Blood of the Cosmos (51 page)

“Pull me, Xander—I'll crank up my antigrav belt,” Terry said. “You can run faster than OK.”

“I will do my best to keep up,” the compy said.

Xander grabbed his partner by the wrist and sprinted to the lift, which was already crowded with departing personnel. Felliwell kept yelling into the intercom, “This is not a time to hunker down and wait! If Ulio survives, you can all come back. If it doesn't, you'll be glad you left.”

OK barely made it into the packed lift before the door sealed and the platform descended at normal speed, which seemed maddeningly slow. The station workers were desperate. The lift shuddered as an explosion ripped through another part of the old warliner's hull. Finally, the lift stopped at the first floor and disgorged its occupants, who bolted in all directions. Everyone seemed to have a plan.

Xander grabbed Terry's arm again. “To the star balcony—we'll cut straight across.” He launched himself out, pulling the weightless young man behind him. Terry's motionless legs extended like a tail, and he held on, keeping himself from squirming so as not to knock Xander off balance. The compy scuttled along after them, moving more quickly than Xander expected. “Don't fall behind, OK.” He didn't want to lose his faithful compy, but Terry was far more important to him.

The star balcony and observation lounge looked like a disaster area; drinks were spilled, briefcases, garments, and food scattered around. Virtually everyone had evacuated, but one older man sat on a barstool nursing a drink and staring up at the transparent dome as the drama played overhead. The star balcony patrons had seen the danger as soon as the shadow cloud appeared; the intelligent ones had bolted for their ships even before Felliwell announced the evacuation.

The old man on the barstool gave them a polite nod and continued to stare up at the dome as they darted across the observation lounge. “Aren't you leaving?” Xander shouted over the clatter of alarms.

“Nope.” The man nursed his drink. “I've got as much chance of being blown up out there as in here—and this place has century-old Scotch that the bartender conveniently left unattended.” He took another sip of his drink, rolled it around in his mouth, and kept watching overhead.

Black robot ships closed in on a fully loaded Confederation passenger vessel that was trying to flee. They blew it to pieces.

Three smaller Roamer vessels—Xander recognized the markings of clan Christensen—joined up and used their defensive weapons. The Christensen jazers weren't overly powerful, but the pilots managed to damage one of the robot ships, which careened off course. Glowing exhaust burned out of the robot's damaged engine, and the enemy ship spun, plunging toward the star balcony hemisphere.

“Run!” Xander shouted to the old man, who didn't even move. Xander clamped a tight grip on Terry's wrist. “OK, hold on to Terry's ankle, and I'll pull you both.” With all the strength in his legs, Xander bounded across the open observation lounge, with Terry behind him and the compy clinging to his ankle like a bizarre balloon train.

They reached the opposite side of the star balcony just as the damaged robot ship smashed into the dome, exploding. With the decompression blast, the air inside the bar erupted outward. Xander reached the hatch to the passageway and dove through so that the shock wave from the explosion slapped them farther down the corridor. Automatic fail-safes slammed the emergency bulkhead doors shut behind them in time to prevent the loss of all the atmosphere in the outer corridor.

Outside, Xander breathed hard. Terry was wide-eyed. OK let go of Terry's legs and dropped back to the deck, where his feet clamped on. “This is a hazardous place. We should leave as soon as possible.”

“Good idea, OK,” Terry said. “Down one more deck and we'll be weightless. Then I can really move fast.”

They reached a hatch with a ladder leading to the deck below. “OK, help Terry down, then both of you set out ahead. Full speed. Terry, you move faster than I do in zero G, and I need you to fire up the
Verne
's engines the moment you get there. I'll be right behind you.”

“Sure thing,” Terry said as the compy pulled him down the ladder. “It's my turn to save your ass.”

“You're right about that. I've been keeping track. And if you see any strays who need rescuing on the way, get them aboard!”

As Xander slid down the metal ladder, he saw that Terry was letting himself drop blindly. As soon as he reached the next deck, weightlessness changed his momentum, and he snagged a bar to right himself. “Grab my antigrav belt, OK, and hold on tight.”

“I do not wish to slow you down, Terry Handon.”

“Then don't argue.”

As soon as OK clamped his hand in place, Terry launched off with the little compy in tow. He yelled back over his shoulder, “Better hurry, Xander!”

By the time Xander reached the bottom of the ladder on the zero-G deck, Terry had propelled himself ahead, grabbing on to wall rungs, yanking himself along, building up speed. He shot forward like a projectile out of a cannon. This was Terry's element. He had worked at Ulio for years without gravity, where his paralyzed legs were no hindrance. Now he glided like a porpoise, and Xander tried to keep up.

When Terry paused, making sure he didn't fall too far behind, Xander yelled, “Just get the damn ship started, I'm only a few seconds behind you!”

He realized that his nose was bleeding, possibly a concussion from the star balcony explosion. Small droplets of blood drifted in the air near his face. Half the lights in the empty corridor were off, and as Xander pulled himself along, one section of the antigravity generators failed, and he crashed flat onto the deck. A few drops of blood pattered down on his face, but he picked himself up and bounded forward; after ten meters he was suddenly in weightlessness again. He flailed, disoriented, drifting against the wall until he grabbed a handhold to right himself. He caught two breaths, then streaked after Terry again.

The
Verne
had a good docking spot close into the hub. Many of the outer vessels had already been destroyed by the robot attacks. He saw parts of Ulio Station in flames, evacuating ships careening into each other, their courses scrambled by Shana Rei entropy.

Another huge explosion rocked the corridor. Far behind him, Xander heard emergency bulkheads slamming shut. Ulio's hub was being ripped apart in the concentrated blasts, but there were no other scrambling evacuees in here with them.

Up ahead was the access to the holding area where the
Verne
had docked. His heart leaped when he saw OK standing on the boarding ramp. “Terry Handon is already in the cockpit. He warns that he will not wait for you, but I do not believe him.”

“He won't need to—I'm here!” Xander didn't slow as he rocketed forward, knocking the compy backward into the ship with him. “Go, Terry! Go.”

The hatch sealed behind them, and the
Verne
detached from the docking port, its engines already up to speed. The
Verne
looped up and away from the docking hub into a madness of explosions and fleeing ships, Klikiss robot vessels, and deadly Shana Rei hex ships that loomed there, damaging space itself.

As he watched the robot warships pummeling Ulio Station, Xander was furious and stunned. The black attack vessels destroyed the Central Offices, tore apart the decommissioned Ildiran warliners and the CDF Mantas that formed the station backbone.

“I'd say your inheritance is irretrievable now, Terry,” Xander said.

“Not my priority at the moment.” Terry dodged debris from a wrecked tanker. Xander took his place, manning the defensive weapons and looking for his opportunity.

Countless ships had been in spacedock for repair at Ulio, and Xander doubted that even a tenth of the inhabitants had gotten to evacuation ships. Of those, maybe half had been destroyed as they fled. On their way out, he spotted the large array of ekti-X tanks left as a strategic reserve for Ulio. Nobody was going to need the reserves now.

“Where am I headed?” Terry said, as he dodged an incoming black robot ship, swooping under it as the enemy roared overhead, opening fire, but missing them. He warmed up the
Verne
's stardrive.

“How about
away from here
as fast as possible.” Xander opened fire on the nearest target.

“Sounds like a fine idea.”

 

CHAPTER

85

AELIN

The moment a doorway opened up in the underworld of the universe, Aelin felt the Shana Rei like a dark knife to the heart. He remembered the wrench in his gut when the other shadow cloud had appeared at the first Iswander extraction yard. And now that he had been baptized in the powerful blood of the cosmos, he was even more attuned to the danger. This was the throb of warning he had felt resonating through his senses. Now he understood, but too late.

Aelin suddenly shuddered and hunched over. He staggered against Dauntha's wall, the one painted with worldtrees. “They're here. The shadows are here.”

The other green priest grabbed for her treeling, searching for information while shouting a warning through telink, “Ulio Station is under attack!”

Loud alarms ratcheted through the station. Evacuation signals rang across the interconnected comm systems. Aelin joined her at the treeling, where he could feel tension shudder through the verdani mind. Ever since the Shana Rei had attacked Theroc, and the Onthos refugees had shared memories of the ancient extinguished worldforest, the trees had been terrified of the creatures of darkness. The green priest Nadd had just sent the first reports from the Onthos star system, which was smothered inside a gigantic black shell. The power of the Shana Rei seemed immeasurable.

Explosions echoed through the parked warliner at the heart of Ulio Station. Dauntha delivered details of the ongoing attack via telink, so that all green priests understood the threat to the depot, even though no help could possibly arrive in time.

Black hex ships hung inside the looming shadow cloud, while the aggressive robot squadron blasted ships that tried to evacuate. A more powerful concussion resounded through the decks, nearly toppling the potted treeling from the table.

Aelin knew that for some reason the Shana Rei had a particular antipathy toward the bloaters, and even though there were no bloaters in the vicinity, Ulio Station kept the large stockpile array of ekti-X tanks. That was the essence of the bloaters—and he could think only of shadows, blood, and fire.

He pulled his fingers away from the treeling. “I have to go.”

“Yes.” Dauntha's voice was distant, as if she could spare only a fraction of her consciousness for him. “We don't both need to die.”

“You don't need to die. Carry your treeling, find one of the departing ships. Take your chances.”

Now, Dauntha's eyes focused on his. “No—I'm old and I live within the verdani mind. I would be no good to anyone. I may as well stay here, connected to my treeling, so that the rest of Theroc can know every moment.”

Aelin scanned the tattoos on her face, her scalp, her neck, her shoulders—the chronicle of a remarkable life. Dauntha still had something very important to do. And so did he.

Aelin remembered when his brother Shelud had faded slowly into death from the alien plague. A green priest's memories, perhaps even part of the soul, would survive within the trees. Dauntha had made her choice. As he left her chambers, she immersed herself in her link with the treeling, losing herself in the verdani mind, never again to come out.

Aelin sprinted through the corridors on bare feet. A huge explosion rocked the entire ship, and severe tremors knocked him to his knees. He climbed back up, ignored a skinned and bloody knee, and kept running.

Corridor lights flickered as systems were damaged. Outside through the windowports, he saw countless wrecked ships that tumbled burning as their fuel mixed with vented atmosphere. Aelin felt the claws of encroaching darkness within him like an embolism, and he clutched his chest, gritted his teeth, and forced it away. He forced himself onward.

When he reached the connecting hatch that led to the exterior fuel stockpile and the holding array, the stern guards were no longer there. He could sense the bloater essence in the tanks.

The Shana Rei refused to move, hovering at a safe distance, but he needed to harm the creatures of darkness in any way possible. Aelin had to get out there to the anchored array to execute his plan. He had to call the robot ships.

Shadows … fire … blood.

The corridor lights flickered again, and suddenly the deck plunged into blackness. There was a hiss of air, and all of the alarms fell silent. The unexpected quiet and darkness disoriented him more than terrified him. The gravity also failed, and he drifted upward in the darkness, which made him dizzier still.

Suddenly, explosions shattered the silence. Lights rippled on through the corridor again, and Aelin fell to the deck, crashing on his face as the gravity came back on. He picked himself up. Only a few flickers of emergency light stuttered on. The connecting door had closed and sealed; without power or computer access, Aelin could not open the hatch and make his way to the ekti-X stockpile. Then, like a blessing or a cosmic joke, the door sighed open all by itself.

Aelin sprinted into the secure chamber adjacent to the anchored stockpile. As the lights flickered out again, he memorized the location of what he saw: equipment lockers that held environment suits like the one he had stolen from Alec Pannebaker.

The power failed once more, but enough blossoming explosions and flashes of destroyed ships flickered through the windowports that he could still make his way. He rummaged in the lockers, fumbling and sizing the suits by feel until one seemed adequate. It didn't have to last long.

As the disaster continued outside the station, he crawled into the suit, checked the seals, remembering the steps from when he had escaped the Iswander extraction field. He fastened every component, checked the safety interlocks. Half of the systems blinked yellow, several went dead. Aelin didn't care. The suit would protect him long enough. The helmet comm unit still worked. That was important.