Of Fire and Night (54 page)

139

KOLKER

E
ven after restoring his connection to the worldforest, Kolker remained reticent. He had never felt so confused and unsure of himself.

Ever since he’d lost his treeling, his all-consuming desire had been to touch telink again. But now that Nira had made it possible, he still felt lost, as if his life’s central goal had fallen away like a trapdoor beneath his feet. He had not been able to discuss it with his close friend Yarrod, or anyone else. He seemed farther away from them than even interstellar distances could account for. He had achieved what he’d wanted for so long. What was missing?

Though he could touch the treeling whenever he wished—especially now, with the hydrogues defeated—Kolker had avoided doing so. He wanted to understand this emptiness before he fell back on the crutch of the worldtrees. Not sure where else to turn, he decided to seek out Tery’l. Perhaps the old lens kithman could offer a different perspective. He always seemed so confident in his faith.

Though he searched in his usual meditation places, Kolker could not find the ancient man. Growing increasingly worried, the green priest asked other Ildirans until he was finally directed into the damaged part of Mijistra, where a hastily erected infirmary held many of those who had been wounded in the explosions and collapsed buildings.

In the makeshift hospital, Kolker wandered among the cots where the injured were being tended by doctors. Young and determined lens kithmen hovered over those closest to death, helping them to see the soul-threads that would guide them as they passed to a plane of infinite light. Kolker expected to find Tery’l with his comrades caring for the wounded.

But his old friend lay by himself, on a cot, among the severely injured. Tery’l had sent the other lens kithmen away, instructing them to devote their attentions to those in greatest need. “I am content,” he had told them. “I know everything you could possibly say to me. I have nothing to fear.”

Kolker hurried forward to the battered old man. Teryl’s chest and head were bandaged and bloody, and his milky eyes stared into a bright, cloudless sky. Though Teryl’s eyesight was too weak to recognize the green priest, he seemed to know Kolker by instinct. “Ah, my human friend! I am glad you came to speak with me.” His papery lips curled in a faint smile. “But if you need more enlightenment, you had best listen quickly.” The ancient lens kithman could barely manage a laugh, and it came out as only a rattling breath.

Kolker knelt. “What happened to you? Where were you?”

“I was among the fountains where the prisms intensify the light. It was bright and warm and glorious.” Tery’l smiled. “The people evacuated, but I could not run swiftly enough. When the warglobes crashed, I was struck by falling debris. Now only frayed ends of my soul-threads are left.”

Kolker touched his friend’s forehead. “You’ll be fine. The hydrogues are defeated, and the doctors are taking care of you. There’s no reason you can’t get better.”

“
Time
is the reason. This body has simply lived too long. Ildirans have a greater life span than humans, but our bodies still have limits.” He stared upward again. “I have done many good things in my life. As a lens kithman, I helped my people. I hope that our discussions have been at least interesting, if not thought-provoking.”

“Yes, they have.” In a rush, Kolker explained how he had finally been reunited through telink, how he’d let his mind sail through the connected trees. “I wanted it so badly, but once I achieved it . . . even telink didn’t seem adequate anymore.”

“What happens to green priests when they die?” the lens kithman asked.

“When we know our time is at an end, we allow ourselves to be absorbed into the worldforest mind. We connect to a tree through telink, and then our body falls among the trees.” Kolker shook his head, and his voice became rough. “If I had died here without my treeling, I would have been lost forever—a meaningless death.

“At one time I pitied humans who weren’t green priests. I knew that their verbal and written communications could not match my perfect sharing of thoughts through the trees. But now I see that even my blessed telink is exclusive. It doesn’t unite humanity—only a handful of chosen green priests. That’s not good enough.”

“Perhaps it is all you have,” Tery’l said.

“It doesn’t need to be that way! If humans were linked to each other like Ildirans are through
thism,
then we could understand, cooperate, and grow stronger. We’d never have factions and enemies and civil wars.”

“Then you have truly learned from us, my friend. For millennia, Ildirans had almost no internal struggle, except for the recent Hyrillka uprising—and that was due to flawed
thism
.”

“I wish I could be part of what you have, Tery’l.” Kolker felt desperation in his heart. “I am so intrigued by your
thism
. I wish I could open myself to it . . .”

The lens kithman grasped Kolker’s hand, squeezing with the power of a vise. “You already understand more than you know. I am comforted that you are here, but comforted more that all my people are with me, all Ildirans together, sharing, thinking, supporting each other.”

“Right now you should be thinking of yourself—just be strong.”

“I am strong. And we all think for all of us. How else could I have survived and remained happy, even as my eyesight failed? It is the
thism
.” With his other hand, Tery’l reached for the shining, lens-etched medallion he always wore at his throat. As he picked it up, the prismatic disk caught the light and reflected rainbows. “This . . . this may give you more to ponder.”

Not understanding, Kolker took the gift. “What is it?”

“A symbol.”

The facets seemed full of light being sucked down into a gravity well, reflecting, sparkling with possibilities. “So it doesn’t do anything?”

“Symbols do many things. That depends on you.”

Kolker had seen the old lens kithman touch the medallion, claiming that it helped him to link to the Lightsource. “Don’t you need it yourself, Tery’l?”

As if knowing he was finished with life,
willing
himself to end, the ancient lens kithman simply died without releasing Kolker’s hand.

The green priest remained at the old man’s side for a long time. He passed through his grief thinking of everything Tery’l had said, clinging to a strand of hope and mystery. He looked down at the sparkling etched facets in the gift medallion, following lines of shattered light. What had the old lens kithman seen inside there? Had he used it to follow paths through the
thism
? Even in death, Tery’l had been comforted by his endless connections to his people.

Finally, Kolker climbed to his feet again and walked in a daze back toward the Prism Palace, toward Sullivan Gold, Tabitha Huck, and the other Hansa skyminers.

He had a mission now. Though he didn’t know where he would begin, Kolker prepared for his new work.

140

PATRICK FITZPATRICK III

I
n the space yacht he had “borrowed” from his grandmother, Patrick stopped off long enough at a distant Hansa outpost to purchase hull paints, which he used to remove the prominent markings. He changed the registration numbers and automatic ID signal. Thinking of dark-haired Zhett, he renamed his yacht the
Gypsy
.

He was alone and far from anything else happening in the Spiral Arm. Patrick did not expect the Roamers to be easy to find, but he had a few obvious starting places.

It took him several lonely days to fly to Osquivel. He didn’t expect to find anything useful at the ringed gas giant, however. Certainly not a secret message from Zhett. He’d already read the report of the EDF investigation team. Military engineers had combed through the rubble, finding useless debris, ejected machinery, and wrecked habitats. EDF investigators had collected every usable piece of equipment they could find, piecing together the Kellum operation. Patrick found it ironic.
Now who are the scavengers?

As he flew through the rubble rings now, he experienced a wash of fearful memories. The battle of Osquivel had been the most terrifying experience in his life—countless warglobes, EDF ships blasted into scrap metal, ships fleeing in panic and leaving damaged vessels and lifepods . . . including his own.

Strangely enough, Osquivel’s cloud bands seemed different now, changed, as if lit from within. Brighter and less ominous. He couldn’t imagine what might have happened to change a whole planet. It was as if the stain of the hydrogues themselves had disappeared.

He drifted among the rings, searching and thinking. Zhett had taken him out in a small grappler pod to tour the smelters and rubble prospectors, the small greenhouse domes, the recycling facilities, and the habitation complexes. Everything was silent and empty now. On one of the storage rocks he had tricked Zhett, strung her along. She had believed he was falling in love with her.

He couldn’t imagine what she thought of him now. Zhett Kellum was a fiery young woman who had powerful feelings. He suspected she did not take humiliation well. How she must have cursed his name!

He had to be insane to steal a ship, escape from his powerful grandmother, and go AWOL from the Earth Defense Forces, just to find Zhett. And if he ever succeeded, how could he expect anything other than contempt from her? She would probably spit in his face—or worse.

Nevertheless, Patrick had to do it. He had no choice whatsoever.

Perhaps, if he could atone for his actions, make her see that he had changed and that he truly regretted what he had done, maybe then he’d have a chance.

Next, Patrick flew to the Roamer government center of Rendezvous—or what was left of it. Admiral Stromo’s battle group had done its work well.

He had seen surveillance images of the massive asteroid complex. The Roamers had made once-useless space rubble into a thriving trade and legislative center. And the EDF’s most powerful weapons had broken it all apart and scattered Rendezvous like a handful of gravel. In the short time since the pointless attack, the larger chunks had spread out, propelled on different trajectories by momentum imparted by explosions.

Patrick ached as he looked at the scene. This complex was the political equivalent of the Whisper Palace on Earth or the Hansa HQ. Roamers had never fired a provocative shot at any EDF vessel, as far as he knew. The clans had merely imposed sanctions after a legitimate grievance. Instead of trying to work out an adequate settlement, the Hansa Chairman had insisted on complete control instead of friendship. During her tenure, Maureen Fitzpatrick probably would have done the same.

No wonder all Roamers despised Eddies.

Patrick cruised slowly through the impossible rubble field, imagining how amazing this place had once been. Considering what had been done to them here, he couldn’t believe the Roamers hadn’t simply dumped their EDF captives right back out into space. Patrick supposed he should count himself lucky.

He drifted, following whatever course the mangled lines of gravity offered. He had a lot of time to think and a lot of thinking to do. He silently promised himself once again that he would find Zhett, that he would make things right. He didn’t expect the task to be easy, but he’d had too many easy jobs in his life, thanks to his family. This was something he had to do for himself.

Patrick plotted his next course and flew off.

141

RLINDA KETT

T
he
Voracious Curiosity
drifted for days in open space. For Rlinda, it was the most enjoyable time in recent memory. “I forgot just how much fun a person could have, given a little bit of privacy.”

BeBob wasn’t complaining, either. They kept the
Curiosity
warm enough that the two of them could spend half the day without clothes on, if they chose—and they often chose just that. Rlinda preferred to keep the lights turned down low, for the mood. BeBob had seen her naked often enough, before, during, and after their brief and tempestuous marriage. She didn’t qualify as one of those pheromone-enhanced models, but he never seemed to get tired of the view.

BeBob extricated himself from her and tried to move toward the
Curiosity
’s galley to get a snack, but she didn’t let him get away so easily. “Hey, I didn’t say you were excused. I’d like a little more snuggling time here.” The two of them clung together again.

“Sure beats those crowded insulated huts on Plumas,” BeBob said.

“This beats just about everything on Plumas.” After a few minutes, though, she let out a long sigh. “One of these days we really should get around to finishing these repairs.”

“All right, all right. As soon as you want to suit up, I’ll help replace more components.”

“I didn’t say I was in that much of a hurry.”

After escaping from the ice moon, the two had cooled their heels and relaxed. Fortunately, since the Tamblyn brothers had intended to keep the
Curiosity
as their own, they had gathered all of the parts for the anticipated repairs and stored them aboard. Working together, taking their time, Rlinda and BeBob finished fine-tuning her beloved ship, and testing it. They gave the
Curiosity
all the care it had needed for quite a while.

Most of the gourmet foods in the cargo hold were gone. She’d lost a lot of her best supplies and trading goods by dumping the main hold during their escape from the EDF, and then the greedy Roamers had ransacked the remaining boxes for delicacies. Speaking for herself, and almost certainly not for BeBob, she said, “I’d rather just open my faceplate to vacuum than resort to living off of standard-issue mealpax.”

“Oh, they’re not so bad, once you get used to them.”

During their work, they frequently raised (and then avoided) the question of where to go from there. Their supplies were limited, and they would need to reestablish contact with civilization sooner or later. With their stardrive fuel starting to get low, they couldn’t just flit from system to system. They talked about going to an asteroid and setting up a life for themselves, but they knew that couldn’t last forever.

Rlinda finished making some adjustments to the navigation console and, since the ship’s gravity was set low, came over to him with dainty steps that would have made a ballerina proud. “Process of elimination,” Rlinda said. “We sure can’t go back to the Hansa. The EDF would snatch us both the moment we came within sensor range.”

“I didn’t exactly care for Roamer hospitality, either,” BeBob said. “And I don’t know what we’d do in the Ildiran Empire.”

Rlinda ran a finger along her lower lip. When she finally thought of an alternative, the suggestion was so obvious that she was surprised it hadn’t been her first choice. “Theroc is quite a nice place. Peaceful, full of fresh food and nice people.
And
they’re independent from the Hanseatic League.”

“Seems we could do a lot worse,” BeBob said.

Rlinda checked their ekti levels, called up the starcharts, and smiled. “We’ve got enough fuel to get there. Want to try?”

BeBob gave her a boyish grin. “As long as I’m with you, my dear, I’m happy.”

“Stop that nonsense and give me a straight answer.”

“All right, then. Yes.”