Hidden Empire (65 page)
The General had sent a specific summons to Roberts, bringing him to EDF headquarters on Mars. In a private staff office, with
the door closed and broad skylights open to an olive-green sky, Lanyan had made his proposal. He had not stood when Roberts
entered the office, but remained at his desk, which was piled with data reports and multiple screens that showed endless troop
deployments and combat exercises.
After only a few words, Roberts realized that the General had already pulled his files, studied his piloting career and track
record, and knew more about Branson Roberts than he generally wanted anyone to know.
It was going to be an offer Roberts couldn’t refuse. No doubt about that.
“Your dossier suggests you are quite a daredevil pilot, Captain Roberts. I have already noted how well you comported yourself
when my squad used you as bait to catch the criminal Rand Sorengaard. In addition, I see you have performed dangerous runs,
black market deliveries, and risky navigation.”
Roberts felt a cold prickle of sweat along his neck. “General, sir, I assure you I have never been convicted of or even charged
with anything illegal. You can check my criminal record—”
Lanyan waved him into a seat. “Let’s not get into that, Captain. It’s a red herring, and I don’t have time for it.”
Roberts quickly sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and waited in silence.
“Captain, allow me to be clear. I intend to take advantage of your abilities. It would be most advantageous to recruit someone
with your skills rather than sifting through these enthusiastic numbskulls to find a new cadet with only a fraction of your
experience. I understand that King Frederick’s new order has required you to surrender your private ship to the greater military
effort, and that you are currently without a livelihood?”
The General already had that information, and both men knew it. “I… recognize the Hansa’s need. As the King says, we all have
to make some unpleasant sacrifices.” Roberts smiled wanly, then shrugged. “The Hansa gave me enough compensation to meet my
expenses for a month or two.”
Lanyan regarded him with hard, intelligent eyes, and finally the General’s face broke into a knowing smile. “I’ll bet you’re
bored, though.”
Although the
Blind Faith
had been designed as a merchant ship and cargo carrier, she had sleek lines and fast engines. The EDF had retrofitted the
ship for increased maneuverability and range. Roberts wasn’t entirely sure the modifications would protect the
Blind Faith
against an outright attack from the enemy aliens, but it made him feel more confident.
So far on his mission, he had already been to Welyr and Erphano, known hiding places of the deep-core creatures. Like a dive
bomber, he raced into each system and dropped a cargo load of robotic probes and message buoys into the murky clouds. The
devices sank out of sight, relaying information back to the
Blind Faith
. The buoys transmitted demands that the aliens cease their unprovoked aggression or urgent requests for any sort of parley.
Each time, the messages were ignored, the probes destroyed.
Now, without slowing, Branson Roberts piloted the
Blind Faith
toward Dasra, approaching from the north pole. The greenish gas giant was surrounded by a stack of thin, treacherous rings,
like a sparkling pile of old phonograph records encircling the equator.
Needing to move quickly, Roberts did not thread his way through the crowded rubble-filled rings. Instead, he skimmed close
to the atmosphere in the gap between the planet and the rings, traversing from north to south. Per General Lanyan’s orders,
he was required to stay long enough to gather data transmitted from the probes. But he didn’t have to wait around for trouble.
Skimming above the storm systems, Roberts opened the
Blind Faith’s
cargo bay doors and dumped a string of robotic probes, self-contained transmitters, and sensors. As they fell, the message
buoys bleated their recorded announcements across a spectrum of frequencies. The data probes drifted into specific storm levels,
sending electronic surveillance intelligence as they descended.
Roberts collected every signal, recording all the data in his ship’s systems. He would bring his reconnaissance packets back
to EDF headquarters and deliver them personally to the General and his analysts. Maybe he’d even ask for a raise.
He listened, cruising above the silent clouds, passing over Dasra’s equator and then traversing the gas giant’s southern hemisphere.
As before, once the probes reached a certain depth, the transmissions suddenly broke off, changing to static and then silence.
Each device was destroyed far sooner than the environmental conditions could have harmed the rugged components.
Obviously, the deep-core aliens were the cause.
Gas-giant planets were common in the Spiral Arm, and many probe runners like himself were investigating them. If the probe
destructions were an accurate indication, the deepcore aliens were astonishingly widespread. The EDF, as well as the human
population, was beginning to realize just how prolific their enemy was, how far-flung this heretofore unsuspected empire.
They seemed to be everywhere.
When the last probe transmissions abruptly ended, Branson Roberts made ready for his dignified but rapid retreat, as on his
two previous excursions. This time, though, flashing lights appeared deep within the pea-soup clouds. The glowing movement
seemed to be tracking the rapid passage of the
Blind Faith
.
Roberts scanned the clouds and the brightening lights, feeling a glacier form in his stomach. It looked like a cluster of
thunderstorms climbing deliberately toward the upper atmosphere. Lightning strikes crackled, and a windy vortex swirled, as
if preparing to open up and disgorge a massive object.
As the submerged lights grew more brilliant, more ominous, Roberts leaned on his ship’s controls, disengaged the safety protocols,
and powered up all the enhancements the military had installed. “Time to get the hell out of here.”
Firing the stardrive’s turbochargers, he shot away from the rings of Dasra and streaked out of the system at maximum speed.
W
ith tensions increasing among the humans and the mystery of the marauding aliens still unsolved, Adar Kori’nh kept one maniple
of his fleet in the vicinity of Qronha 3. The Mage-Imperator gave him explicit orders to place a ceremonial protection fleet
at the ancient Ildiran ekti-harvesting city, so, for appearances, Kori’nh remained with the forty-nine ships led by the recently
demoted Qul Aro’nh. By their very visibility, the warships would ease the unreasonable fears of the cloud miners. The rest
of the vessels, commanded by Tal Zan’nh and Tal Lorie’nh, continued back to their home port, ready to respond to any real
emergency.
Qronha 3 was the nearest gas giant to Ildira, a large planet bright enough to be visible by telescope even in Mijistra’s permanent
daytime. Ages ago, the Ildirans had built their first cloud-harvesting facility here. The scoops and reactors had operated
continuously for dozens of centuries, producing the hydrogen allotrope, though in recent years, it was only a token amount.
Human Roamers had taken over most of the ekti-processing business, selling stardrive fuel to the Ildiran Empire and the Terran
Hanseatic League. However, Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h and his predecessor had kept the Qronha 3 facility under Ildiran control,
as a minor gesture to prove that they
could
produce their own ekti, if they wished.
Now the Mage-Imperator feared the creaking old Qronha 3 cloud harvester might be threatened. This was to be a formal mission,
flying the colors and demonstrating the might of the Solar Navy. The operation would be by the book, with no innovation required—exactly
the kind of assignment Qul Aro’nh could perform to perfection. Perhaps the old officer would see that despite his shame, he
could still be a valuable component of the Solar Navy.
Because the skittish Roamers were curtailing their ekti production and exports, the Mage-Imperator had commanded that the
Qronha 3 skymine be brought up to full capacity. The Empire needed an uninterrupted supply of stardrive fuel. Only now was
the Empire beginning to understand the weak link in their economy: how much they depended on Roamers to provide the necessary
resource.
Long ago, when Ildirans had first allowed the outcast human clans to take over operations on old ekti-harvesting facilities,
the Roamers had taken out long-term loans to build additional skymines. Recently, sensing the economic shift, the uneasy Mage-Imperator
had warned the Roamers not to default on their loans; surprisingly, the nomadic humans had continued to pay their expected
installments, tapping hitherto unsuspected cash reservoirs. No one knew how the Roamers had acquired such liquid wealth or
how long they could continue to make their regular payments.
For the time being, the Ildiran Empire’s deliveries of ekti had been slashed by 30 percent, and even the Mage-Imperator could
do nothing about it. Through the
thism
, Adar Kori’nh could sense his leader’s distress. The outmoded Qronha 3 cloud harvester had no hope of making up for the shortfall,
but the workers would make a dramatic, symbolic effort.
Guided by Qul Aro’nh in a formal wedge formation, the forty-nine warliners and escorts had made a circuit of the Qronha 3
system. The battleships would impress upon Ildiran workers and potential enemies alike the awesome might of the Solar Navy.
From high orbit above the gas giant, the maniples dispatched cutters and streamers to patrol the skies for any alien intrusion.
Adar Kori’nh took an escort down to the floating skymine city. As supreme commander, it was his responsibility to be visible,
standing tall and brave in order to reassure the ekti harvesters.
The long-established Qronha 3 colony had a place in Ildiran lore, mentioned no fewer than a thousand times in the
Saga of Seven Suns
. Riding high above the thick vapors and cloud banks, this was an enormous facility. Huge structures, distillers, and reaction
chambers protruded in all directions. Its industrial systems were outdated and inefficient by now, but processing of the hydrogen
allotrope continued.
The ekti factory held enough inhabitants to qualify as a genuine splinter colony. The Ildirans, though isolated from their
planet, were crowded enough for their comfort. And because of their proximity to Ildira, the Qronha 3 miners often received
furloughs to return home, as soon as replacement crews came to continue their work.
Still, as Kori’nh saw the size of the Qronha 3 facilities and the sheer number of workers required to maintain the population
at its critical density for the
thism
, he understood how the Roamers, given their willingness to live and work with skeleton crews, could be far more efficient.
Five other cutters landed on the docking platforms after the Adar had stepped out. The ekti-harvesting crews and their extended
families greeted the military with a grand reception. Kori’nh could see that the Qronha 3 workers were also nervous about
unseen aliens lurking within the clouds below, though they had never witnessed any sign or threat in their many centuries
of operation here. Despite their uncertainty, the Solar Navy gave them all the confidence they needed.
The fleet had been settled in for less than a day when the attack occurred.
Without warning, dazzling acid-bright lights appeared in the clouds beneath the giant industrial city. Kori’nh’s evervigilant
patrol streamers noticed the change almost immediately and sounded the call to arms. After reviewing images the Earth Defense
Forces had retrieved from Oncier and the destroyed skymine at Welyr, the Adar knew how such an attack would begin. His soldiers
had drilled sufficiently and reacted with due speed.
Even so, they could not be prepared enough.
Kori’nh summoned an emergency brigade of escort ships to drop down onto the large harvester complex and evacuate all personnel.
Alarms rang throughout the industrial city, and Ildiran workers scrambled to their emergency checkpoints, queuing up in preparation
for escape.
Leaving a Septar to manage the on-site evacuation efforts, Adar Kori’nh boarded the first outbound cutter. “I need to get
back to my fleet,” he said, concerned about Qul Aro’nh’s lack of ingenuity in the face of a crisis. He would have to take
command of the maniple himself.
As his cutter rose above the last wisps of atmosphere and into the indigo of space, he looked down to see the first of the
fearsome diamond warglobes emerge from the depths of Qronha 3. Broken electrical arcs crackled from the blunt spikes protruding
through its hull. Crewmen shouted from the deck; the cutter’s pilots engaged emergency thrusters. The Adar could only stare
in awe for several seconds until he finally grabbed for the communications systems.
Old Qul Aro’nh was already broadcasting angry threats to the emerging deep-core aliens. “Leave our facility unharmed or risk
grave consequences.”
