Blood of the Cosmos (39 page)

He touched the treeling, established a connection, then looked up at the bearded man. “What is it you wish to say?”

“It's a manifest. The numbers have to be accurate.”

“I will transmit them accurately.”

Redbeard rattled off numbers from memory. “For manifest one, we need two hundred hexagonal foam structural blocks for an outpost on Ikbir. We also need seventy-five silicon cylinders with optical enhancements. End order.” Redbeard paused as Aelin repeated the words into the tree, then he started again. “Manifest two. One hundred interlocked solar panels to Dremen. I didn't promise them the new model panels, so you can unload from our stockpile. Manifest three—”

The trader continued for some time, reciting orders and inventory numbers. He finished without any additional pleasantries, paid the minimal fee, and left.

Aelin realized he was smiling. It felt good to have a purpose again, even to serve trivial business matters like this. However, even though he had come home to the verdani network, he felt as if he had moved in a different direction after his exposure to the eerie bloater consciousness. When he first took the green, the verdani had seemed like an infinite and omniscient mind, but now the worldforest seemed just a fragment of even greater possibilities. The trees were thirsty for knowledge as well, but Aelin could not reveal the secret of the bloaters.

Dauntha relaxed with her cup of hot klee, regarded the forestscape she had painted on her walls. “You are hiding something inside, Aelin. I can sense it. Green priests aren't comfortable with secrets.”

“I want to tell you. It's something so wondrous.…” Those exotic nodules had shattered the walls of understanding and reality around him and opened Aelin's mind to more questions than he had ever conceived possible. He knew how important the bloaters were—even if he didn't understand
what
they were.

He told her as much as he could. “There's something out in space, something miraculous hiding between the stars where no one can see. They're called bloaters, and…” He heaved a sigh, not daring to reveal more. “What I learned from them is beyond even what the worldforest has given me.”

Dauntha was somehow not surprised. “Out here at Ulio we see a lot of things. I'll often just listen through my treeling, watch the worldforest mind.” She rested her fingers against the fine gold bark. “I have sensed something, too. It is subtle, but the worldforest mind is disturbed … even confused. And I am very concerned for it.”

 

CHAPTER

62

LEE ISWANDER

Even though he had no pressing business at Newstation, Lee Iswander could always find reasons to go there, and Londa had become quite insistent. “I miss Arden,” she said. “We need to see how well he's doing in school. Remember, he was bullied at Academ before.”

It had been only a month. “He's a resilient boy, and intelligent. He'll do fine.”

While he would have preferred to wait for Elisa Enturi to return from her latest rendezvous at Ulio, he trusted her to get the job finished. Meanwhile, the ekti operations were proceeding smoothly under Pannebaker's supervision. There was only so much he could do here, and his people did not need to be micromanaged. Yes, he could go back to Newstation.

His priority was to be seen and appreciated among the Roamers for the Sisyphean task of rebuilding his reputation. So he yielded to his wife. Iswander didn't often do things just to please Londa. She had a role to play and so did he, but when he saw the joy that lit her face at the prospect of the trip, he allowed himself to feel warm inside.

“We'll stay there for two days only,” he cautioned. “I'll get us a nice suite on the station. You can do shopping and spend time with Arden while I take care of business.”

He flew the space yacht with just the two of them aboard, and en route he reviewed production reports and distribution projections. His wife showed no interest in the business; she never had, nor did he expect her to. They had been married for nineteen years, wed in the giddy optimism after the Elemental War. When he chose Londa as a wife, he specifically wanted someone to manage the household. She fulfilled her end of the bargain, but it never occurred to him to wonder whether Londa wanted more out of her life, and she had certainly never asked. She would go to see Arden, and Iswander could safely let her buy anything she wished, knowing that her tastes were not extravagant.

During the flight, she chattered about shops she missed, restaurants she missed, friends she missed. These were not complaints: she had always supported him, even after Sheol—1,543 people dead—and she stood by him while the Roamer clans heaped shame on him.

As she talked now, he kept making notations on his datapad, running cost-benefit analyses on new extraction equipment so he could exploit another bloater cluster that had been located. At appropriate places in her conversation, he nodded and made innocuous comments. When she had finished, though, he waited until he had her full attention. He needed her to listen.

“While we're at Newstation, you can see whatever you like, talk to whomever you like, but be absolutely clear—you
cannot
tell anyone about our bloater operations. There will be countless people, bad people, who are desperate to find out where we get our ekti-X. You must not reveal anything, not a single word, or we'd be ruined just as badly as we were after Sheol.”

Londa laughed. “You don't have to worry. I don't know anything about your business.”

“Just be careful. You may know more than you think.”

She patted his hand. “I promise, dear husband.”

Although he often saw her as innocuous, he realized that Londa was indeed strong, savvy, and intelligent, just in different ways. She was also absolutely loyal, and that quality mattered more to him than anything else.

When they docked at Newstation, Iswander paid for a priority berth and then rented the most expensive room. The suite was usually reserved for important diplomatic representatives, and Iswander wanted to show that he measured his worth as equal to anyone else. He gave Londa a chaste peck on the cheek, and she was off to arrange transportation to the Roamer school to visit Arden.

First order of business: Iswander set up a meeting with Speaker Sam Ricks. Ricks was lounging in his large and cluttered office; his desk was filled with mementos, trophies, interesting objects given to him by various clan members, no doubt in exchange for favors. He was a man much too young for the position, not to mention unqualified. While Iswander wore his impeccable business suit, always presenting a professional image, Ricks wore a well-used Roamer jumpsuit sporting the markings of his clan, even though as Speaker, he was supposed to represent all clans equally—including clan Iswander.

A bin filled with rock specimens sat on one corner of his desk, next to a stack of formal documents marked “pending further review.” Iswander swept his gaze around the office, made a rapid assessment. According to the date on a dislodged document halfway down the stack, the matter had been “pending further review” since the Speaker's election.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Iswander?” Ricks said, discomfited to receive this particular visitor. The young Speaker was not well practiced in maintaining an unreadable mask—another of his weaknesses as a politician. With all the ruthless negotiations that Jhy Okiah, Cesca Peroni, or Del Kellum had undertaken in their tenures as Speaker, Iswander couldn't imagine any of them being so transparent.

Iswander gave him a warm smile and was convinced the young man believed it was sincere. “I just wanted to congratulate you, Speaker. I never had a chance to tell you after the election.”

Ricks didn't seem to know what to say. “Those were … tough circumstances.”

“I wanted to reassure you that I am a loyal Roamer, concerned only with the betterment of the clans and our position in the Confederation. I have expertise and resources, and I'd be willing to offer my assistance, should you need it.” The words scraped like sharp rocks in his throat, but he maintained his calm smile.

The Speaker's assistant poked his head in the door. “Three other meetings this afternoon, Sam. Browder wants to know where to meet for lunch, and three people so far have accepted your ping-labyrinth challenge.”

Ricks grinned, then looked embarrassed. “I'll take care of that later. I'm busy right now.”

With a disrespectful roll of his eyes, the assistant returned to the outer office.

“Ping labyrinth?” Iswander asked.

“It's a game. Very entertaining. Many people on Newstation are playing it. I was last week's champion.”

Iswander responded with a cool smile and looked down at the pile of “pending further review” documents. “Interesting that you have time to become an expert in something so trivial as a social game, when there are important clan issues to deal with.” He picked up the top document, a summary report submitted by clan Tamblyn on the losses they had incurred in the destruction of the Plumas water mines during the Shana Rei attack.

Ricks snatched the paper out of Iswander's hands. “That game allows me to maintain close personal connections with many clan members. As Speaker, I need to stay in touch with the people.”

Iswander didn't believe it for a moment. “Some would call that avoidance.”

Ricks looked insulted, but Iswander could see a hunted look behind his eyes. As he had suspected, Sam Ricks didn't know what to do in his job. He was unable to keep up with all the responsibilities.

“I think you're overwhelmed,” Iswander said, sharpening the edge in his voice. “There are too many decisions, and you can't make them because you don't have the background or the fortitude to be Speaker.”

Ricks didn't rise from his desk; in fact, he took the opportunity to lounge back. “And yet the clans elected me instead of you.” He pointedly picked up the stack of pending documents. “Now, if you don't mind? I have work to do.”

 

CHAPTER

63

ELISA ENTURI

Although some people delighted in surprises, Elisa Enturi was not one of them. Surprises were usually unpleasant, and this one was no exception. When she returned to Ulio Station and learned that clan Duquesne was offering their own ekti-X for sale, Elisa was furious.

She had recently supplied Ulio with a fuel stockpile to be used for the station's refueling and maintenance needs. Elisa had previously negotiated terms, and now when she offered a new contract for surplus ekti-X, she was alarmed by Station Manager Felliwell's aloof reaction. “We're definitely interested, and you are welcome to cut your price even further to compete with another supplier.”

“Compete? No skyminer can match our price.”

“Doesn't come from skyminers,” said Felliwell. “And this ekti-X tests out as pure and energy-dense as your own.”

That took her aback. “Where is it coming from?”

Felliwell chuckled at her surprise. “It seems someone else discovered your source, whatever it is. Roamers are good at that sort of thing, once they know an idea is possible.”

“Who?” she growled.

“Aaron Duquesne brought in a cargo load, said his first shipment was a gift to us to earn goodwill. I'm inclined to reward him for it.” He dismissed her indignation. “It's not as if there's too much stardrive fuel just floating around. We welcome the competition.”

Elisa felt a chill. That was exactly the sort of threat that Lee Iswander was worried about. Out in deep space, bloaters were becoming more plentiful, and once someone else figured out that they were filled with ekti, there would be a wild rush to extract as much as possible.

After leaving the Ulio central offices, Elisa moved through the station, determined to find Duquesne. As she searched, her anger dampened down to a slow burn; by the time she tracked him down in the star balcony buying drinks for strangers and newfound “best friends,” her temper was honed to a razor edge.

She strode up to confront him. Lanky Aaron Duquesne saw her, read her shock and annoyance, then intentionally leaned back in his chair, yawning as he sipped his drink.

“You're trading in ekti-X,” she accused. “Where did you get it?”

Duquesne chuckled and gestured to his friends. “See, I told you she'd be upset.” They all laughed, which made her face burn.

At first Elisa thought—hoped—that the Duquesnes had merely hijacked a load from the
Verne
and that this was a limited supply, meant to provoke her. But she could tell by his expression that was not the case.

“Ms. Enturi, I'm sure
you
know where ekti-X comes from. The source is surprising, but as soon as someone whispered the secret to me, we had to check it out for ourselves.” He sipped his drink again. “Best decision clan Duquesne ever made!” He lowered his voice to a mock stage whisper. “But of course we need to keep it a secret, don't we? Can't have anyone else profiting from the discovery.”

Elisa bit her lower lip and felt helpless. She hated to feel helpless; it reminded her of when she had cringed with her family back on Earth, during the bombardment of meteors after the faeros destroyed the Moon. Her family couldn't afford to go anywhere else for safety, so they had just huddled and hoped. Elisa never wanted to feel like that again.

“Lee Iswander made that proprietary discovery,” she said. “Ekti-X operations rightfully belong to him.”

“Rightfully belong?” Duquesne sneered. “We found a natural resource. We're extracting a natural resource and profiting from it. And if you don't like
one
other clan knowing about the source, just imagine how you'd feel if I broadcast it through the Newstation assembly hall. Oh, Speaker Ricks wants that kind of feather in his cap! The clans would love him for it.”