman Wenceslas that this was simply not acceptable. He was the Prince: No one could treat him this way. Between lessons, Daniel began to form his own plan.

Even though the Chairman was not likely to let him appear in public, tailors and fashion masters had measured and fitted him for gaudy clothes in styles that were adjustable to allow for his anticipated weight loss. They made him colorful robes, billowy shirts of slick fabric, heavy jewelry, fur-lined boots. But for his daily lessons, the outfit he was given to wear was serviceable and nondescript; he hoped it would be good enough for his plan. Who would ever expect a Prince to dress like that?

One evening, after the guards brought his meager dinner, accepted his lukewarm thanks, and left him unattended with OX, Daniel took action. The Teacher compy had just started to drone about institutional changes former Chairman Maureen Fitzpatrick had mandated during her administration, adding his own memories of times he had spent with the old woman in Hansa HQ. Knowing he had only a few moments, the Prince astonished OX by rushing him, grabbing the small robot, and herding him backward into his closet. Daniel sealed the Teacher compy inside, with the clothes and clutter the young man had picked up from around his room, and wedged the lock in place. The simple analog deadbolt was not electronically operated, and the rebellious Prince realized the compy would be able to break out before long.

OX amplified his voice from behind the door. “Prince Daniel, let me out. This behavior is unacceptable. The Chairman will not be pleased.”

Daniel opened the chamber door, saw that the hall was momentarily clear. The muted colors of his clothing—mushroom shirt, soft brown pants, plain shoes—would attract no attention. He had no identification, money, or weapons. But he could run. He would figure the rest out if the need arose.

The corridors were lit with artificial illumination. In spite of his sore muscles, Daniel scuttled down the hall. He didn’t know where he was and had no blueprint of the Whisper Palace, so he simply fled in one direction, took a turn into another hall, and found a flight of steps that led upward. He must be underground, since any high room would have windows or views. If he found the ground level, there had to be a door that would lead him into the courtyard and the gardens.

Every time he heard people moving or talking up ahead, Daniel chose a different route. Within minutes he was completely lost and could never have found his way back to his secret chambers...not that he wanted to.

He opened a doorway marked with an Exit symbol and found a new set of stairs. Halfway up the staircase, breathless from running, he heard people coming down toward him. He froze, wondering where he could go.

Instead of guards, he saw three cleaners wearing staff uniforms. Daniel didn’t know what he should say, but the workers, deep in conversation, barely glanced at him. At the landing above him, they opened a door and disappeared into the Palace. Before the door closed behind them, Daniel grabbed it.

He walked out into a main level of the Whisper Palace. Until now, he had resented that King Peter’s “benevolent visage” was everywhere. But now he was glad that his own face was relatively unknown, even though he was a Prince. He could slip in among the staff unnoticed; the Whisper Palace must have thousands of people working there every day. Since he appeared young, he held himself tall and tried to look as if he knew what he was doing.

Eventually he made his way to a set of nondescript corridors and supply rooms where cleaners, gardeners, cooks, and support staff had offices and communal break and lunch rooms. In a small kitchenette, he was thrilled to discover someone’s packed lunch waiting in a refrigeration cabinet. He decided he was entitled to it. He was the Prince, after all, and his stomach growled for decent food after two days of near starvation.

The packaged meats and sliced fruits were mixed with strange spices, some sort of unfamiliar offworld cuisine no doubt, but Daniel didn’t have much choice. He ate, furtively glancing around, jumping every time someone walked past the kitchenette. At any minute, he was sure loud alarms would ring out. As soon as the guards discovered OX in his closet, they would order a full lockdown of the Whisper Palace. He had to get out as soon as possible.

Crowds moved constantly through the halls. When the bustle and background noise increased, Daniel assumed it was a shift change. He casually fit in with the tired-looking personnel filing through the corridors, and soon emerged onto a broad terrace in the open air. OX hadn’t let him go outside for more than a year, and he was astonished by the sight of the sky.

But he couldn’t stand there like a fool gazing at the colorful tourist zeppelins drifting over the Royal Canal. He hurried down the wide, shallow stairway from the terrace and mingled with people as they spread out. With one glance over his shoulder, Daniel raced into the great plaza. Finally, he allowed himself a smug smile as he imagined the uproar his escape would cause.