Of Fire and Night (45 page)

113

MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

A
lthough Jora’h had done exactly as the hydrogues commanded—sending Adar Zan’nh with all his Solar Navy ships to Earth—sixty diamond warglobes returned to Ildira. Obviously the deep-core aliens doubted his resolve.

They intend to destroy us, no matter what
. Jora’h could see that now.

More than a thousand Ildiran warliners gathered in orbit, ready to protect the Mage-Imperator. Though far outgunned by the anxious Solar Navy defenders, the hydrogue ships hurtled down through the sky, demonstrating the arrogance of the enemy: They considered a mere sixty warglobes to be a sufficient deterrent.

Even so, those diamond spheres were more than enough to destroy the Prism Palace, kill the Mage-Imperator, and obliterate Mijistra—if they chose to. If even a hundred Solar Navy ships careened down to smash into them, the explosions and the wreckage would cause a breathtaking amount of damage to the city. And the hydrogues could always call for more of their diamond ships.

Tal O’nh’s current desperate evacuation of Hyrillka had drawn away many of the largest ships in the Solar Navy, recruiting Tal Ala’nh’s entire cohort. Now refugee-laden ships were streaming back to Ildira, bearing hundreds of thousands of displaced Hyrillkans. But this was no longer a safe place, not for any of them.

As soon as the threatening warglobes appeared, Jora’h ordered Nira and Kolker into hiding. Knowing how the hydrogues hated the verdani, he could never let them become aware that
green priests
were inside the Prism Palace.

Osira’h stayed by his side, smiling mysteriously up at her father. “My mind is open. I feel the warglobes overhead. The hydrogues are angry . . . but they are always angry. They are suspicious. They do not understand Ildirans.”

“They have not tried to understand us. That is their mistake, and their weakness.” Looking at her, he tried to reinforce his confidence. “You will not let them learn our secret?”

“I will not.” Her voice carried not even the hint of a doubt.

Fresh from the gathered defensive cohorts above, Tal Lorie’nh waited in the skysphere reception hall as an adviser. “I hope you are right, Liege.” An older officer with an adequate if undistinguished career, Lorie’nh was a tall, thin man who rarely took chances, never surpassed expectations. Jora’h knew, however, that he would serve in any capacity the Mage-Imperator requested.

Jora’h had already made up his mind, though he believed it would cost his race dearly. Through the rush of evacuees from Hyrillka, as well as reports from other Solar Navy ships, he knew that the hydrogues were engaged against the faeros on numerous fronts. Now that Nira had regained her telink connection to the worldforest, she shared with Jora’h what she had learned about the widespread efforts being planned simultaneously across the Spiral Arm. How much more could the deep-core aliens endure? The wentals and the verdani battleships might be enough to turn the tide. Did they really want to fight the Solar Navy at the same time?

Perhaps we will survive this after all. If we are strong . . . and if we are lucky
. He would live or die by the consequences of his decision. He knew precisely what he needed to say. This was
his
realm.

When the hydrogue emissary finally came to the Prism Palace, Jora’h stood to meet him. He placed his hand on Osira’h’s shoulder as the small pressurized chamber came to a stop in front of the dais. Tal Lorie’nh looked alarmed and anxious. He had never seen a hydrogue so close before, had never even faced them in direct battle.

Jora’h watched the humanoid shape appear behind the transparent wall. The clock was ticking, the Mage-Imperator knew. With a firm voice, he let his displeasure flow. “Why do you come here? I already dispatched my Solar Navy ships to Earth, as you demanded. Can you not see that I have cooperated?”

The emissary’s voice was flat. “We are here to guarantee that you do as you promised, or to punish you if you fail.”

Jora’h did not allow his expression to change, but he felt a cold shaft of ice pierce his chest. “That is not necessary.”

“Nevertheless, we intend to stay here until the battle at Earth is satisfactorily completed. We will know immediately if you betray us.”

Jora’h showed no fear. Ildirans believed they were born as part of a grand cosmic story, and they considered the
Saga of Seven Suns
to be a true map that delineated the reality of past and present. But his father had shown him that much of the information was distorted, even false. What mattered most was what he actually did. Jora’h would not be described as a coward and a betrayer in the Saga . . . if anyone survived to write new stanzas.

Though he felt powerless, Jora’h did not back down. He clenched his hands, reaching a difficult decision. “You do not trust us? Very well. To further demonstrate my cooperation, I will send even more Solar Navy ships to Earth. Tal Lorie’nh! As soon as the hydrogue emissary leaves, take your entire cohort to Earth as well. Adar Zan’nh may require assistance.”

The thin military officer blinked, looked confused, then finally found the right words. “As you say, Liege. As soon as the emissary departs.”

Jora’h turned back to the pressurized sphere. “I have now provided more than a thousand Solar Navy warliners—I expect that will be sufficient to defeat whatever remains of the Earth Defense Forces. Now are you satisfied?”

“We are still watching. Closely.” The thunderstorm tension dissipated in the air, yet Jora’h did not relax. He wasn’t sure if his bluster had convinced the emissary, but the hydrogue had nothing further to say. Levitating from the tiled floor, the small sphere drifted back down the Palace corridors, escorted by soldier kithmen who could not have fought against it even if they’d wanted to.

When the chamber was empty again, both Osira’h and Tal Lorie’nh stared at him as if he had gone as mad as Rusa’h. Lorie’nh blurted, “Liege, if I take my cohort away, Ildira will be dramatically weakened! The hydrogues are looming over our heads.”

“I do not trust what the hydrogues will do at Earth,” Jora’h said, “and we do not dare lose there. We must be absolutely certain to crush the enemy. Travel with all the speed you can possibly manage, or you will arrive too late.” The Mage-Imperator drew another deep breath, aware of the death sentence he was about to pronounce. “There is no time for Sullivan Gold and his engineers to work on your ships, Lorie’nh. I am sorry.”

The tal remained stiff and formal. “My crew and I understand what we may have to do.”

Jora’h nodded. “We will not lack for defenses here, Lorie’nh. I will keep two cohorts to defend the Prism Palace, and many loaded warliners are returning from Hyrillka every day filled with evacuees.” He lowered his voice and looked at his daughter. “The question is, can we wound the hydrogues enough to make them leave us alone?”

Osira’h gave her father an oddly distant but reassuring smile. “Just wait. Do not give up.”

“What is it you know? What are you thinking?”

She smiled enigmatically. “I have the powers that centuries of breeding experiments sought to create, and I’ve already established a link. I am a bridge with the hydrogues, and my mother has given me an idea. Maybe I can do more than you or the hydrogues expect.”

114

ANTON COLICOS

H
ydrogues and faeros continued to battle in Hyrillka’s primary sun. Solar flares rippled outward, ionic bursts disrupted transmissions, and weather patterns changed significantly. Each change produced an additional hindrance to the evacuation operations, but Tal O’nh bulldozed through them with all the efficiency he had shown when organizing the initial relief efforts.

By the time Tal Ala’nh arrived with hundreds more ships to take evacuees, the one-eyed veteran had already loaded most of his original warliners and dispatched them back to Ildira. With so many hydrogues and faeros in the vicinity, he did not want the crowded warliners to remain in the Hyrillka system. Together, two Solar Navy cohorts would be sufficient to carry all the inhabitants away to safety before the great battles killed the star.

“One step forward, two steps back,” Anton said. “I think this planet has one whopper of a string of bad luck.”

Vao’sh gathered armloads of apocryphal documents from the vault. “Peaceful times make for dull stories, Rememberer Anton.”

The two scrambled to retrieve records from the archives beneath the citadel palace. At first they took great care to keep everything organized, but toward the end they simply threw everything into protective containers. Even Yazra’h helped them, as a special favor to Anton, though she also discharged a hundred other obligations during the frantic exodus.

The din of the spaceport was deafening. Warliners landed fourteen at a time, far more than the spaceport’s capacity. The big ships dropped down into open fields and empty plazas, anyplace large enough to accommodate them. Personnel shuttles flitted across the landscape, rescuing outlying Ildirans who could not reach the main evacuation depots.

This struggle made Anton’s chest tighten with dread. He sensed time slipping away from him in an accelerating plunge. The unbelievable operation was being accomplished with unheard-of efficiency, but even with almost seven hundred huge Ildiran battleships, how could they ever get everyone off the planet in time?

The boy Designate was crushed at the loss of such an old and respected colony, and Anton felt deeply sorry for him. Exactly as Yazra’h had taught him, the boy appropriately showed only resolve when he appeared before his people, but in private he was obviously shattered by the turn of events. “I could have made it work,” Ridek’h said, as he watched a pair of workers carry another crate of diamondfilm sheets aboard a landed shuttle. “We were going to make Hyrillka a good place to live again.”

“And the people believed in you, Designate.” Yazra’h’s use of the title seemed to build up the young man’s self-confidence. “But now your obligations have changed. Your duty as Hyrillka Designate is to protect your people—and right now that means saving them from the destruction of their world.”

Rememberer Vao’sh said to the boy in a voice perfectly tuned to play his heartstrings, “I will make sure that the Hall of Rememberers writes your role in these events properly, Designate Ridek’h. Never before has such a young man earned a place in the
Saga of Seven Suns
.”

Neither Anton nor Vao’sh spoke as they climbed aboard the shuttle and headed toward the waiting flagship. They sat together, both feeling dismayed.

Once back in the command nucleus, Anton watched high-resolution images of the churning clash in the sun, and the sight horrified him. Hyrillka’s primary star was dying. Flaming ellipsoids slammed into warglobes by the hundreds. From somewhere within the star itself, the fiery creatures turned solar flares into weapons, blasting out huge arcs of ionized gas in a disintegrating wave that even the warglobes couldn’t withstand. Even so, faced with such overwhelming numbers, the faeros fireballs winked out one by one. The blue-white star now looked like a churning stewpot.

Scientist kithmen performed calculations to estimate how much longer the primary sun would last. If the main star did burn out, they postulated how swiftly and dramatically the climate would change with only the dull orange secondary. The sudden extreme drop in solar flux would cause unimaginable upheaval. Mega-hurricane storms would literally tear the atmosphere apart. Temperature shifts would rip the landscape, sparking seismic or volcanic activity. No living thing was likely to survive the transition.

“A real disaster story,” Anton muttered.

115

JESS TAMBLYN

J
ess’s wental vessel plunged like a bullet toward the cloudy gas giant. Together with the water elementals, he would fight the drogues, and he would bring Tasia and the other human prisoners out alive. Because of all the wentals had learned from him, they understood his drive, his connection to his family, his love for other individuals.

Though reinforcements would arrive soon, Jess did not intend to wait—not if Tasia was down there. As he struck Qronha 3’s rarefied atmosphere, plunging headfirst into an impossible struggle, the wentals roiled inside and around him, spoiling for a fight. He wouldn’t be doing this alone.

Water droplets sprang from the surface of his ship, rushing through the clouds in an explosive release of wental power, dancing from one atmospheric water molecule to another. Wental energy crackled and spread, splashing into the layers of gases like colored dye spreading through a jar of liquid.

The first strike
.

Descending, Jess peered through the curved walls but could see only storms and mists outside his vessel. Inside his mind, the wentals described their expanding fight, though in terms he could barely comprehend. In the same way they had tamed storm-wracked Golgen, the wentals now exerted a stranglehold on this planet.

Suddenly hydrogue warglobes boiled up all around him. Blue lightning lanced out to strike the wental-infused cloud decks. Jess careened away from one spinning warglobe, narrowly escaping a crackling bolt of energy. With a sharp maneuver, he dodged again, then plunged deeper.

He barely avoided ramming a warglobe that emerged from a thundercloud; the hydrogue did not see him, did not open fire, apparently too preoccupied fighting its elusive enemies. As he streaked past, Jess noted that the warglobe’s polished diamond exterior was becoming pitted, eaten away as if by acid. The wental moisture was corrosive to them.

Guiding the small ship, Jess dodged, sweeping ever downward. Ten more warglobes rocketed up from the depths and into the fray. The deep-core aliens must have a significant base or city somewhere far below. Jess had to find it, had to find his sister.

The dense atmosphere pressed in around his vessel’s shell like a spherical vise, trying to crush it, but the wentals wouldn’t allow that.
Jess
wouldn’t allow that. With part of his mind connected to the soul of the ship, he followed the fading wakes of the drogue vessels back to their origin.

The air thickened to a heavy soup around him. Water drops split from the walls of his spherical vessel like splatters of molten metal from a burning meteor. As each energy-charged raindrop flew into the air, new wentals seeded the clouds and spread like a poison.

Exhilaration rushed like a white torrent through him. With sheer force of will, Jess maintained the integrity of his vessel even as the wental water sweated away. Parts of the mother-of-pearl framework sloughed off as the support ribs pulled together to hold the ever-diminishing ball of water. Infused with the wentals,
he
could survive out in the hostile environment, just as he could live in the open vacuum of space. But he had to keep some reserve to protect his sister and the others.

As organic mists of long-chain aerosols blurred his vision, Jess identified the awesome hydrogue citysphere: a cluster of geometric domes and interlinked enclosures, structures impossible to comprehend. From here, on this very planet, the hydrogues had launched warglobes to attack helpless humans . . . all those ruined Roamer skymines . . . Ross’s Blue Sky Mine.

Focusing the intensity of his gaze like a laser, Jess made the water-and-pearl vessel hurtle forward. Never decreasing speed, the spinning ship crashed through the protective membranes surrounding the floating citysphere. His vessel careened into the alien metropolis and cruised past the polyhedral building structures. Hydrogue infestations.

Jess raced down streets and between tall angled complexes of the strange city. His senses were alert for any hint as to where he might find the human prisoners. As he searched, wental senses directed him, helped him track down the protected prison. Seeping through water molecules in the air, the wentals seemed to know he was growing closer every moment. Tasia was somewhere nearby.

Down in the streets among inverted bridges and Möbius-strip arches, liquid-crystal forms gathered like puddles of mercury to stand against him. The hydrogues in this citysphere were aware of his intrusion and pulled together to prevent him from succeeding in what he had come to do.

The diminished water-and-pearl ship drifted to a halt as the hydrogues blocked its passage. Pooled in front of Jess’s vessel, the hydrogues rose into shapes, coalescing until they all stood in front of him as an army of perfectly identical, exquisitely detailed replicas.

Jess could not move.

They were all Ross.