EarthRise (38 page)

Darby lowered the .38, allowed herself to breathe, and heard the scrape of footsteps. Andromeda shuffled into the circle of light followed by Ellis. Darby was shocked to see the manner in which the formerly fastidious woman had been transformed into a dirty, disheveled, old hag. The resistance fighter took a moment to listen before stepping out into the light. Andromeda heard the movement and turned to see. “Darby? Is that you?”

“Yes,” the former petty officer replied, “it’s me all right. Who else would wear a face like this one?”

Andromeda’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It looks wonderful to me.” And with that the cult leader gave Darby a hug. It was unexpected, from Darby’s perspective at any rate, and she felt awkward. Especially when it was over. It was Ellis who broke the ensuing silence. “Come on, Borsky, they want to talk.”

“It’s
our
fire.”

“So, fucking what? There’s enough wood around her to start a thousand fires . . . Besides, I need some shut-eye. Let’s go.”

Borsky spit into the fire as if that might put it out. He came to his feet. His eyes locked with Darby’s. “She’s a lying bitch. Keep that in mind.”

Then, with Ellis leading the way, the two of them were gone.

Andromeda shook her head sadly. “He hates me, and I don’t blame him. I know it sounds stupid, but I actually believed the Saurons would lift humanity up. Even worse is the fact that I managed to convince people like him that it was true. Now look at us. We’re nothing but a bunch of coke addicts waiting for a fix.” Andromeda’s head fell, and her entire body seemed to radiate a sense of helplessness.

“We all made mistakes,” Darby said soothingly, “but that’s in the past. This is
now
. I was sent to learn everything I can about the factory. They told me you already know about the plans to attack it. What you might not be aware of is the fact that Franklin left Hell Hill and took the government underground. Right about the same time the Ra ‘Na rose up and took part of the fleet.”

Andromeda’s head came back up. Something like the old fire burned in her eyes. “The Ra ‘Na did
what
?”

Darby raised her eyebrows. “They took some of the fleet. About twenty-five percent if what I heard was true.”

“Don’t you see?” the other woman demanded. “There’s the answer! Tell Deac Smith that the actual complex is very well guarded. Tell him that the best thing to do is attack from the air. Some of those manta-shaped fighters could do the job—or an attack from orbit. Yes! That would be ideal.”

“But what about the slaves?” Darby inquired pragmatically. “At least some of them would be killed. Probably more.”

“The more the better,” Andromeda said, her eyes flashing. “Anything would be better than this misery. Just tell me where the first energy bolt will fall, and I’ll be there.”

“I understand,” Darby said gently, “but people like Borsky and Ellis might feel differently.”

“Only because they’re deluded,” Andromeda said sternly. “Even if we escape the Saurons, there’s no way to escape the cocaine. Death would be a blessing.”

“I’ll pass your opinions along,” Darby promised, “or maybe you’d like to come in person. There’s room in my boat.”

The passion seemed to leak out of Andromeda like air from a balloon. “No, much as I would like to, I lack the strength. I want the next hit more than I want my freedom.”

Darby nodded, fumbled for the notebook, and pulled it out of her pack. It was sealed in a Ziploc bag and the folks at S. C. Johnson & Son would have been proud of the fact that it was still bone dry. “Sorry to do this to you—but Deac gave me a list of questions.”

Andromeda said she understood, answered all the questions put to her, and gave Darby another hug. Then, alone with the fire, the cult leader considered what she had done, or
not
done, since the crime was one of omission rather than commission.

None of Darby’s questions addressed the possibility of sabotage—and Andromeda failed to mention the manner in which some of the injector assemblies had been plugged. The question was why? Because there was a good possibility that her efforts to disable the plant would be discovered? Or because she wanted fire to flash down from the sky? There was no way to know. Andromeda began to cry—but her sobs were lost in the crackle of the flames.

ABOARD THE SAURON CRUISER
IB SE MA

Though not as large as the
Hok Nor Ah
, the
Ib Se Ma
was a formidable ship nonetheless. She was half a mile long, more than five hundred feet wide, and normally carried a crew of approximately ten thousand Saurons and their slaves.

But now, large though she was, the Sauron vessel was horribly crowded. Some Saurons had been captured by the mutinous slaves, and were still being held, but others, literally thousands, had managed to escape. The refugees came on shuttles, tugs, and in at least one case aboard a garbage scow. And the only things most brought with them were their appetites, unrealistic expectations regarding the manner in which they would be accommodated, and a deep-seated anger. Slaves attacking Kan? Ships under Ra ‘Na control? Humans running amok? The fleet frozen in place? Ships sniping at each other? Fon graffiti on bulkheads? The entire situation verged on madness.

And if the Fon were unhappy, and the Kan were angry, the Zin were absolutely furious. They knew about the change, how very few days remained, and how vulnerable the race would be should any of the preparations fail. More than that they knew, or believed they did, that Hak-Bin was a changeling, that he had taken unfair advantage of his position, and worst of all failed to execute his duties.

Now, as those who could filtered in from throughout the fleet, they found their sedan chairs trapped in fleshy traffic jams. Peeking out through closely drawn curtains, the Zin saw grim-looking Kan stationed at each intersection and Fon who had been forced to camp in the hallways. Such Ra ‘Na as there were had been chained to hastily welded U-bolts to prevent them from fleeing into the heretofore secret passageways that riddled the ship.

Now, as a phalanx of Fon struggled to make holes through which the sedan chairs could pass, some of the council members became even more angry, while others were frightened. Politician that he was Hak-Bin had not only anticipated the way his brethren would react to the experience, but stood ready to capitalize on it. Rather than wait for the council to arrive and settle into the relative comfort of their slings, Hak-Bin was there to greet each Zin as he entered the chamber. This was so unusual, and Hak-Bin was so respectful, that many of the clan leaders found it difficult to remain angry and were somewhat mollified by the time they entered their respective cradles.

Others, those less susceptible to flattery, continued to be angry. However, rather than use the time to rally others to their cause, they were forced to sit and glower as Hak-Bin saw to the needs of the council’s more malleable members, even going so far as to bring snacks to some of them.

There was some carefully modulated conversation, however, most of which centered on the fact that Hak-Bin looked a lot better than the rumors suggested he might, which left the real question unanswered. Had he started to change or not? Many wanted to ask Ott-Mar, who, along with Grand Vizier Tog and some other retainers, stood at the rear of the compartment, but none dared do so.

Finally, after all of the council members had been seated, a series of three tones were sounded, and Hak-Bin opened the meeting. Something he wanted to do as quickly as he could. A series of images popped into existence. They seemed to hover in midair. Hak-Bin shuffled from one to the next. “These pictures are live . . . Here’s the citadel in the northern hemisphere . . . And here’s the citadel in the southern hemisphere. Please note that both are not only intact—but in the final stages of construction.

“Now, please direct your attention to
this
feed. Construction of the orbital catalyst factory is now complete, and, while the one on the surface is two days ahead. The point,” Hak-Bin continued, “is that in spite of the so-called revolt, none of the preparations for birth-death day have been compromised thus far.”

“Tell that to our dead brethren,” a Zin named Mal-Hiz said angrily. “Tell it to Mon-Oro. You told him everything would be fine, and the fur balls killed him while he slept in his sling. Take a look around this chamber, my lord . . .
Five
cradles are empty. Approximately one-third of the fleet has been lost, and more ships may fall. Many of the vessels that remain in our graspers have been damaged or neutralized because of our inability to repair or operate them. Meanwhile, down on the surface, the human resistance movement has grown so strong that the ferals make regular radio broadcasts ! How dare you come before this body and tell us that everything is fine?”

At least half the council stomped their feet in agreement.

It was an excellent summary, and Hak-Bin was actually grateful to Mal-Hiz for being so articulate. The accusations not only served to vent some of the pent-up anger, they set the stage for the rest of Hak-Bin’s presentation. A response which skillfully skirted the situation in orbit to focus on the surface below.

“Mistakes were made . . . I admit that and assume full responsibility,” Hal-Bin replied, his eyes roaming the chamber. “But there is no need to panic. In fact, corrective measures are already under way. Thanks to information obtained by Grand Vizier Tog, and subsequently passed on to me, the radio broadcasts Mal-Hiz referred to are about to end. By the time you return to your respective quarters, the humans responsible for them will be dead.”

Tog was careful to stare straight ahead as some of the Zin looked in his direction. The fact that he was there, privy to their private deliberations, was both a sign of how far he had come and how vulnerable he was. The latest coup, made possible by information from an anonymous source, further cemented his relationship with Hak-Bin. Something he now wanted to downplay in case the rebels won.

“So,” Hak-Bin continued lightly, “all that remains is to retake the vessels now under Ra ‘Na control, put the troublemakers to death, seal the ships for use by our nymphs, and begin an orderly withdrawal. Does anyone have any questions or comments?”

Some of the council members had clearly been swayed by Hak-Bin’s decidedly upbeat message. Others, individuals like Mal-Hiz, were a good deal less sanguine, but found themselves with a limited number of options. They could call for a vote of no confidence and hope to force a change of leadership, but what if they lost? Now, as birth-death day loomed ever closer, Hak-Bin had the power to grant some very important favors. Which clans would be transported to the surface first? Which citadels would they be assigned to? And which levels would they occupy?

Thanks to memories inherited from their ancestors, the Zin knew that such seemingly trivial matters could have a material effect on nymph mortality, especially now, and were therefore hesitant to give offense.

Besides, there was the question of how the Fon and Kan would react to a change in leadership. Rumors were rampant, literacy had continued to spread, and it was difficult to gauge how much support each Zin could command. That being the case, opposition was limited to muttered comments, hostile stares, and negative pheromones that leaked into the air.

Hak-Bin understood the quandary that the council members found themselves in and, more than that, had counted on it. All that remained was to close the meeting and return to his new quarters. “Given the fact that there are no questions or comments, I suggest that we return to our various ships, continue to work through the issues that confront us and prepare for the great day.”

The Zin left after that . . . but Tog remained. He had been assigned quarters so nice they had formerly been occupied by a Fon. Females were his to command. Food, no matter how exotic, was a com call away. So why did he feel so lost? So extremely empty? So dead inside? There was no one left to ask.

SALMON NATIONAL FOREST, IDAHO

By the time the bugs finally came and launched their attack on Racehome, Jonathan Ivory no longer thought they would. After all, the broadcasts had been taking place for a while now, with no reaction.

It was a gray day, the kind that threatens rain, but never seems to deliver. That in spite of the fact that the fire danger was high, and the more religious members of the community had prayed for precipitation. Ivory wasn’t among them, however, since the whole notion of an all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful God, even a white one, made him feel nervous.

Besides, there were plenty of things to claim his attention, not the least of which was the urgent need to deal with the steady stream of people brought in via Dent’s radio broadcasts. Much as he hated to do so, Ivory was forced to admit that the self-proclaimed Lion of the Airwaves had recruited a lot of new members to the cause.

By including semicoded directions in his broadcasts, messages like “men and women who wish to join us should gather in the city of Smith on such and such a day,” the on-air personality brought all manner of survivalists, racialists, and just plain whackos out their hidey-holes and out into the open. Then, once assembled at an appropriate location, Ivory’s “shepherds” would appear, sort the wheat from the chaff, and march the “anointed” to Racehome.

In spite of the fact that the steady stream of newcomers had a tendency to look to Dent for inspirational leadership, all the able-bodied men were automatically inducted into Ivory’s Hammer-Skins, which meant there wasn’t much that the Lion could do without Ivory’s buy-in.

The result was a de facto alliance, which, in the absence of interference from the Saurons, had actually started to prosper. So much so that by the time the bugs launched their attack Ivory had concluded that Ella had been correct where the broadcaster was concerned and, had the baby been born, might have moved her back to Racehome.

The first indication that an attack was under way came when the orbital bombardment began. Thunder rolled as energy weapons fired, blew two-ton divots out of the surrounding forest, and a hand-cranked siren began to wail.