The Saga of Seven Suns: Veiled Alliances (11 page)
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Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #General
20
CHAIRMAN MALCOLM STANNIS
The Hansa Chairman tried to get comfortable in a chair that was far too ornate for comfort. He sat alone, silent, and unnoticed in a high balcony box that overlooked the great gallery of King Ben’s Throne Hall.
Green marble pillars adorned with gold filigree gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the stained-glass windows. Everything was spotless; Stannis wondered briefly who cleaned it all, who polished the gold work and the stones. A team of bustling compies? Human workers?
King Ben held court daily, but Malcolm Stannis rarely bothered to observe. Most of the King’s obligations were trivial and ceremonial, to accept or receive awards, greet ambassadors, sign showy documents that the Hansa Chairman had already carefully vetted through his lawyers.
Ben was not allowed to go off script and certainly did not make his own decisions. He had been reminded again and again in the years since the arrival of the Ildirans. As Earth’s reach had expanded across the Spiral Arm, the old actor had become increasingly befuddled, finding it hard to keep track of the details. He was clearly out of his depth.
Stannis had tolerated the old man’s foibles while Prince George underwent his indoctrination, although Ben’s botched speech with Adar Bali’nh had forced the Chairman and his representatives to do some awkward backpedaling before the aliens accepted that the King’s unwise statement about joining the Ildiran Empire had been merely a slip of the tongue.
The whole Terran Hanseatic League had been invigorated by the changes in the past four years. Earth’s economy had thrived with the promise of new trade with the Ildiran Empire, and humanity was excited by the prospect of new worlds to colonize, along with the fast stardrive that would take them there. Exploration teams were even now bringing back reports of amazing resources, exotic landscapes, intriguing new frontiers.
The Chairman himself had trouble keeping track of it all, but the challenge energized him. King Ben, on the other hand, was ready to buckle under the strain; Stannis did not know how long he could last. OX had stepped up his efforts to prepare young George to take on the royal role. Chairman Stannis didn’t want to move too soon, however; an abrupt transition would introduce further turmoil into the Hansa, so he tried to prop up the old King as much as possible.
In the past four years, the Ildiran Solar Navy had brought back reports, even some representatives, from the ten rescued generation ships. The
Burton
remained lost, and Stannis never expected it to be found. Some of the colony ship descendants wanted to visit their fabled home world, although most chose to remain on the new planets the Ildirans offered them. Stannis was glad to have ready-made outposts of humanity. He planned to bring them into the ever-increasing fold of the Terran Hanseatic League, expand the great commercial network. He had no doubt they would see the advantages.
Today, Stannis was interested in the unusual visitors due to arrive—ambassadors from the first colony the Ildirans had fostered, populated by people from the
Caillié
. He expected the meeting to be colorful and unorthodox, well worth an hour of his time. King Ben had been nervous and full of questions. Stannis had told him to take a deep breath and do his job.
Now as the great doors to the Throne Hall swung open and an honor guard filed forward, the royal crier announced, “Visitors from the planet Theroc to greet King Ben of Earth.” Stannis sat forward, looking down on the scene.
They entered: a tall, athletic young man and two young women, all three clothed only in loincloths; their bodies were ornamented with gaudy shoulder pieces and belts of spiky feather-like adornments that appeared to be prismatic insect wings. A ripple of conversation passed among the political functionaries in the Throne Hall. The court ladies, dressed in formal gowns, drew back with wide eyes, and the men straightened, blinking. Their fascination was not just because the visitors were nearly naked or that their bodies were smooth and hairless, but that their skin was a vibrant and unblemished green the color of grass and leaves.
The trio of Theron ambassadors walked forward with a smooth grace, ignoring the whispered reactions, looking ahead only at King Ben seated on his high throne. The green-skinned visitors moved like acrobats, showing none of the usual awe for the legendary King of Earth.
The taller of the two females came to the base of the steps. “King Ben, I am Thara Wen. I represent the sovereign world of Theroc.”
The King was fascinated by the unorthodox visitors and gave them his well-practiced benevolent smile. “A sovereign world? Do you not wish to be part of my kingdom? We invite Theroc to become a signatory to the Hansa Charter and enjoy the benefits of human history and civilization. We would welcome you back.”
Thara Wen bowed her head slightly. “No, Sire. We came to greet you and to re-establish contact with our distant cousins, but our forefathers left Earth a long time ago to found their own colony—to face their own hardships and control their own destinies. It is only by good fortune that we encountered the Ildiran Solar Navy and, through them, re-established ties with Earth. That does not change the original decision our forefathers made.”
King Ben actually stood from his throne and walked down the stone steps so he could be closer to Thara Wen and her two green-skinned companions. “Of course, of course, if that is your wish,” he said. “We’re so glad you’re home.”
Up in the high balcony, Stannis furrowed his brow, uneasy about what must be going through the King’s mind.
The male Theron held a potted plant, a many-branched tree of some sort. He handed it to Thara Wen, and she cradled it in her palms as she presented it to the King. “Sire, we give you this precious treeling, one small offshoot of the great and wise worldforest of Theroc.”
Ben accepted the potted plant Thara Wen offered him. He poked at the tangled branches that thrust out from the root cluster in the pot. “Wonderful. We shall have it planted in our gardens immediately.” He held the plant, then looked from side to side for a functionary to take it from him. Finally, a courtier hurried forward, relieved him of the gift, and scuttled away.
King Ben raised his voice, “Although many colonies have expressed their desire to rejoin the human community of the Terran Hanseatic League, if you truly want to fend for yourselves, then I grant Therons their independence for all time.” He raised both hands, as if expecting a response from the crowd.
Stannis lurched to his feet in the balcony. What the hell did the King think he was doing?
Thara Wen smiled. “I thank you, King Ben, and all of my people thank you.”
The Chairman ran to the stairs, but he already had a sick, sinking feeling. According to reports, Theroc was a lush and pleasant world, rich with resources, countless possible exports. And King Ben had just given it away!
The old man took Thara Wen’s green hand in his own and raised it high, clasping her fingers. Breathless and furious, Stannis rushed through a side doorway, but by the time he reached the rear of the crowd of dignitaries, business representatives, and media reporters, they had burst into resounding applause.
As the people continued to cheer, Stannis realized he couldn’t make a scene now. He bit back his urge to correct the King. Damn it, this was the last straw!
During a short reception that followed the visit of the Theron ambassadors, Stannis bided his time. He talked briefly to the others, but most of the crowd clustered around the three so-called green priests.
Like a targeted missile, Stannis worked his way toward King Ben, who was surrounded by sycophants. The King nervously met Stannis’s gaze several times but always looked away. Finally, standing close to him, Stannis said in a low voice, “King Ben, we need to talk—in private.”
“But Malcolm, can’t you see I’m in the middle of a reception?”
Furious at this
actor
trying to brush him off, Stannis imposed a clear calm on himself. He could have called in the Royal Guard, commanded them to haul the King away, but he realized that wasn’t the right approach. Not at the moment. By now his anger had grown completely cold, crystallizing inside him. The Chairman saw his way forward, knew the pieces he would have to put in place. Decision made. Now he just had to plan.
“It can wait, Sire,” he said before turning to leave. “We’ll have a conversation like two men, but for now I’ll leave you to your reception.”
21
CAPTAIN CHRYSTA LOGAN
As the mother of the first halfbreed human and Ildiran child, Chrysta worried about how difficult the birth might be. She was due to go into labor any day.
Despite her concerns, she was anxious to stop carrying the baby. Chrysta was an active person, and the late-term pregnancy was slowing her down; her feet were swollen, her joints ached, and she had to pee all the time.
Not only that, she dreamed about holding the baby. Against her expectations, the motherhood instinct had grown strong within her. After her parents died from the radiation leak when she was only a teenager, and the community aboard the generation ship had helped to raise her. In actuality, Chrysta Logan had raised herself—and had made something of herself, eventually becoming captain.
This Dobro colony was the best outcome that the
Burton
could ever have asked for. The people had earned a safe haven after all their tribulations. Chrysta couldn’t take credit for everything, of course, but the generation ship colonists did recognize that her close relationship with the Dobro Designate was primarily responsible for their pleasant situation.
She and Rekar’h spent virtually all their time together. They made joint decisions for the combined settlement, discussing possibilities for expanding the colony to accommodate the new mixed human and Ildiran families they hoped to encourage. As soon as the baby was born, the Designate had promised to take Chrysta to Ildira where she could see the Prism Palace for herself and meet the Mage-Imperator. She greatly looked forward to it.
New construction projects had been started in the human section of the colony town. The initial prefabs were methodically being replaced with permanent structures, but that didn’t constitute a genuine city. Having seen library images of skyscrapers on old Earth, Chrysta Logan wanted tall, impressive buildings here in their own colony.
And Rekar’h issued the orders, commanding the construction of a tall building as a gift to her.
So, in the center of the human settlement, builders were erecting a five-story administrative complex. The framework already stood tall, a landmark in the town. Girders and crossbeams formed the floors and walls; inside the structure, work crews finished the rooms, framed windows, installed electrical systems.
“That new tower is going to be something we can be proud of,” Chrysta said. “A symbol of our joined colonies.” She and the Designate strolled along the street, talking to the workers, looking up at the construction underway. She felt very happy.
“The Logan Tower,” Rekar’h said. She laughed, then realized he was serious.
From three stories up in the building’s framework, a single figure pushed forward, shouting in a ragged voice, “Damn you, Captain Logan!” He held onto one of the support girders. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Startled, she and the Designate looked up. Chrysta recognized Dario Ramirez by his distinctive purple headband. She not seen him since assigning him to breeding duties with the soldier females. Chrysta wasn’t a vengeful person, but she had taken some satisfaction from the females’ reports to the Designate that Ramirez needed to be coerced into doing his duty, repeatedly; they confessed that they found him disappointing, but both of them continued to follow the Designate’s commands as frequently as possible.
With her sharp eyes, Chrysta could see that Ramirez was haggard, his cheeks sunken, his eyes wild. As he railed at her, he drew one of the
Burton
’s blaster pistols, just like the one Chrysta had used to defend herself during the mutiny.
Rekar’h grabbed her, pulling her away, while Ramirez swung the blaster from side to side, aiming it wildly.
Bestial Ildiran construction workers charged toward him, scuttling along the girders with primate-like grace and speed. They pounced on Ramirez before he could shoot, twisting the blaster away.
Seeing him subdued, Chrysta stood straight, although she unconsciously placed a hand across her belly. Ramirez was a fool. Out of pride, she was glad she hadn’t ducked or scrambled away in panic.
In a haughty, angry tone, she called up, “What right do you of all people have to complain, Ramirez.”
“I have every right!” In the grasp of his Ildiran captors, Ramirez went slack, then found a burst of strength and pulled his arm free. The workers wrestled with him.
And the blaster fired.
Chrysta felt as if an asteroid had crashed into her stomach. She cried out, stumbled backward from the force of the impact. She smelled an awful stench of burned fabric and roasting meat. She didn’t understand, couldn’t believe it—until she saw the gaping crater in her abdomen, a wound impossibly large.
She fell.
Up above, with a roar, one of the Ildiran construction workers tore a crystalline blade from a sheath and yanked the man’s head back with nearly enough force to snap his neck. He raked the glassy blade across Ramirez’s throat, and as blood sprayed out, shoved the man’s body off the girders. He fell three stories down onto the flagstoned ground.
Chrysta barely heard or saw anything. She felt no pain, but she couldn’t move either. Half of her seemed to be missing. Somehow, she was on the ground.
Rekar’h was shouting. His voice sounded so close, and as she blinked her eyes and looked up, she saw him hovering over her. Tears streamed down his beautiful pale face.
She realized he was cradling her head in his lap, holding her, rocking her back and forth. “Chrysta, Chrysta!” He raised his voice, “Find one of the human doctors!”
She tried to say something, but no words—barely even a breath—drifted out of her mouth. Her throat felt so dry.
Rekar’h was sobbing, and she didn’t want him to feel sad. She couldn’t understand why he was crying. “My love,” he said. “My love, and my child.”
She didn’t think night could be falling so swiftly, but the world went dark all around her. Why weren’t they lighting the bright, warm blazers? The only thing she could see was a pinpoint directly in front of her—the Designate’s beloved face. Then that too turned to blackness, a hole so deep that her soul fell forward into it.
The last thing she heard was the Designate’s voice howling in the purest distillation of anguish. “No!”