Hidden Empire (33 page)
Grinning, she looked from the worn and tired face of her mother to the broad, jowly smile of her father. “However, I did request
one favor for you. I have a surprise before I go.”
With the flush of new importance she’d achieved by being chosen to accompany Otema, Nira had sent a message to Father Idriss
and Mother Alexa. The old ambassador had added her approval. Nira had received word back today that her application had been
heartily approved.
“Father, I’ve managed to get our family prime quarters in the new worm hive discovered by Estarra.” She smiled as her parents
gasped in disbelief. “You’ll have your choice of the largest chambers, as soon as you’re ready to move in.”
Astounded at their good fortune, Garris came forward to give his daughter an awkward hug. Her mother couldn’t believe what
she had heard. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Embarrassed by their gratitude, her newly green skin flushed dark. Nira said, “I’m glad I could do one last thing for my family
before I embark on my great adventure.”
O
n Plumas, ancestral home of the Tamblyn clan, the Roamers gathered to hold a somber memorial. Bram Tamblyn looked gaunt and
pale. The old man moved like a machine as he performed the formal duties of welcoming representatives of important families.
Bram’s expression flickered from stony blankness to sudden waves of dismay as guests gave him their sympathy.
Jess, now the only son, stood beside his father, stunned but trying to be strong enough for both of them. He wore a warm parka,
a fleece-lined hood wreathing his face. Steam rose with each breath he exhaled, but he felt numb rather than cold. It was
his responsibility to be here, to remember his brother Ross. Four of his uncles, Bram’s brothers, had also come in their role
as Tamblyn clan representatives; from now on, Jess knew they would take a more active role in running the family’s water mines.
As he spoke to other clan leaders, accepting their sincere words of consolation, Jess saw more than shared grief in the Roamers’
eyes. He also recognized a deep-seated fear. No one knew what had caused the disaster on Golgen. Neither could they guess
what had provoked the attack on the Blue Sky Mine … or if such a thing would ever happen again.
Speaker Jhy Okiah did not come to Plumas for the funeral. She was too old, her body frail and her bones brittle from a lifetime
in low gravity. In her place she sent her protégée, Cesca Peroni. Jess greeted her after she descended a shaft through the
thick ice sheet. His already-distraught heart broke to see her, knowing the tragic reason she had come.
On Rendezvous, the two had shared speechless surprise after hearing the news from Del Kellum. Now Cesca came to Plumas wearing
the formal grieving robes of a Roamer widow. Though she had only been betrothed to Ross, her choice of garments seemed appropriate:
deep blue and purple embroidered with forest green. The normally vibrant colors were muted. Her long, warm dress and her fur-insulated
boots bore the geometric embroidered design of the Roamer Chain, the symbols of all clans linked one after another to show
the individuality but ultimate unity of their culture.
Jess’s young sister, Tasia, stood by herself near the ice platform, watching each new group of visitors arrive through the
ceiling shafts. Her compy EA stood beside her, tallying the names. Tasia usually loved company, chattered with guests, attempted
to show off tricks or things she had found on the ice sheets, but now she seemed sullen and confused, angry at an invisible
enemy. Her uncles stood by her, but when Tasia saw Cesca’s mourning cloak, the girl broke down and ran into the rounded huts
that were shielded from the cold, thermally separated and insulated from sound. There, she would sob alone.
Plumas had an outer shell of ice that was kilometers thick, floating upon a deep sea that covered a small rocky core. The
ice sheath occasionally cracked open like chapped skin, forming lines along the surface where liquid water bled out until
it froze iron-hard again.
Deep beneath the protective skin, heated by the pressing weight of ice as well as tidal stresses and even the cooling rock
core, Plumas maintained a liquid ocean. Ambitious Roamers had drilled access holes through the surface to get water for their
own needs. The forebears of clan Tamblyn had set up mining and pumping operations on Plumas, marketing the vital liquid as
well as derived oxygen and in-system rocket fuels the Roamers needed. The Tamblyn family had also carved out a place to live
deep under the frozen roof of the moon.
The Roamers had carried their small prepackaged huts into the air bubbles beneath the ice crust, erecting them on stable shelves
that looked out upon the underground water. The Plumas ocean had spawned native plankton, lichen, and even deep-sea nematodes
that had lived unchanged for eons. When the Roamers brought their artificial suns, the Plumas environment blossomed. Phosphorescent
light rippled through the frozen ceiling like a still-life aurora trapped in the sky.
Plumas was one of the more wondrous Roamer settlements, demonstrating that the resourceful gypsies could find austere niches
that no one in the Terran Hanseatic League would ever consider. Jess’s family had found this place and made it their fortified
and hidden home.
Now, Bram Tamblyn seemed barely able to stand. Though he was tough and hardened, a workhorse who never slowed down, the old
man appeared ready to shatter if any more stress was placed upon him.
“Why don’t you go rest, Dad? Talk with your brothers. I’ll take care of the final preparations. We’re not scheduled to begin
for another four hours.”
Bram did not answer. He looked as if he resented his son’s compassion. His wife had died years before in a surface accident,
and her body had fallen into a freezing water gap, where she would be forever locked and preserved, far out of sight. Now,
the old man’s eyes were reddened; his face was dragged into a frown by the wrinkles around his cold-chapped skin.
Jess felt alone as he remained on the ice pier looking out into the gray waters of the internal sea. If only he could just
be a statue. He looked up to the looming solid sky. The ceiling hung blue and white, lit by artificial suns planted inside
holes cut into the ice, balls of illumination that directed heat and light downward throughout the crystalline shield.
Shivering, Jess went to see if he could comfort his little sister before the funeral began. He had many duties to perform
before the day was over.
The visiting clan leaders and the surviving members of the Tamblyn family gathered out on the ice shelf. Plumas was silent
and muffled. A faint mist sublimated from the icepack and wafted over the still, quicksilver waters like the breath of a sleeping
dragon.
Old Bram looked like a stuffed scarecrow, wearing layers of vests, jackets, and a tattered cloak over his shoulders. He stood
on an ice dock several meters above the smooth water. Jess and Tasia remained close beside him, with Cesca only a step behind.
A boxlike raft floated in the water, made of expensive pressed cellulose. Each plank had been imported from Roamer traders,
brought down and assembled here. Much of the cost had been donated by Speaker Okiah and her clan, though Bram insisted he
would pay her back. Inside the floating container lay an effigy of Ross Tamblyn, wrapped in the few items of old clothing
he had left behind when he and his father had parted ways.
Jess had offered to give the eulogy, but Bram would not hear of it. After invoking the wisdom of the Guiding Star, the old
man spoke in a thin voice that echoed across the water. “This is what remains of my son Ross. No wreckage was found of the
Blue Sky Mine, heinously destroyed by unknown enemies.”
Sinews stood out like ropes along Bram’s neck. “Still, we have our memories of Ross, our fond stories, the times we spent
together …” His voice dropped, then cracked. “And our guilt for the things we did not do, and which now can never be done.
“Since we have nothing else of my son Ross, we will make do.” Bram raised his gaze to the solid sky. “This is our memorial
to him.”
The other Roamers echoed, “This is our memorial to him.”
Jess and Tasia stepped forward, each snapping the end off an air-activated ignitor. They held the bright flames like candles
above the sluggish, cold ocean. Bram Tamblyn reached into one of his numerous pockets and withdrew another ignitor, so that
their three flames blazed together.
“Ross was my oldest child. His fires burned bright and hot—” Bram’s voice quavered. “Yes, Ross was hot indeed. But his light
and his life were snuffed out too quickly.” In unison, the three tossed their ignitors into the raft, which had been padded
with woody icekelp fronds, now soaked with volatile fuel gel.
The icekelp burst into flame, crackling with black smoke around the effigy of Ross. Bram untied the rope from an anchor pin
on the ice shelf and used a pole to thrust the funeral raft out into the water. As the flames rose higher, the raft drifted
into the current and was gradually carried out into the flat dark sea.
Jess divided his attention between the pyre and his father, wishing he could help more. Despite their feud, the old man had
been proud of his eldest son, impressed by how much Ross had accomplished.
The pyre grew brighter as the blazing raft passed farther out onto the cold sea. The low ice sky reflected the orange flames.
Drawn by the light, large primitive nematodes rose from the undersea depths, poking their smooth, eyeless heads into the pocket
of air. The nematodes were thick scarlet things with round mouths and tiny diamondlike teeth that were probably used for scouring
holes through the walls of ice.
The Roamer observers gasped in surprise at seeing the rare creatures. Cesca moved closer to Jess. He could feel her presence,
but could not tear his gaze from the waving forms that loomed around the glowing funeral raft.
Surrounding the now-dwindling pyre as the wooden raft began to break apart into charred timbers, the nematodes made weird
hooting sounds, an eerie yet beautiful chorus that boomed off the vaulted frozen ceiling.
The alien grief expressed in the nematodes’ song was more than Jess could bear. He felt Cesca’s loving grip on his arm and
was startled when he turned to look at his father and saw tears streaming down his seamed face.
T
he ruins of the Oncier system contained no survivors, no bodies, very little wreckage—and no clues about what had happened
to Dr. Serizawa’s research team. The four moons were nothing more than flash-cooled rubble dispersed in a widening ring around
the hot new starplanet.
General Lanyan had not flown his fast reconnaissance outrigger here to mourn. He had no idea who, or what, the enemy might
be. Whatever force had attacked here had the strength to disintegrate entire
moons
. Chairman Wenceslas had dispatched him to find answers with the specific objective of learning how the Earth Defense Forces
might defend themselves and the colony worlds against the threat, whatever it might be.
As the reconnaissance outrigger cruised around the ignited gas giant, the survey crew imaged the residue. Lanyan had staffed
the ship with his best technicians and communications experts. It would take a detailed analysis of the orbiting junk just
to determine which debris had been part of the melting moons and which had been components of the observation platform.
“Those scientists were alone here,” he growled. “They couldn’t even call for help. If only the damned Therons let us have
more green priests, we’d have assigned one here for instant telink communication. Dr. Serizawa could have sent a message at
the first sign of trouble. At least we would have known what was going on.”
Lanyan could not understand why Chairman Wenceslas didn’t simply have the King issue an ultimatum and conscript the services
of as many green priests as they needed. How could primitive forest dwellers stand against a concerted EDF action if the Hansa
decided to flex its muscles?
