Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (25 page)

Fennis had been born on Dobro, and Chiar’h had been assigned here during the years of reconstruction. They had fallen in love and married, a mixed couple
by choice
who understood each other.

Fennis extended a hand to shake Tamo’l’s. “You’re doing such important work on Kuivahr. We want to be part of it.”

“The work has its own rewards.” Tamo’l tested them, wanting to be sure. “Your wife does not belong to the scientist or medical kith. Do either of you have expertise in genetics or medicine?”

“I spent three years off-planet studying basic biology on New Portugal, and I’ve assisted the medical kithmen here on Dobro. I met Chiar’h when we both worked in the hospital. We’re used to hard work. But we’re not volunteering just because of the medical aspect. We accept what it means to be different.”

Chiar’h said, “We understand how fortunate we were to find love together, despite our differences. We want to share some of that love with others who need it. That is what we have to offer. The rest we can learn.”

Tamo’l softened her expression. “I wanted to be certain you were prepared. The misfits can be . . . disconcerting. They are not like those ones.” She nodded toward the healthy halfbreed children playing nearby.

“Uniqueness is not a disadvantage. My patients may not be aesthetic, but they are still worthy.” She paused, then added, “I do what I can to mitigate the suffering of those people who paid a much higher price than I did.”

Tamo’l and her two new volunteers rode down from Kuivahr orbit in a cutter loaded with food, equipment, and medical supplies. Fennis and Chiar’h were eager but Tamo’l could also sense their nervousness. Shoulder to shoulder, they peered through the windowports at patches of cloud cover, rough seas, flooded mudflats, and the sketchy outlines of reefs.

The cutter flew in past the outcropping that held the Klikiss transportal wall, then the Kellum distillery towers, and soared low over the water.

“The tides are high during this part of the cycle, so the sanctuary domes will be submerged,” Tamo’l said. Only the tops of the hemispheres rose above the waves like blisters. An upraised landing platform had been ratcheted up on stilts as the seas rose.

“I see figures in the water down there,” said Shawn Fennis.

“Swimmer kith. They have raft settlements out in the open sea and work on the kelp and plankton beds. They harvest the ocean and deliver supplies to the sanctuary domes.”

The cutter landed in the rain. Tamo’l and her two companions emerged into the windblown dampness. She smelled the iodine air, felt the drizzle on her face.
Home.

Shivering, Chiar’h looked up at the gray clouds. “The sky is so dim.”

Tamo’l said, “The laboratories and living quarters are bright and sterile.”

Fennis took his wife’s hand. “Let’s see what we’ve gotten ourselves into, love.”

They left the wet landing platform and rode a lift tube down into a dazzling white chamber. Overhead, waves washed across the curved surface of the dome.

Through
thism,
Tamo’l sensed the presence of her patients, her friends. Many would come out to greet the new volunteers. With her lens-kith sensitivity, Tamo’l could feel the warmth of their exuberant welcome.

Shawn Fennis and Chiar’h looked uncertain, but friendly. They smiled as the first group of misbreeds came forward.

T
HIRTY
-
THREE

T
AL
G
ALE
’
NH

As the
Kolpraxa
approached the swelling black nebula, the emptiness grew deeper and darker. From inside the command nucleus Tal Gale’nh watched the sparse stars wink out in the observation dome overhead. The cloud swirled with shadows and expanded like the blood of night spilling out of a deep wound.

“This is a research ship,” he said. “We have all the sensors we need. Analysis?”

“It is not dust, Tal,” said one of the scientist kith. “No known astronomical phenomenon. Perimeter measurements are difficult to determine.” The other crewmembers studying their screens just shook their heads.

The oily-dark blob grew aimlessly. “Dispatch a probe,” Gale’nh said.

The small device shot from the
Kolpraxa
’s bow like a flying fish, sailing off with extended fins and antennae that sent pulses into the dark nebula.

Rememberer Ko’sh watched and waited with grim concern. “Darkness grows without the light.”

Gale’nh glanced at him, not sure what the historian meant. “Then we’ll bring the light.”

Readings transmitted from the probe showed nothing, and the response screens remained dark. The scientist kith were confused. “It is not just darkness, Tal. It is a complete lack of light and energy.”

When the shadow cloud extended toward the
Kolpraxa,
Gale’nh ordered the helm, “Alter course, keep a safe distance. Shields at full strength.”

The probe continued to send back signal pings, to the further consternation of the analysis team. “Trying to pinpoint the source of the shadow cloud, Tal. It seems to be emerging from a tear in space.” The chief scientist shook her head. “It is not composed of matter. Not solid. There is no substance whatsoever.”

The probe transmissions broke into static, then silence. Command nucleus screens went blank and dead. On the primary screen, Gale’nh watched the bright glimmer of the probe plunge into the dark cloud and disappear.

The scientist kith reviewed the readings and stared at one another, waiting for someone else to offer an interpretation. Finally, a small-statured male with fluttery hands said, “It is just . . . blind entropy.”

Gale’nh shored up his resolve, remembering the Mage-Imperator’s command. “We need to understand this. We will not succumb to a fear of the unknown.”

“There is danger, Tal,” said Rememberer Ko’sh. “The darkness is its own warning. We have a great deal of historical precedent.”

“We have a great many
stories,
” Gale’nh corrected.

Ko’sh looked offended. “Those stories are our history.”

Gale’nh knew thousands of tales from the Saga of Seven Suns, and some of those tales were no longer trustworthy. Ko’sh had reminded his crew of the Shana Rei, but the creatures of darkness were long gone from the Spiral Arm—if they had ever existed.

What did the
Kolpraxa
have to fear from a shadow?

Tal Gale’nh faced the tall rememberer. “What we do now becomes part of the continuing Saga. When faced with our first mystery of this expedition, would you have us turn and flee?”

Ko’sh lowered his gaze. “I merely record the history, Tal. You are the one who makes it.”

Gale’nh pressed, “You’re the rememberer—you know the tale of my father. What would Adar Kori’nh do in this situation? What is your assessment?”

“Adar Kori’nh would investigate.”

Gale’nh turned to the helmsman. “Approach with caution. Extend our sensors and map that shadow cloud.”

“Impossible to be accurate, Tal. It changes, it grows. It . . . emerges.” The blackness hung there in front of them.

Gale’nh directed his gaze to the communications officer. “Open a channel. Let me address it.”

“Do you think there is anything in that cloud, Tal?”

“I cannot draw conclusions until we know more.” He turned to the main screen. “This is the Ildiran exploration ship
Kolpraxa.
We are representatives of the Mage-Imperator, seeking to expand our knowledge.” He paused and listened only to silence as deep as an eclipse. “If there is anything sentient in that cloud, please respond.”

As the
Kolpraxa
drew closer, suddenly the helm and control systems began to stutter and shut down. Gale’nh gripped the command rail as the deck tilted. He called engineering. “What’s happening?”

“Everything is failing—massive systemic errors and shutdowns.”

The analysis crew called up diagnostics, but the screens flickered and blurred with static. Several panels went dark. Emergency lighting glowed from floor and ceiling rectangles. As the command nucleus dimmed, the faint light of sparse stars shone through the transparent dome overhead.

“Withdraw to a safe distance,” Gale’nh said.

“All systems are failing!” the helmsman responded. The engineers fought to reassert control of the ship.

The black nebula continued rolling toward them. Gale’nh stared up through the observation dome.
Blind entropy?

A deep mechanical silence set in as the
Kolpraxa
’s engines died, and the exploration ship drifted. Sparks showered from control panels throughout the command nucleus, and the life-support systems shut down.

The main lights went out, then even the emergency glow was smothered.

Through the transparent observation dome overhead, Tal Gale’nh watched a midnight pseudopod reach out and swallow the
Kolpraxa.

T
HIRTY
-
FOUR

O
SIRA
’
H

The faeros frolicked in the churning photosphere of the star Wulfton. Ellipsoidal incarnations of fire itself, the elemental beings dove into the gas layers, while others leaped in joyous arcs, riding magnetic pathways, sailing along wide coronal arches to their apex, then turning and plunging back into the stellar inferno.

Alone in her insulated observation globe, bathed by the close starfire, Osira’h watched the faeros, sensed them, and felt her remaining telepathic connection to them. During the Elemental War, the faeros had wrought terrible damage, but Osira’h had forced them to obey her. Now, the fiery beings remained quiescent, tamed, yet still dangerous, incomprehensible. The faeros had returned to their unruly isolation. They still knew her and found her marginally interesting but also . . . irrelevant?

She concentrated harder, trying to maintain the link, but it was frayed. The faeros had little interest in her anymore. Osira’h had a difficult time translating their thoughts, which were so entirely alien. But they did understand that she was no threat to them—not any longer.

Reaching outward through the pathways of
thism,
Osira’h could sense the other Ildiran researchers in the nearby stellar analysis station, an orbiting facility outside the coronal zone. She was the only one who ventured this close to the inferno, and to the fiery elementals.

The Ildiran astronomers at the Wulfton station were nervous whenever she went out in her insulated observation globe, but she sensed the faeros would protect her if she called on them. The fiery ellipsoids were capricious, had been both enemies and allies, but Osira’h knew them—and they knew her. They remained a powerful, looming noise in her mind . . . if only she could grasp it.

Her globe cruised over the stellar maelstrom below. Convection cells the size of continents boiled up, changing the gaseous landscape every moment. Thanks to many layers of dense filters, her eyes could tolerate the sight. She watched a large dark stain appear on the star, a duller red than the bright orange of the surrounding photosphere—a magnetic storm, a starspot. It was a gateway, as more fiery ellipsoids emerged and then sank back into the layers of hot gas again.

Osira’h came out here in the shielded globe so she could have solitude, peace among the faeros. It helped her to feel that everything was in balance.

Because they were a communal race, any individual Ildiran felt uneasy to be alone, but Osira’h was different. As the daughter of the green priest Nira and Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself, she was strengthened by myriad other connections.

Osira’h was never truly alone because her mind was tightly bound with her halfbreed brothers and sisters. Her four siblings could also feel the faeros, though their connection was not as strong as hers. Gale’nh had his place in the Solar Navy, Tamo’l had her medical research on Kuivahr, Muree’n was being trained by Yazra’h with dreams of becoming the greatest Ildiran fighter ever. Rod’h was the closest of her siblings, the most similar to her; they had the strongest telepathy of the halfbreeds. They shared much and helped each other, but despite their strengths, she and Rod’h were misfits among the Ildirans.

The Dobro breeding program had spent generations trying to breed a savior, and Osira’h had done her job. Her potent telepathy had brought the faeros and the hydrogues to their metaphorical knees at the end of the Elemental War. The enemy was defeated, the war over. She’d been invaluable in bringing the titanic enemies under control—but now what was she supposed to do?

She had finished her life’s work when she was still a child.

Oh, the Empire revered and celebrated Osira’h, but they didn’t understand who she was. The Ildirans were proud of her, although in some small corner of their minds—she could feel it through the thrumming of the
thism
—they were afraid of her, didn’t know what to do with her.

Rod’h felt their unique predicament even more sharply than she did. He hadn’t even been given the chance to serve his reason for being—a potential savior with nothing to save. Osira’h had been triumphant, and Rod’h was merely the backup. An unnecessary spare.

She hoped to keep her brother’s disappointment from hardening into bitterness. She wished Rod’h could be with her at Wulfton. They could have been watching the faeros together, trying to understand them better. But he had refused, claiming he wasn’t interested.

Beneath the observation globe, a fireball rocketed up like a bullet ejected from the star. The living thing shot past her craft, curious, sensing her. Inside her mind, Osira’h could hear ethereal voices and noises, the fiery intensity of faeros thoughts: a wash of defeat, withdrawal . . . not resentment, but limitation. Even in her closest contact with the fiery beings, Osira’h had not been able to understand
why
they turned their capricious behavior on both sides of the conflict.

The hydrogues were similar, as were the watery wentals. The verdani—the worldforest mind that manifested in all the trees of Theroc—was the most easily accessible sentience. Green priests like her mother had long been able to tap into the verdani mind, read the thoughts of the forest, share the knowledge stored there.