Scattered Suns (37 page)

Chapter 75—PRINCE DANIEL

After a few days on his own, Daniel was no longer so enamored with freedom. He was hungry. He had no place to sleep and no friends to contact. Every place he went, he imagined that the Chairman’s agents were hunting for him. As discreetly as possible, he watched news loops, searching for announcements of the Prince’s disappearance. He had assumed the Hansa would offer a substantial reward for his safe return. But he heard no mention of his escape—nothing! As far as the public knew, Prince Daniel was still happily ensconced in his royal quarters in the Whisper Palace.

By now he looked dirty and rumpled, and there were small tears in his clothes. Though he hated to admit it, he would have welcomed even a plate of the annoyingly wholesome food OX had inflicted upon him. He didn’t like this at all.

Out of desperation, he worked his way through the streets to the neighborhood where he had once lived with his stepfather and slutty sister. He hadn’t regretted leaving them, but they might help him out. He couldn’t wait to brag to his sister about where he’d been for the past year, rub her nose in the fact that he was the Hansa’s new Prince.

But when he arrived at the familiar block, he discovered that the entire building where he had lived was gone. The dwelling complex had been torn down and replaced with a commercial structure full of offices and shops.

He had to be careful not to show too much curiosity, since Chairman Wenceslas must surely be watching this place. Trying to act casual, he asked an old woman what had happened to the people who lived there.

She shrugged. “Evicted, I think. Health hazards, some kind of epidemic. Quite a few people died, and everyone else was turned out onto the street.”

Unsettled, Daniel walked away without thanking her. In a daze, he remembered an occasion not long ago when King Peter had barged into the Prince’s chambers claiming that the Hansa had killed Daniel’s family. At the time it had seemed little more than an outrageous bluff, a scare tactic.

Now Daniel wasn’t so sure.

At night, with hunger gnawing at his stomach, he crept up to a small grocery distribution center, smashed a window, then reached in to unlock the door, so he could slip inside to where boxes of food sat surrounded by shadows. He didn’t have a plan; he simply grabbed the first edible items he could find—crackers and a tube of tart jam—and began gorging himself.

When he moved deeper into the grocery area, searching for food he could take with him, he heard a rattle and a slam behind him. Automatic guard gates locked into place over the broken entrance. He ran to the gate, but could find no way out. He must have triggered a silent alarm.

While waiting for the local police force to arrive, a resigned Daniel spent his time eating as much as possible.

When he heard the security vehicles and saw uniformed men emerge, he arranged an indignant look on his face. “What took you so long?” he said, mustering as commanding a tone as he could remember from the statesmanship lessons OX had given him. “I am testing the security of my Hansa. Professional thieves could have cleaned out this place in the meantime.”

Unsympathetic, the police came toward him with their twitchers drawn. Daniel remained indignant. “I am Prince Daniel. Don’t you recognize me?”

They didn’t. Nor did they believe him.

Only moments after the police response, bleary-eyed news reporters arrived, taking images of the arrest in progress for a bland local report. Daniel began struggling and bellowing that he was the Prince, to the amusement of the reporters.

Finally, the policemen used their twitchers, firing a burst that scrambled nerve communication. Daniel dropped immediately, unable to control his voluntary muscles; he remained completely conscious, embarrassed while he flopped about harmlessly. He had never been stunned before.

Still twitching and fighting the effects, the young man was hauled away and transported to a massive blocky building, where he was imprisoned with other miserable-looking and surly suspects. No amount of shouting and petulant demands brought the police to see him.

The following morning, a broad-shouldered, neatly dressed man arrived, whom Daniel recognized as Franz Pellidor, one of the Chairman’s special assistants. “I am the boy’s uncle,” Pellidor said to one of the administrators in the police station. “I’m afraid he’s quite deluded. He must have succeeded in hiding his medication again. I apologize. Our family will pay for any damages and all necessary fines, of course.”

Pellidor’s grip was like an iron vise around the runaway’s arm as he led the boy out.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Daniel pouted. “I’ve learned my lesson. Just take me back to the Palace. I have to admit I’m glad to see you.”

Pellidor looked into the Prince’s face with an expression of sheer contempt. “You will not be so glad when you see Chairman Wenceslas.”

Chapter 76—SULLIVAN GOLD

The hydrogues hit Qronha 3 everywhere at once. Warglobes shot up through the clouds, trailing mist behind them. Like the cracking of a lion tamer’s whip, alien weapons ripped across the skies. The initial blasts missed the modular cloud harvester and ricocheted off ionic layers in the atmosphere.

The warglobes continued to rise all around them like alarm buoys. The next blast tore open the bottom of one of the facility’s ekti reactors, splitting the curved hull and spilling unstable gases and catalysts. The venting vapors acted like an uncertain rocket jet, making the cloud harvester rock and sway.

As the evacuation continued, Sullivan yelled into the intercom system that linked the facility’s modules. “You’ve got every reason in the world to panic, but please don’t do it now. We’ve drilled for this situation over and over. Everybody, go to your assigned evac modules and get out of here. I am declaring this cloud harvester officially abandoned.”

Cloud miners raced down corridors, climbed ladders, and ran across decks to get to the dozens of self-contained rescue modules. As explosions thundered through the vast sky, Sullivan forced himself to stay focused on what they needed to do.

He called back to the green priest who stood reeling on the observation deck. “Does the EDF have any ships in the neighborhood?”

The green priest shouted at his treeling, as if his raised voice would transmit better through telink. He hammered his desperate thoughts through the worldforest network, informing the Terran Hanseatic League, the Earth Defense Forces, and everyone still on Theroc. He turned to look at Sullivan. “The EDF is going to send their ships immediately—but they can’t get here sooner than a day, maybe two or three.”

“Great. We appreciate the gesture, but this will all be over by then.” He took the green priest’s arm. “Come on, Kolker, we have to get to our own stations. I promised Lydia that I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Running beside him on the open top deck, the green priest struggled to carry his potted treeling.

The warglobes blasted again, and the whole cloud mine shook. More explosions erupted from the lower decks. Sullivan had no idea how much damage had already been done, but he knew the hydrogues would not stop their assault until the cloud harvester had burned up in the gas giant’s atmosphere.

Before he and the green priest could reach the edge of the observation deck, two more warglobes fired, igniting one of the half-full storage tanks of stardrive fuel. The shockwave rippling through the structure of the facility destroyed two of the massive suspension engines. Without the levitation fields, the deck suddenly tilted at a sickening angle.

Kolker stumbled and began to slide toward the open edge.

Without thought for his own safety, Sullivan dove to rescue the green priest. Kolker scrambled for purchase, clawing with his hands—and let go of his potted treeling. The slender offshoot of the worldforest tumbled down the steep-angled deck. Its ornate pot cracked and then shattered.

Forgetting himself, the green priest lunged for it. “No!”

Sullivan seized a support railing with his left hand. At the same time his right hand shot out and caught the green priest by his naked ankle.

Beseeching, Kolker stretched out his hand, trying to elongate himself—but the treeling spilled over the edge of the cloud harvester and out into the open atmosphere—falling...falling.

Kolker stared after it, his eyes round with horror and disbelief, as if he had just lost one of his children. The treeling looked tiny as it dwindled to an insignificant speck against the vast battleground in the sky.

Somehow the hydrogues saw it. In a purely spiteful gesture, a warglobe unleashed a blast that vaporized the treeling into a smear of ash that drifted on the angry winds.

Clamping his grip tighter around Kolker’s ankle, Sullivan sweated and strained, but the green priest simply stared as he dangled, open-mouthed and silent in despair at being completely cut off from the worldforest.

Detonations continued beneath the cloud harvester. The unstable complex began to wobble, swaying through a pendulum swing. As the observation deck became more level, Sullivan saw his chance. Before the wounded cloud harvester could tip in the other direction, he hauled Kolker back to safety. “Come on, snap out of it! We have to get out of here!”

“But my tree—”

“Nothing you can do about that now, and I’m not going to let you just sit here.” He dragged the green priest to his feet, and they raced off to the command decks where the supervisory personnel had already loaded themselves into the escape modules.

“Let’s go!” Sullivan pushed Kolker ahead of him through the hatch, then prepared to seal the module door behind him. He scanned the people crowded in the interior. “Have you taken attendance? Is everyone in place?”

“Module seven is missing three,” said his supervisor.

Crammed into a corner, Tabitha Huck looked down at her screen. “Module four has an extra two.”

“Are
we
full?” Sullivan asked.

“We’ve got the required complement, but we could fit another dozen or so if somebody else’s module is damaged.”

“I didn’t see anybody up on the command deck, but we’ll give ’em thirty more seconds.” Another explosion rocked the structure. “Tell everyone else to launch.”

Everything about the evacuation had looked good on paper, but now the greatest question remained: Once all the modules disengaged and flew away, would the hydrogues follow them? The evacuation modules couldn’t hope to outrun a warglobe.

Kolker sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking utterly miserable, a green priest without a tree. “No one will know what’s happening now. All contact has been cut off. They’ll think we’re dead.”

Sullivan tried to sound encouraging, “You sent out the alarm in time, Kolker. The EDF knows. But we’ve got to get ourselves out of here.” He glanced at his chronometer. “Time’s up. Let’s launch.”

They held on as their escape module broke free from the doomed cloud harvester. The crude vessel rocketed away from the attacking hydrogues. Around them, other self-propelled and autonomous escape vessels launched like spores from a mushroom.

As the module rattled and vibrated, Sullivan peered through the port. Below, the hydrogues continued to attack the remnants of the sky facility.

“They don’t seem to be pursuing us, Sullivan,” said Tabitha. “Not yet.” A sigh of relief, then a shudder of delayed terror passed through the refugees.

As the escape module rotated in its ascent, Sullivan got a good view across the ocean of clouds to the much larger Ildiran sky-harvesting city. The hydrogues were brutally dismantling Hroa’x’s facility as well, surrounding the immense platform and opening fire. Already, smoke and flames gushed from myriad breaches in the other complex’s hull.

“The Ildirans are under attack too,” Sullivan called. “But their design didn’t allow for the escape and rescue of their crew. They’re all going to die.”

Inside the evacuation module, his companions grumbled with anxiety. The green priest looked up at Sullivan, his misery increasing. “Hroa’x said there wasn’t anything he could do,” Kolker said.

“Ildirans won’t modify their older designs. They don’t plan ahead.” Sullivan scrutinized his comrades in the escape module; the rest of the autonomous vessels also had plenty of room for other passengers.

He made a decision, knowing he’d never hear the end of it from Lydia. “I’m not going to let them all die. We’ve got the means to do something about it.”

His people looked at him in disbelief. Tabitha spoke for all of them. “You’re not actually going back down there!”

“We all are.” He turned to the communications officer. “Open a channel to the Ildiran skymine, if anybody’s listening. Tell Hroa’x we’re on our way. I want all our modules to rally. We’re going to rescue as many Ildirans as we can. We can make a difference.”

Kolker’s look of amazement gradually transformed into something akin to respect. He gave a faint nod.

“But Sullivan...” Tabitha said, aghast. “We can’t take that risk.”

“I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

Chapter 77—TASIA TAMBLYN

General Lanyan sent a direct EM transmission from the lunar base to the sixty clustered rammers out in the asteroid field. “All right, it’s showtime!” Thanks to the instantaneous communication from the green priest Kolker, the EDF knew about the hydrogue assault on Qronha 3 while the attack was still happening. As Tasia and her fellow dunsels snapped to attention at temporary training stations, she found herself thinking of how Ross had never had a chance to call for help when the hydrogues obliterated his Blue Sky Mine...

Lanyan’s message continued, wasting no time. His hard face wore an eager smile. “The rammer fleet is parked, fueled, and waiting. We’ve been looking for someone to slug, and the drogues have finally shown themselves. It’ll be like cracking a few eggs with a whole bunch of sledgehammers. This is what the six of you have been waiting for. Now get going.”

Tasia and her companions shouted in response, though it would be almost an hour of signal delay before Lanyan heard them back at the Moon base. As the other five dunsels prepared to depart, she ran to get EA.

The sixty rammers launched in less than an hour. Practically speaking, Tasia knew they would not get to the gas giant before the drogues finished their job. But rescuing the miners wasn’t the primary thrust of this operation.

Since her rank was highest, Tasia was in charge of the overall mission, with the other dunsels responsible for ten rammers each. She stood on the bridge beside her quiet compy. Though the small Listener could do little of the technical work compared to all the burly Soldier compies manning the stations, EA was a reminder of her home and her upbringing. Soldier models required neither personality programming nor conversational skills, but they would follow Tasia’s orders precisely, and that was all that mattered. EA, at least, could offer a little moral support and be good for some conversation along the way.

The heavily armored warships accelerated above the ecliptic and prepared their faster-than-light stardrives. Qronha 3 was deep in Ildiran territory, not far from the alien capital world. Tasia didn’t concern herself with trespassing into Ildiran space: If this military action succeeded, she doubted the Mage-Imperator would complain. And if the rammer ships failed, Tasia wouldn’t be in a position to worry about it.

Mission briefing data streamed to their ships even as they departed, and Tasia reviewed the details of the attack. All telink signals from the green priest had cut off, and the modular cloud harvester was already presumed destroyed. Though the Hansa facility had been active for less than a year, it had produced a respectable amount of ekti, enough to pay for its construction twice over...but not the lives of the crew. The Hansa skyminers had escape systems in place—identical to the ones on these rammers. Even so, Tasia assumed that all personnel had been lost.

Just like on so many Roamer skymines...

She turned to her Listener compy. “EA, remember when we went to Golgen? You and I sneaked away from the water mines, so we could visit Ross after he got the Blue Sky Mine up and running.”

EA paused. “Yes, that description was in your diary files, Tasia Tamblyn. You admired your brother Ross very much.”

“Right. And the drogues killed him.
That’s
why we’re here.” Since EA was merely recalling a data summary and not an actual memory, Tasia let the conversation drop and kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. After this mission she would get her command back...supposedly. Then she would show the Eddies what this war was really about.

Tasia knew the Soldier compies had no need for a pep talk, but she felt a desire to give one. So she contacted the other dunsel commanders just before they engaged their stardrives. There was just enough time for her to give them a bit of encouragement and fire them up for the impending battle.

“I’ve taken a lot of flack from the EDF because I grew up among the Roamer clans. Do you have any idea how many Roamer skymines the drogues wiped out? My brother was one of their first victims. I joined the EDF to fight back. Because I’m both a Roamer and an EDF officer, I’ve got a bigger axe to grind than anyone I know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “My other brother Jess joined the fight by sending a couple dozen comets flying like nuclear bombs into Golgen. We don’t know how many hydrogues he destroyed, but I’m guessing it was quite a few. Today I plan to continue that family tradition. How about you? Are you ready to wipe out some hydrogues?”

The five token commanders responded with enthusiastic acknowledgments. If Tasia expected any grumbling about her heritage, she got nothing. The dunsels only offered support, and she decided they must be good soldiers after all, no matter what black marks might be on their service records.

She smiled. “We have at our command some of the best weapons in the human arsenal. We are the only ones entrusted with this responsibility. Now, the drogues already got their butts kicked at Qronha 3 once, and I’m surprised they had the balls to show up there again. But they came back for more, so let’s go give them more.”

Giving the order to engage the stardrive, she looked around the rammer’s bridge at the Soldier compies that stood ready to do their duty. They worked the controls, activated the powerful engines, and lurched the battering-ram vessels across the gulf of space.