Scattered Suns (5 page)

Chapter 7—ADMIRAL LEV STROMO

The EDF mopped up their operation around the Roamer greenhouse asteroid complex within twenty-four hours. Admiral Stromo settled into the Manta’s command chair. Gripping its arms, he shifted his weight and made a conscious effort to look as if he belonged there.

“I’ll stay aboard and remain in command while you consolidate the operations down there,” he told Ramirez. “Lead teams into the domes and begin rounding up prisoners, just like we did at Hurricane Depot.”

Elly Ramirez was all business now, dedicated to the task at hand; she had not complained about the operation once it started. “I recommend full body armor and defensive weaponry, in case the Roamers adopt guerrilla tactics.”

Stromo nodded. That was exactly why he wanted to stay aboard the Manta until the captured territory was deemed safe. “So far they haven’t shown any propensity for violence, but they’ll be desperate. Like cornered rats.”

Ramirez summoned her ground troops, all of whom had spent months training at the EDF base on Mars. Many recruits, unable to imagine personal combat against the hydrogues, had considered infantry drills a waste of time. Now, though, they would have a chance to put their training into practice.

An EDF first-strike squad found an access dock on the side of the main dome. Under fire from the Manta cruiser, the greenhouse itself had been breached. Fading wisps of air and moisture circled the rock like morning mist, but for some reason not all the atmosphere had vented. Though external scans showed that the air was still breathable inside the dome, Ramirez ordered her troops to wear environment suits for extra protection. “The Roamers might consider blowing the seals, just to take us out. Better safe than sucking vacuum.”

Stromo agreed. “Take every precaution to make sure none of our soldiers are harmed in the line of duty.” He didn’t want to have to explain casualties to General Lanyan. “Oh, and the Chairman has asked that we minimize Roamer casualties as well.”

“Certainly, Admiral.” He got the impression that she considered him stupid for making such an obvious statement.

Docking clamps anchored the lead Manta against the asteroid. A tunnel passage sealed polymer lips around the hatch, which a demolitions crew then blasted open. A vanguard of suited troops proceeded cautiously into the asteroid, holding stun-pulse rifles ready for an ambush. Behind them, the second and third wave of EDF soldiers waited, anxious to flood into the Roamer nest.

Smaller consolidation teams had seized and occupied the outlying stations, metal-walled storage depots, domes filled with hardy and exotic crops. The severed solar mirrorfilm drifted until it finally draped like a reflective shroud over a tiny asteroid.

Overhead, battle-ready Remoras cruised in careful circles through the rubble field. Because of the ruptured containment dome, the main asteroid was unstable, wobbling and precessing. The EDF pilots practiced taking potshots at anything that moved, rousting out clan ships that attempted to hide in the shadows of orbiting rocks.

A small vessel lunged away from the greenhouse asteroid like a rabbit bolting out of hiding. The pilot dodged and changed course repeatedly, making up his trajectory as he went.

Stromo sat upright in his command chair. “Stop that ship from escaping!” he bellowed over the general comm.

Six patrol Remoras spotted the fleeing craft and set off in pursuit. From just the glimpse on his external screens, Stromo thought it was a butt-ugly ship, a collection of mismatched parts cobbled together. But the fleeing craft actually
sparkled
as it flew, and its sprint engines took it on high-G-force loops that even fast EDF fighters couldn’t match.

Stromo adjusted the flagship’s sensors to follow the escaping spacecraft as it shot about like a pinball, ricocheting through the asteroid field, partly to avoid collisions, but probably just to get away. The pilot took ridiculous risks and flew maneuvers unthinkable to Stromo. Before long, the ugly craft left the EDF’s best Remoras far behind. It was embarrassing.

“Break off pursuit,” Stromo said. “I’ve decided to let at least one Roacher ship get away to spread the word of another crushing defeat. They’ve got to change their minds sooner or later.” The words sounded false as he spoke them, but he raised his voice to inspire confidence.

He watched the displayed suitcam images as Ramirez led her troops through tunnels and into the domed enclosures. He could toggle from one recording lens to another in order to get as many views as he wanted. It was the next best thing to actually going out and doing the operation in person.

The people inside the domes put up little resistance. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and—thankfully—smart enough to realize it.

Stromo estimated they would take a few hundred prisoners. How could so many of them crawl around in these rocks? En route to Hhrenni, while planning the details of this mission, he had given instructions for two Mantas in the assault force to reconfigure their decks. Low-ranking soldiers’ quarters were turned into holding pens, not secure enough to be prisons, but sufficient to hold the captives until they could be delivered to the Klikiss planet along with the detainees from Hurricane Depot and Rendezvous.

Finally, Ramirez announced, “Admiral Stromo, this asteroid is secure. We’re ready to receive you over here.”

He stood up and straightened his uniform. “Do I require a suit?”

“No need, sir. Plenty of atmosphere in here, though it’s a bit chilly.”

Once he made his way inside, he wished he had brought an oxygen mask after all, just to cover the stink. The asteroid air was redolent of metal and dust reprocessed with fertilizer chemicals. It smelled like a latrine. Did these Roamers actually use human feces to fertilize their plants? How barbaric!

Under the damaged main dome, EDF engineers had rigged up light panels powered by temporary battery cells. A cluster of Roamer prisoners stood among ruined plants and gardening equipment. It looked like a hurricane had hit this place.

Stromo squared his shoulders. He enjoyed playing the part of a conquering military leader. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I bet you think
you
are,” answered one middle-aged man with reddish-blond hair. His round, rough face bore the red marks of a recently worn oxygen mask. Dried blood at his nose and hemorrhages in the whites of his eyes showed that he must have been exposed to the explosive decompression.

Stromo glanced at the blasted hole in the dome. Gummy clots of a translucent substance blocked most of the leaks, though he could still hear air hissing out into space. “I
know
I’m in charge. But is there a particular Roamer I should be talking to?”

“I’m Crim Tylar. You can talk to me as well as to anybody else.”

“I intend to make this an orderly evacuation,” Stromo said. “We’ll move all your personnel to a holding planet. You might even consider it a vacation after living on a floating rock like this.”

“We made these asteroids tolerable enough. Until now.”

Stromo smiled coolly. “You can use Roamer ingenuity to help establish a new Hansa settlement. A step toward making up for all the times when you shirked your duty to your fellow man.” Looking down at the tattered and uprooted plants, he saw fresh vegetables and recognized the bright red color of ripeness. He realized how hungry he was for good, fresh food. “Oh, tomatoes!”

But as he bent over, Crim Tylar stomped on the plant, sending a splurt of red juice and seeds up onto the Admiral’s leg. “I didn’t grow them for
you
.”

Stromo froze, but managed to keep his temper in check. The EDF soldiers would open fire if he gave the order, but he didn’t want to let this blow up into an impossible situation, especially with himself in the middle. Instead, knowing it was childish, he snapped, “Roachers don’t understand the concept of sharing.”

Chapter 8—CESCA PERONI

When the Roamer clans scattered, Cesca needed to get the old former Speaker to a safe, isolated place. At Jhy Okiah’s suggestion, Cesca took her to Jonah 12, hoping to stay with the small group of engineers there just long enough to gather her thoughts and to come to a decision about what to do.

Only a week ago, Rendezvous had been attacked—
destroyed
—by the Earth Defense Forces. The first wave of chaos and confusion hadn’t yet finished sweeping through the dispersed clan settlements, and it would be some time before the Roamer families could be brought together, but as Speaker of the clans, Cesca was determined to establish efficient communications again. In spite of the current turmoil, she planned to get an emergency network in place as soon as possible and had already sent out scouts, temporarily enlisting all of the small mining base’s long-range ships to gather and distribute information.

Cut off, the independent clans would be as hungry for news and guidance as Cesca was to talk to them. As soon as she received word back from some of the more important family heads, they would create a provisional council and choose a new center of government. She prayed that the scouts’ Guiding Stars would help them get the word out swiftly. If they did not, she feared that the hotheaded clan members who had demanded the provocative ekti embargo in the first place might act rashly, and get themselves killed in the process.

Long ago, the clan leaders had planned for various disasters, and designated several gathering points for Roamers in times of emergency. Although Rendezvous, the primary gathering point, was now gone, Cesca hoped to visit the few that remained in order to rally her people. Unfortunately, only two days after they settled in at Jonah 12, old Jhy Okiah’s suddenly declining health forced Cesca to change her plans. Despite the former Speaker’s protests, Cesca insisted on staying at Jhy Okiah’s side. “This place is as good as anywhere else,” she said. “I’ve sent out messengers, and there’s no ship to spare anyway. I’ll stay here with you while we wait.”

Hydrogue depredations had put the families on higher alert for years—though few had expected that the greater threat would come from the Hansa government itself. Because of this constant state of vigilance, many ships had escaped the Eddy battle group at Rendezvous and were now spreading the alarm to hidden clan settlements, unmarked transport ships, and secret Roamer industrial facilities. By their very nature, Roamers were independent, bound only by loyalties, honor, and a loose system of laws. Rendezvous had been one of their few acknowledged safe havens. Right now, their very looseness and independence made the clans a difficult target for the EDF thugs, but it also created great problems in forming a united front.

But only a week had passed. Only a week. Cesca knew she could consolidate the people, and she hoped the Big Goose would now ease up, assuming the Roamers were broken. But in that, they would be very much mistaken.

Jhy Okiah had thought to hide on Jonah 12, because her youngest son had established the new base here. Not long ago, enthusiastic and ingenious Kotto had drawn up blueprints, run simulations, and convinced clan leaders to contribute funding and labor. The surface of Jonah 12 was made of hydrogen-rich ice, lakes of liquid methane, and other small-chain hydrocarbons that were useful for Roamer industries. And so Kotto had set up operations here, on a frigid chunk of rock and ice in the outer darkness of a system that some early clan explorer had named after a man who’d been swallowed by a whale.

Swallowed in darkness. With everything that had happened to the Roamers, Cesca felt as if she were in a similar situation...

Ambitious workers had set down modular domes in a base that was powered by a small-pile nuclear reactor. Moving like fat penguins, grazers trundled over the uneven terrain, gouging long troughs. Machinery cooked gases out of the harvested ice, sifting out hydrogen molecules that were recondensed for ekti processing; lightweight elements were diverted for colony use or for shipment to other clan settlements. Unwanted exhausts boiled up from each slow-moving grazer like clouds of steam from an old-fashioned locomotive. In the supercold environment, the processed exhaust refroze immediately, settling back down like thick, vaporous snow. Railgun launchers shot barrels of pure hydrogen ice up to a drifting ekti reactor that would catalyze the hydrogen into ekti, the valuable allotrope used as stardrive fuel.

Remembering her son’s wild plans, Jhy Okiah had wanted to see Jonah 12 for herself, even though Kotto was currently off investigating a hydrogue derelict found in the rings of Osquivel. His chief engineer, Purcell Wan, temporarily in charge of operations, had provided living quarters for Cesca and the former Speaker.

It had been more than a decade since the old woman had set foot on another planet, and even in Jonah 12’s low gravity she was barely able to breathe or move. Cesca suspected that the weight of the recent disaster and their uncertain future pressed on her friend more heavily than gravity did...

Now as she sat next to Jhy Okiah on her narrow bed, Cesca saw that the light had dulled in the old woman’s eyes. Watching the EDF ships blast Rendezvous, destroying the connecting cables and girders of the cobbled-together space rocks, had been a direct blow to her.

Inside their small habitation bubble, Cesca made pepperflower tea for both of them and sat sipping. Jhy Okiah just held the cup in her hand, letting the warmth penetrate her papery skin. Thick transparent windows on the curved sidewall of the chamber showed a fantastic landscape of molded hydrogen ice, but the old woman focused instead through the chamber’s skylight, staring at the panoply of stars.

“I suppose I should be cheering you up,” Cesca said, “but I’ve got so many questions in front of me, and every answer I step on seems to be a trapdoor.”

The former Speaker’s wrinkled, colorless lips formed a weak smile. “Leave your metaphors to the experts, Cesca.”

“I feel more qualified to be a poet than a leader.” She blew out a long breath to release her frustration. “What a mess! How am I supposed to meet with the Roamer clans? The facilities and settlements are so diffuse, how will I get word to everyone to announce a clan gathering? And where should we hold it? We’re all outlaws now. Is it even safe to bring all the families together again in one place? What if the Hansa already found out about our gathering points? Dangerous!” She put her elbows on her knees.

“You’re letting impatience get the best of you. Rushed decisions are often bad decisions.” She patted Cesca gently on the arm. “It took only a few minutes to destroy Rendezvous, but it’ll take a long time to bring the clans together again. Spread the word, and the clans will know eventually.”

“But I have to do something. I want to rally the clans, inspire them, tell them not to surrender. If I’m the Speaker, shouldn’t I go to Earth and demand restitution?”

“They will seize you and hold you as a political prisoner.”

Cesca sipped her tea without tasting it, just for something to do. She fretted. “I should at least go back to Rendezvous and survey the damage...if there’s anything left at all.”

“Those damned Eddies stole our central place and our history.” Tears welled up in the former Speaker’s eyes, and she drew a deep, rattling breath. “My timing is poor, Cesca. I should have died earlier, when you were handling everything so well.”

“Don’t talk about dying,” Cesca said. “You need to stick around long enough to see how this all ends.”

Sitting on her bed, Jhy Okiah squeezed Cesca’s hand with surprising strength. “It does you no good to keep relying on me. You will figure out the solutions for yourself.” The old woman sighed. “I wish Kotto was here. He always comes up with solutions.”

“Crazy ones,” Cesca said with a forced chuckle.

“But solutions nevertheless.” She set her cup of pepperflower tea on a small shelf, then looked out through the skylight again, as if trying to count the scattered diamonds of distant suns. She suddenly smiled and pointed with one finger. “Oh, look. My Guiding Star!”

Cesca glanced up, following the old woman’s gesture, but all the stars looked alike. She felt the sinewy hand clench, and when Cesca looked down again, the light had faded from Jhy Okiah’s eyes.