Blood of the Cosmos (20 page)

“You need some fresh blood,” Shareen said, and Del smiled. His granddaughter wouldn't take no for an answer. “And we're determined to help you finish all those projects you don't have time to do.”

Howard added, “We're really looking forward to this, sir.”

Before the scientist could respond, Del added, “And thank you, Kotto—you're doing me a great personal favor. They've both been instructed to impress the hell out of you.”

Kotto looked indecisive. Before he could answer, one of the Ildiran visitors interrupted, “Can you please explain more about your Big Ring structure? We intend to build our own light-gathering and concentration apparatus, which may allow us to study or detect the Shana Rei.”

Beren Alu gestured toward the ship. “Better yet, we're about to depart on an inspection tour. Let's all go aboard so we can see the Fireheart facilities firsthand.”

Unable to find a proper response for the two young assistants being foisted upon him, Kotto seemed glad to let someone else make the decision. “Yes, of course, everyone take seats. I believe the pilot has a schedule.”

As the Ildiran visitors filed through the entrance hatch, Howard stepped up to the Roamer scientist. “Shareen and I are very pleased to meet you, sir. We won't let you down.”

“Yes, thank you. The ideas just come to me. It's not something that requires a team effort. I'm not really sure…”

“Ideas are the easy part,” Shareen said with a glint in her eye, “but there's a lot of work to take the germ of an idea to a finished product. Give us a chance.” Her voice dropped. “Please.”

“Well … if Del Kellum vouches for you, then I suppose.” Kotto looked as if he wanted nothing more than to hurry back to his own quarters and dabble in peace. “I have quite a backlog. Maybe you can help me clean up the files.”

Once they were aboard the spacious inspection ship, the pilot took them out into the sea of ionized gases. The Ildirans pressed their fingers against the windowports, reveling in the bright light from the cluster of hot blue-white stars. “Nothing can be as glorious as Mijistra,” said the leader of the Ildirans. “But this comes close. Very close.”

Their destination was an enormous ring being constructed edge-on to the blazing central stars. An interlocking grid of superconductors and high-energy accelerator channels made it look like a promise ring for a planetoid. The circumference was nearly complete, with less than twenty-five degrees remaining to close the loop. Suited construction workers and assembly vehicles darted around the ragged ends, building more and more each day.

Del knew this was one of the most expensive research projects the Roamer clans—or the human race—had ever attempted, but Kotto Okiah had achieved so many remarkable successes over the years, saved so many clans, and delivered such enormous profits, they were willing to invest whenever and whatever this man requested. Now, Kotto just stared and said quietly—mostly to himself, but Shareen and Howard both heard him, “This nebula, those stars … it's like a masterpiece painted by God himself. The Big Ring will be the grandest experiment in my entire career.”

“But, what is it supposed to
do
?” Shareen asked.

Kotto dismissed her question. “It would take me hours to go through the calculations and the physical basis. Very few people can follow it.”

“We are your lab assistants,” Shareen said. “You'll have to teach us. That's why we're here.”

Howard added, “What Shareen means to ask, sir, is what sort of results do you expect? What will happen when the Big Ring is completed and activated?”

Kotto's eyes sparkled with wonder, and he answered in a very quiet voice. “I honestly don't know.”

 

CHAPTER

29

TAMO'L

Death was no stranger to the peaceful sanctuary domes on Kuivahr. The misbreeds had countless chronic medical problems, failing organs, biochemical imbalances, neurological collapses. There were deaths caused by a cascade of bodily failures and deaths for no discernible reason at all. The misbreeds lived with an acute awareness of their mortality—but at least they
lived
.

And Tamo'l lived with them, striving to ensure that their existence was as pain-free and fulfilling as possible. But she didn't always succeed.

Inside the hospice surgical chamber, Tamo'l stood beside the outstretched and hideous form of Vu'ln, whose genes were a mixture of soldier kith, lens kith, and swimmer kith, and the mixture had not turned out well.

On his deathbed now, Vu'ln reached out and clasped Tamo'l's delicate hand. His fingers were stubby, his knuckles swollen, his arm twisted and folded at an unsettling angle because he had an extra set of joints. A vestigial eye that had never opened drooped halfway down his left cheek, twitching as he grimaced. His other two eyes were open and bright with pain … or possibly an epiphany. “Thank you for being here, Tamo'l.” His voice burbled from too much phlegm caught in a malformed larynx.

“I am here for all of you. You are my brother.” She never forgot that she was a mixed breed herself, but many experiments from Dobro had produced offspring that were … not viable.

Vu'ln stared up at the polished ceiling of the hospice room that glowed from embedded blazers. “At least I lived for some years.”

“Twenty-five years.” Tamo'l stroked the patchy skin on the dying man's arm, where tufts of wiry hair sprouted like weeds in random places. “Your spirit is as healthy and vibrant as any. On the plane of the Lightsource, you will shine like anyone else, and there you can be happy among all Ildiran souls.” She smiled down at him. “And since I'm part lens kith, I might even be able to see you when you get there.”

Shawn Fennis entered the chamber, frowning. Tamo'l knew how to read human emotions, and she saw his heavy sadness now. When his wife Chiar'h came to stand next to him, Fennis slipped an arm around her waist, as if the sight of Vu'ln reminded him of his love for her. Medical kithmen conducted tests, monitored instruments, and watched the failing life signs on the med screens.

Tamo'l leaned closer and whispered, “I wish I knew how to fix you. I have studied and studied, conducted research, gathered data, but I haven't been able to help. I am so very sorry.”

Vu'ln squeezed her hand so tightly she thought it was a spasm, but he was simply trying to reassure her. “You helped a great deal. You helped all of us. You will find the ways in which we are all special.”

Tamo'l nodded, trying to convince herself. She knew that Vu'ln was feeling calmer, experiencing a hint of euphoria due to the experimental palliative from the kelp distillates that Zhett Kellum and her son had delivered. Although the palliative showed great promise, it would only make the misbreeds' existence tolerable, not heal them.

Tamo'l and her team were the only Ildirans devoting research to the genetic mistakes, and she could not do everything alone. Even though Mage-Imperator Jora'h had granted her the sanctuary domes, now that the Dobro breeding program had been shut down, Ildirans considered the misbreeds a temporary problem that would go away as soon as they all died. In hopes of getting outside help, Tamo'l wondered if she could find a treatment for Prince Reyn's ailment, which would not only make Osira'h happy, but would also bring her misbreeds to the attention of the Confederation.…

Nothing could help Vu'ln right now, though. The dying misbreed heaved a breath and his back arched, but he fell back on the sickbed to stare again at the bright lights around him. Behind the transparent dome walls, the seas of Kuivahr swirled. Dangling strands of kelp rippled by like a parade of mourners.

Hearing a shuffle of feet, Tamo'l looked up to the entrance of the hospice chamber and saw other misbreeds crowded in the corridor. They could all feel tremors in the
thism
as Vu'ln held on to the fraying threads of his life. One of the visitors, Har'lc, carried a bottle of kirae, which had been delivered as a gift from the Kellum distillery. Another misbreed, Gor'ka, carried a tray of small crystalline hemispheres used as drinking goblets.

“We are here for Vu'ln,” said Har'lc, “to celebrate.”

Serving an appreciative drink of the potent and delicious kirae was a tradition someone had copied from the humans. Shawn Fennis had proposed the idea himself, and Tamo'l thought the practice fitting. Har'lc and his companions poured goblets of the greenish liquid and shared them around.

The misbreeds entered the hospice and crowded around their dying comrade. Tamo'l maintained her grip on Vu'ln's hand, and he seemed to understand the celebratory toast around him. Tamo'l sipped, felt the liqueur activate sensitive nerve endings on her tongue.

It might have been her imagination, but the kirae seemed to enhance her connection to the
thism
and to the Lightsource. For a moment, she felt intensely close to Vu'ln, as if the bonds pulled her tight to him and also spun out strands to the gathered misbreeds. Vu'ln seemed to feel that, and it gave him the energy and the release that he needed. The
thism
strands in her mind brightened and sparkled, then unraveled as the dying man stopped trying to hold his biological systems together.

Tamo'l felt Vu'ln slip away, slip free. She saw a fringe of shadows in her mind; then Vu'ln headed toward a bright flash of intense light that vanished—as did her connection with him. She let out a long sigh, in unison with the other misbreeds. Even the medical kithmen paused, looking up from their monitoring devices.

Now there was one less misbreed to care for, and the submerged sanctuary domes felt much, much emptier.

 

CHAPTER

30

ANTON COLICOS

By the time Anton, Yazra'h, and Muree'n reached the tense village of Shorehaven, the wyvern had struck twice more.

Although Anton felt uncomfortable and exposed, Yazra'h guarded him as if she were protecting the Mage-Imperator himself. At the shore settlement, she stood scanning the skies and the lush worldforest that extended up the coast, while grim-faced Muree'n held her crystal katana, ready to dispatch the monster herself. They looked as if they expected the hunt to take no more than a few hours, and then they could return to the fungus-reef city to accompany the Mage-Imperator back home. Anton suspected Yazra'h wanted the monster hunt to be long and exciting—a battle of wits and strength, rather than an easy kill. For his own part, Anton just wanted to survive.

Shorehaven was quiet, and the expansive sea looked serene, but Anton saw no boats out on the water this time. Yazra'h tossed her coppery hair. “You are ready to chronicle our great hunt, Rememberer Anton?”

“I already have notes and descriptions. Don't worry, this will be a story worthy of inclusion in the Saga of Seven Suns.” He just hoped the story didn't have a tragic end.

The villagers mostly stayed inside their dwellings, afraid to venture far. In the forest, nets stretched across the high fronds had snared numerous edible insects, but the nets were clogged, unharvested. Obviously, no one had retrieved the catch for days.

Yazra'h shouted, calling for anyone from the village, “Hello! We have come to kill your wyvern.” Anton cringed, afraid her voice would draw the creature.

People watched them from inside the dwellings, but only one man emerged from a central building. The village leader, Tristan Cove, stood straight but his face was haggard. “Did Father Peter and Mother Estarra send you?”

Muree'n stepped in front of Yazra'h. “We sent ourselves. We are part of the Ildiran delegation with Mage-Imperator Jora'h.”

Anton cleared his throat. “These two are very skilled warriors, Mr. Cove—don't underestimate them.”

As they stood in the main village street, not far from the lakeshore, Anton could hear the waves rippling, but otherwise there was utter silence; he wondered if he would hear the swoop and buzz of wyvern wings.

The village leader said, “So long as the wyvern is dispatched, no one in Shorehaven will care who does it. But we already have a hunter.”

Anton was poised to take notes. “Another hunter?”

“Our green priest. Beltrias.”

The tall green-skinned man emerged from the thick forest; he had covered his smooth green skin with camouflage markings that interwove with the symbolic tattoos signifying his areas of expertise. A prominent fresh design stood out on his forehead, an arrow with a barbed tip.

“I am more than a green priest now. I am a hunter and a fighter, a stalker of monsters.” Beltrias had slipped a longbow over his shoulder, a new weapon made from greenwood; arrows filled a quiver on his back, and he wore a dagger tucked into a woven belt that encircled his waist. In his right hand, he held a throwing spear.

Muree'n ran her gaze up and down his form, but did not seem impressed. “And your experience as a hunter?”

“My experience includes all the human knowledge that is stored within the worldforest,” Beltrias said. “I vowed to kill the wyvern, and so I went into the forest and spent days immersed in the verdani mind. I searched all records, all stories, every piece of knowledge about hunting, tracking, killing wild game.” His gaze was distant. “I drank it all in, let that knowledge become part of me. Beltrias the green priest entered the thicket, but Beltrias the hunter emerged.”

Yazra'h nodded. “That is acceptable. We are happy to hunt with you.”

“The wyvern does not stand a chance,” Muree'n added.

Anton knew he would be the weakest link in the expedition, by far. “Maybe I should stay in Shorehaven, talk to the villagers and gather a larger story.”

Yazra'h stepped closer to him, placed a steel-hard hand on his shoulder. “I will protect you, Rememberer Anton. You will be safe during the hunt.”