Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (31 page)

By the time he turned fourteen, Xander knew every ship system, and when he turned eighteen two years ago, Rlinda Kett had presented him with a ship of his own, the
Verne
. Though it still technically belonged to Kett Shipping, Xander was the lease owner. His parents gave him the scrapbook of all the planets and settlements he had visited in his life, as well as a book—a real book, made from thin Ildiran crystal sheets—that listed the documented planets and settlements.
All
of them. Now he had a goal, and he and OK had set out to check planets off the list.

In a spaceport bar at Ulio, he had met Terry Handon, a mechanic and service engineer. Though Terry didn’t belong to any Roamer clan, Xander thought he had Roamer sensibilities. From years of working in the Ulio repair yards, Terry had acquired an encyclopedic knowledge of spaceships, and he knew the Ildiran stardrive backward and forward. He had watched ships come and go in the Ulio complex, but he never went anywhere; the weightless shipyards were perfectly suited to a man who couldn’t use his legs.

When Xander met him, Terry had been collecting images of places he wanted to see. Although he would wistfully look at highlights, natural wonders, astronomical phenomena, he was content to live vicariously. Terry enjoyed hanging out in the spacer bar to listen to travelers telling stories about far-off places. He made a habit of checking the origins of various ships that came to Ulio, though he rarely got up the nerve to talk with the visitors. He was only two years older than Xander.

Xander had just come from the Plumas water mines, which were run by his clan Tamblyn cousins. He showed Terry images of the Plumas ice sheets, the pumping stations under the crust, the wellheads that poked above the surface.

The next time he came through Ulio, he sought Terry out to show him images of other places he had visited in the meantime. The third time, he showed Terry his scrapbook, as well as the extensive list of planets still waiting to be checked off. Terry had seen none of them, which surprised Xander. “You live at the heart of a
spaceport
and haven’t gone anywhere?”

“Never had the opportunity,” Terry said.

“Never
took
the opportunity.”

Later, after Xander asked Rlinda Kett’s permission to engage a copilot other than OK, Terry was shocked when Xander made him the offer. “Now you can’t say you never had the opportunity. Are you going to take it?”

Together in the
Verne,
Xander and Terry made a point of traveling many routes. They were the first to put in for isolated or exotic deliveries because Xander wanted to check another place off his big list. Terry did not possess the same completist mentality. Every spot they visited was new to him, and he was glad to go along.

Now, as the
Verne
penetrated deeper into the nebula, the starlight and reflected radiation were so bright he couldn’t see the full extent of the Roamer facilities. When they approached the illuminating stars of Fireheart Station, they could make out shielded Roamer harvesters that flew between stations. Cylindrical collectors covered with reflective sheeting were isotope farms. Giant molecule-thin sheets of absorbent polymer metals soaked up the powerful star radiation, and processing stations gathered the energized films and folded them into dense packages, which were then sold as ubiquitous power blocks.

Prominent near the heart of the nebula, the arc of Kotto’s Big Ring was far from complete; not even Roamer scientists could understand exactly what Kotto intended to accomplish with it, other than that he said it “might” become a black-hole factory. The genius inventor had made so many useful discoveries over his career that the clans had stopped asking questions and indulged him.

Xander said, “With so much going on here, it’s too bad we’re just doing a mundane supply run.”

“They’ll be happy to see us. They need to eat, and we can get rid of that Primordial Ooze from Del Kellum’s distillery.” He knew the green priests at Fireheart would also be anxious for the seeds and botanical supplies the
Verne
carried, crate after crate of crop seeds, bulbs, and modified strains of grain designed to grow under the constant, colorful starshine of the Fireheart nebula.

“Would you like me to recite the manifest?” OK asked.

“No, thanks.” Xander continued looking out the windowport. The
Verne
headed directly for a terrarium station that glinted in the extravagant starlight. “Nice place for a garden.”

OK recited, “The terrarium station was founded by green priests Celli and Solimar. Over the years it has provided supplemental fresh crops for the workers at Fireheart Station.”

After the
Verne
was welcomed into the terrarium station’s landing dock, OK secured the ship, checked the engines, and assessed the cargo. Xander bounded down the ramp. The gravity was low enough that Terry needed only a slight assist from the antigrav harness strapped to his waist.

The green priest couple met them. Completely hairless with skin the color of fresh leaves, each wore only a traditional Theron loincloth. Celli, Queen Estarra’s sister, was thin and wiry, with small breasts. Solimar’s chest was broad and muscular.

“You’re a long way from Theroc,” Terry said. “This must be different for a green priest.”

“We have our trees,” said Solimar. “We can communicate with the worldforest network whenever we like, and Fireheart Station depends on us.”

Celli added, “We can’t leave.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Xander asked.

The green priests answered in unison, “Can’t.”

Xander and Terry followed them into the main dome of the terrarium, a large structure with a curved crystalline ceiling. The air was moist and lush with plant smells, spicy leaves, warm grasses. Through the crystalline panes, the incandescent pools of gases made an ever-changing panorama.

“Our orchards and gardens grow more than three hundred different varieties of edible plants,” Solimar said.

Xander stopped in awe as he saw the giant worldtrees that rose up and arched outward to fill much of the terrarium. Even the immense dome seemed too small for the great trees.

“Those were . . . your treelings?” Xander asked.

“We carried them in pots when we came here,” Celli said. “They’ve grown.”

“We agreed to stay at Fireheart Station for a while to provide communication. Under the constant sunlight, the treelings grew more rapidly than we expected. Now they’ve got no place to go.”

The worldtrees had reached the top of the dome, and curved over. The fronds swept down so low they touched the deck and mingled with the rows of crops.

Celli ran her green hand along the golden bark scales. “They can’t leave, and they keep growing.”

Xander followed the trunks and branches, saw the bent boughs, and felt a brooding sense of claustrophobia. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“The trees are trapped here,” Celli said. “That’s why we have to stay.”

Solimar squeezed her hand. “We know it’s only a matter of time.”

F
OURTY
-
THREE

P
RINCE
R
EYN

After arriving on Earth to numerous receptions, after watching parades and meeting with dozens of business leaders, ambassadors, industrialists, and military representatives, Reyn was exhausted. He worked hard to remember all the important people he had met, and when he was simply overwhelmed, he remained polite and gracious, which seemed to be good enough.

He couldn’t wait to finish his diplomatic duties and find time to rest. He felt drained. His arms were weak and trembled at the most inopportune times.

For centuries, Earth had been the center of the Hansa, with its Whisper Palace where the Great Kings had ruled, where his own father had been groomed to be no more than a figurehead. Now, under the Confederation, a mechanism existed so that the diverse threads of humanity could be pulled together in the event of a massive outside threat, but under normal situations, local governments were adaptable enough to rule their own worlds.

Even two decades after the dissolution of the Hansa, Eldred Cain retained his title as transitional Deputy. He took Reyn under his wing and sympathized with the frenzy of the Prince’s protocol schedule. Deputy Cain was a quiet man, hairless and pale-skinned, with a slight build. He was competent, businesslike, and soft-spoken. After they left a diplomatic reception Cain leaned close to him and said, “I’ll make sure you get time alone.”

Reyn sadly shook his head. “I’ve seen the schedule—I have another meeting in twenty minutes, something about a union of rubble workers combing through the debris of the Moon.”

Cain gave him a soft smile. “I took care of what needs to be done, but I left it in your schedule as a placeholder. No one else knows. You have an hour off.”

“Thank you! I don’t know that I could have acted interested for another hour—not until I recharge my brain.” Then he flushed. “I mean, I am interested. There’s just so much . . .”

“I understand, young man. I’ve dealt with wars and unimaginable crises, but I find social obligations to be tedious and exhausting.”

Reyn was surprised that he felt so comfortable in front of this man. “They’re all impressive people, and I know that it’s important to meet them, but nobody knows
me.
They just know
who I am.
”

Eldred Cain, the former right-hand man of Chairman Basil Wenceslas, had never had the charisma or ruthlessness to be Chairman. Since the end of the Hansa, Cain had served as the transitional representative, overseeing the constitution of the new Confederation, helping broker agreements among the loosely allied planets, clans, entities, and cultures. Because of his soft touch, soft voice, and wise counsel, Cain had helped create a powerful network ruled by a King and a representative council.

During his unexpected hour off, Reyn relaxed in a quiet lounge. Deputy Cain sat on an overstuffed sofa. “I don’t envy you, Prince. Your father was chosen for his position after being observed and tested. They knew he had the material to become a King before anyone ever saw his face. But you’re more shy and introspective, not comfortable as a showy, heroic leader like the people want.”

Reyn couldn’t disagree. “Is that why
you
never tried to take over yourself?”

Cain laughed. “Oh, the King can get all the attention. I’d rather stay behind the scenes and keep the engines functioning.”

Reyn was surprised. “You’d rather be an engineer than a captain?”

“Exactly. I’ve watched how kings are made. King Frederick was killed by politics.” He grew more serious. “Prince Adam was quietly erased when he didn’t prove to be acceptable, and Prince Daniel was groomed, crushed, groomed again, and then sent away. No one’s seen him for twenty years, if he’s even still alive. Peter and Estarra barely survived assassination attempts. Why would I want to invite that upon myself? I have everything I need—people get in trouble when they want more than that.”

Reyn nodded. “Being the firstborn son doesn’t necessarily make me the best choice for the job.” He knew how the populace liked the fairy tale of royalty, a colorful figure they could look up to. “Even so, I’m determined to rise to the challenge.”

A lightning strike of pain shot through the network of his nerves, and he struggled to hide the wince. It lasted less than a second, and afterward a wash of cold sweat prickled his skin. His heart pounded, and he couldn’t take more than a shallow breath, yet somehow Reyn maintained a calm smile.

“I think it’s time for our next meeting,” the young man said. “I want to finish my obligations because I’m having dinner with Rlinda Kett.”

The smell was so delicious it made his mouth and eyes water. Rlinda kept main residences on several planets, and she claimed that each one was home. When Reyn requested a private meeting with her, she insisted that he come for dinner and changed her entire schedule for him. “I’d move the Moon itself to have dinner with you, Raindrop—but I don’t really have to, since the Moon’s no longer there.”

During her years as the Confederation’s trade minister, spending so much time on Theroc, Rlinda had become something of a godmother to Reyn and Arita. She always gave him such enthusiastic hugs that he felt swallowed up in the soft enormity of her body.

He was so eager to speak with Rlinda that his tremors grew worse, but he no longer had to keep up pretenses. She was so intent on being the hostess that she didn’t notice how shaky he looked—not right away, but he was sure she would. She had visited Theroc often as he grew up, and she knew him too well.

Rlinda still ran Kett Shipping, but her main love was cooking and her restaurants. Even at home, half of the apartment space was devoted to her kitchen. She stood behind a large sizzling griddle as Reyn hovered next to her. She tossed a jumble of sliced onions onto the hot surface, where they danced and spat in the grease from a ground beef patty. She tended the burger with a spatula, forming it, pressing out just enough of the juices.

“I can’t believe you’re the son of the King and you’ve never had a cheeseburger.” She flipped the patty, and peeled off a rectangle of orange cheddar from a package beside the grill, which she placed over the meat.

“Even if I had, it wouldn’t be as good as yours.”

Rlinda laughed. “That’s a guarantee.”

She slid the burger onto a toasted bun, used the spatula to scoop up the browned onions and spread them across the melted cheese. In the small dining area, she presented it to Reyn with the appropriate condiments. Like a scientist explaining a complex physical theorem, she instructed him in how to add the finishing touches. “Of all the exotic foods on all the strange worlds, nothing sums up the joy of eating better than a good cheeseburger.”

Reyn took a bite, and the flavors exploded in his mouth. It was as delicious as she had promised. He ate, wiping his mouth so often between bites that Rlinda had to fetch a stack of fresh napkins.

“I love to cook for special guests, and if I don’t have any guests around, then I cook for myself. Used to cook for BeBob. He was always my guinea pig.” She sighed. “Ten years now . . .”