Horizon Storms (23 page)

Jan had lost by an embarrassingly large margin. He’d come home on the night of the elections with a resigned smile, accepting his defeat with good grace. “No surprise that they’re shortsighted, girl,” he had told Orli, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Too much time studying the ground at their feet and not enough looking up into the sky toward the future.”

And so, once ekti supplies were cut off, along with regular food and fuel shipments from Hansa merchants, Dremen had found itself in a very bad position.

The colonists eventually understood that Jan had been right in principle and were angry at their own failures, but as individualists they did not like to be reminded of them. Though Jan’s disposition was always smiling, even teasing, they still felt him thinking I told you so in every encounter.

Jan might have done better if he’d spent more hours and energy planning the family’s mushroom harvest, but he was a broad-strokes person, fascinated with the big picture instead of the details.

Although he was always looking for the light at the end of the tunnel, more often than not he simply got hopelessly lost. Orli did her best to lay a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow home. . . .

Rlinda Kett was the pilot of their ship. On orders from the Hansa, she flew the Curiosity from planet to planet, picking up volunteer colonists and transporting them to Rheindic Co, the nearest world with a transportal.

132

There, the people would be assembled into large settlement groups, then dispatched to Klikiss worlds that were deemed hospitable to human life.

Captain Kett, a large, good-humored woman who loved to laugh, had pressurized the Curiosity’s cargo hold and converted it into a gathering room for the colonists. Her ship had never been designed as a passenger liner and had few amenities for so many people, but the flight to Rheindic Co would not be long, and these volunteers were willing to be crammed together briefly.

Though the Hansa had provided standard colonists’ rations and bland-tasting mealpax, Captain Kett insisted on creating the closest thing to a banquet she could manage for her passengers. She’d picked up nearly fifty people, a few from Dremen and the others from Rhejak and Usk.

“Who knows what kind of food you’ll find on those Klikiss worlds?”

she said, grinning at Orli. “You deserve at least one decent meal before you get to Rheindic Co. Been there myself, you see, and it’s nothing special.”

“Except it has a Klikiss transportal,” Jan pointed out.

“Well, there is that.”

The question of the day seemed to be which colonization group or transportal explorer would eventually find the missing Margaret Colicos.

The elderly xeno-archaeologist had vanished one day through the stone window on Rheindic Co, the same one the colonists were going to use. Apparently, the Hansa technicians operating the relocation facility had established a betting pool.

Aboard the ship, the voices of the passengers rose to a fever pitch. Orli had already heard them placing wagers using Hansa credits or exchanging chore responsibilities. Jan happily added a bet of his own, picking a time and a world at random.

Orli said, “It’s just like all those people who bet on finding the lost Burton out in the Spiral Arm, Dad. Not much chance of winning.”

“Not much chance,” Jan agreed. “But the payoff could be big.”

The Voracious Curiosity sailed on, every moment growing closer to the jumping-off point for the next part of Orli’s life. She took her blanket and snuggled near to her father against a bulkhead wall. Captain Kett dimmed the lights in the cargo hold so that everyone could sleep, but many of the colonist volunteers were too full of anticipation.

Jan dozed off within moments, without a care in the world. Orli re-

mained awake, listening to him breathe, staring at the metal walls. She couldn’t decide whether she was excited or worried.

385ANTON COLICOS

Though Anton enjoyed the excitement and energy during the height of Maratha’s day season, he drank in the long night silence in a way that none of his Ildiran friends could ever appreciate.

As a boy, he’d spent much time basically alone in the alien archaeological digs worked by his parents. Margaret and Louis had treated him as a little adult; they hadn’t seemed to know what else to do. At night in camp, he would sit and listen to them discussing (or arguing about) discoveries they’d made in the ruins. They would try to interpret the Klikiss architecture, room placement, or the weblines of hieroglyphic text on the walls. Occasionally, they would ask their son what he had done during his day as he roamed the site, exploring. Most of the time, though, Anton just eavesdropped and absorbed their passion for the long-gone alien culture. . . .

Here in the nearly empty domed city, Anton had his surrogate Ildiran

“family.” Though he did not enhance the thism with his presence, he did share a fascination for their grand Ildiran epic.

In particular, he adored a story about an exotic Ildiran painter who became too obsessed with her art. Not satisfied with common materials, she had painted every centimeter of her skin, from the top of her shaved scalp to the soles of her feet. She made herself into a living mural of Ildiran history and heroes, and people came to stare at her marvelous body. One morning after she had completed her great work, however, the artist discovered a small wrinkle on her face—and realized that, over time, her physical masterpiece would be destroyed by her own mortality.

134

Convinced that her art was more important than her life, she formu-lated a preservative poison that would polymerize and fossilize her skin.

She drank the poison, positioned herself on a stand with her arms and legs spread so as to show off every detail, and waited while the chemicals turned her body solid, never letting her face form a grimace of pain. According to Vao’sh, the artist’s body-statue was still on display in the Prism Palace, and Anton hoped to see it as soon as they returned to Mijistra.

Now as Anton studied diamondfilm sheets covered with the text of the Saga, Vao’sh hurried into his well-lit chamber. “Ah, I thought I’d find you here, Rememberer Anton. A septa of Solar Navy ships has arrived bearing details of the transition and the new Mage-Imperator’s ascension. They are accompanied by Designate Avi’h himself. He has asked that all work cease in order to welcome him.”

Anton pushed the diamondfilm sheets away and stretched. “Who am I to argue?”

Because of the early death of Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h, Jora’h hadn’t had sufficient time as Prime Designate to father enough noble-born sons.

Therefore, there were too few Designates-in-waiting for all Ildiran splinter colonies, especially one as minor as Maratha. As a consequence, Jora’h’s youngest brother Avi’h would keep his position, since there was no replacement available.

As all members of the skeleton crew gathered inside the main storytelling plaza under the central dome, several Solar Navy soldiers from the escort septa followed the Maratha Designate as he strolled back into his garishly illuminated city. The septar, a man named Rhe’nh, stood in his uniform, waiting to be dismissed; he had other Designates-in-waiting to deliver on a convoluted return trip around the Empire.

Anton noted that Designate Avi’h, dressed as usual in voluminous and ornate yellow robes, was shorter than most Ildirans, but he held his head high, as if by stretching his neck he could gain a bit more height. When Maratha Prime bustled with tourists, the stuffy Designate often attended Vao’sh’s story sessions, though out of duty rather than from any innate enjoyment of the tales.

He was accompanied by his chief bureaucrat Bhali’v, a constant companion and diligent assistant. Now Bhali’v spoke loudly in a thin voice, filling the role of crier. “All salute the Maratha Designate!”

The gathered Ildirans clasped their hands against their chests, and Anton quickly did the same. Avi’h climbed the stairs to the central dais, and his bureaucrat assistant hurried up beside him, continuing to speak for his master. “The newly ascended Mage-Imperator Jora’h has commanded that Designate Avi’h return to his planet and watch over his dedicated workers even through these months of darkness. Though this goes against established tradition, the Designate does this to strengthen the thism and to show his benevolence.”

The Maratha Designate stood with a forced smile on his long-suffering face as Bhali’v continued his ponderous announcement. “We will inspect all work activities and keep records to make certain that Maratha Prime is maintained properly during the night season. With the Designate now back among you, this city will thrive even in darkness.”

Anton thought that Engineer Nur’of and his thermal energy project would have more to do with their impending prosperity than would the presence of Avi’h. He could well imagine that a spoiled and pampered noble like the Designate felt cheated out of his half year back in the Prism Palace.

Finally the Designate himself spoke, describing Jora’h’s ascension ceremony, the dazzling funeral pyre, and how the fallen Mage-Imperator’s still-glowing bones had been taken into the Prism Palace’s ossuarium.

While the Ildirans listened with rapt attention, Vao’sh was both intrigued and saddened. “I wish I could have been there. Such an incredible event can happen only once in a lifetime.”

After the assembly, when the Ildiran workers returned to their tasks, Avi’h called for the rememberers, specifically asking for Anton as well. The Designate had taken a seat in a colorful and comfortable chair, and the bureaucrat stood next to him, again speaking for Avi’h. “Rememberer Anton Colicos, some much-delayed news arrived for you on Ildira, a report from the Terran Hanseatic League.”

“News? Who could be sending me a message way out here?” Then Anton knew the report was one he had long feared and dreaded.

Impatient and distracted, the Designate spoke in an offhand tone. “It seems your father has been found dead at an archaeological dig on Rheindic Co. Your mother is still missing, however. The Hansa merchant who brought the message did not give very many details.”

136

Anton reeled, seeing spots in front of his eyes. No words came to him.

Vao’sh took his arm, steadying him. “I am sorry, my friend. I know you have long been worried—”

As if he had just cut a ceremonial ribbon, the Designate raised his hand abruptly, done with his duty. “That’s all we have. Nothing else. You both may go.”

Anton walked with leaden feet as Vao’sh led him away.

395DD

Thinking they were doing him a favor, the Klikiss robots hauled DD from place to spectacular place, to environments where none of his masters could ever have survived. He had not found an opportunity to escape—not yet.

Already the Friendly compy had seen amazing natural wonders that no human had ever witnessed or imagined. He wished he had the opportunity to disseminate the data he’d collected. His masters Louis and Margaret Colicos had been so dedicated to their profession that DD wished he could make his own contribution to science.

But Sirix would never let him.

After racing away from collapsing Ptoro, the Klikiss robots piloted their mechanized ship to a sun-grazing planetoid. Physically linked to the interactive control systems, Sirix had flown the robotic vessel to the cratered rock tumbling through the fringes of an expanding solar corona. Its major ice encrustations had already boiled away in previous orbits as the planetoid spiraled closer and closer to the star.

As the robots vectored in, matching orbit and rotation with the rambling rock, the black-pocked surface looked inhospitable. DD had no idea D D

137

why the Klikiss robots wanted to come here or what schemes they might still be developing. As usual, Sirix would explain only in his own time.

Exiting the spacecraft, the beetlelike robots scuttled across the uneven terrain. DD accompanied them into the vacuum, the antithesis of the ultra-dense gas-giant soup where hydrogues lived. His specially hardened compy body adapted to the change, as the Klikiss robots had designed it to do.

He was not surprised when Sirix led him to a metal hatch built into the side of a steep crater. The devious machines had secret bases hidden throughout the Spiral Arm. The Klikiss robots extended their segmented limbs and used tough claws to pry away camouflaging stone and expose a set of protected controls.

The metal hatch rumbled open in the complete silence of vacuum, though DD could feel vibrations through the stone. Escaping vapors and preserved wisps of atmosphere shot out like faint jets. Sirix and his companions entered single-file.

The planetoid was filled with chambers, vaults, and passages—yet another of the storage catacombs where swarms of hibernating Klikiss robots had been entombed for millennia. The stone floor trembled beneath DD’s small feet, and his optical sensors noted several cracks in the fused wall.

This tumbling rock was unstable, crumbling, as it lost its battle with the nearby star’s gravity.

When the tremors faded back to stillness, Sirix swiveled his angular head toward the compy. “Our plans had not proceeded to the point where we were prepared to activate these compatriots, but we are forced to act because of this asteroid’s decaying orbit.”

“Will it break apart soon?” DD asked.

“Within this orbital cycle the pieces will tumble into the sun. Therefore, we must remove our hibernating comrades before that occurs.”

Up and down the artificial corridors, Klikiss robots were activating swarms of identical, ominous machines. The lumbering beetlelike constructions stepped out, awakened after being dormant for so long. Knowing the Klikiss robots intended to destroy humanity, DD wished Sirix had made an error in his celestial calculations and let this planetoid plunge into the sun before these hundreds of Klikiss robots could join the fight.

Though his programming required him to prevent humans from coming to harm if possible, DD had not yet found any opportunity to sabotage 138