Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (44 page)

The writer said, “There’s been a strange mood in the city for a while. We can feel it.”

“But you have no
thism.
” Jora’h was concerned that there had been some kind of echo caused by his own nightmares and lingering uneasiness.

“We have eyes and ears. It’s obvious.”

“You are very perceptive—a useful skill for a writer.”

The man was pleased, then embarrassed by the compliment. He sat back at his table and furiously jotted something on his paper.

As they led the entourage onward, Jora’h said to the humans, “Thank you. We are glad you have settled here.”

The expatriates were reassured, but Jora’h wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned his face up to the seven suns in hopes that the brightness could cleanse him, but in spite of the intense sunlight he still felt shadows everywhere, just out of sight, as if something dark were growing inside him.

S
IXTY
-
FOUR

A
RITA

After returning from Earth for the funeral of Father Idriss, Reyn had to prepare for his journey to Ildira, where he would spend a month as the Mage-Imperator’s guest to learn about Ildiran culture.

In the meantime, though, Arita remained close, concerned, watching him.

One night she accompanied her brother out on the fungus-reef’s soft curving rooftop. As children, they had often scrambled up the walls of the enormous growth, much to the consternation of watchful tutors. Queen Estarra, though, merely gave them an indulgent smile, since she had climbed her own share of worldtrees when she was a young girl.

Now, though, Arita had to help Reyn move across the smooth surface. The Prince managed to play his role and do his duties in public, but Arita knew how hard it was for him. So far, no one had noticed the slight tremor that she saw, or the occasional drawn expression on his face as he fought back pain. She didn’t want him to go away again.

After they climbed through the high, small window and worked their way up the outer wall of the reef, she clasped his hand. Reyn’s grip was strong, but by the time they sat together under the rustling worldtree fronds and the glimmer of stars, he looked tired and shaky. They watched the bright trail of a spacecraft ascending to orbit.

“So what did you learn on Earth?” They hadn’t been able to find any quiet, private time to discuss his efforts until now. “Did Rlinda help you see medical specialists?”

“The best ones on the planet—I think. Dr. Paolus has a lot of experience in strange diseases like this, and I can only hope.”

“
We
can only hope,” she said.

Reyn gave her a small smile. “When I get to Ildira, their medical kithmen might suggest an entirely different approach.”

The Ildira visit sounded like an exciting adventure, the sort of thing a Prince should do, strengthening ties with humanity’s greatest ally, making connections that he would use when he became the Confederation’s King. Reyn also carried the secret hope that their medical specialists would offer a unique perspective on treatment for his disease.

Arita squeezed his arm. “You’re going to have to tell Mom and Dad—and soon. We all want to help you, and they can bring so much more influence to bear.”

Reyn hung his head. “I don’t want to be turned into a medical experiment.”

Arita gave a stern answer. “You know that’s a stupid reason. I want you to stay alive, and if it takes the full resources of the Confederation, then that’s what it takes.”

“Not yet. Let’s see what the Ildirans have to say first.”

“In other words, you don’t have any good reason,” Arita said.

“I’ll tell them, after I get this last bit of information. Just . . . give me a little more time.”

Arita understood him better than he was willing to admit to himself. He had studied the other similar cases from Theroc, and the prospects didn’t look good. Even with armies of medical researchers and physicians running countless tests and offering treatment options, Reyn feared it would all be for naught. But he’d
promised
her he wouldn’t give up hope.

“I’m always here for you, whatever you decide,” Arita said.

S
IXTY
-
FIVE

E
LDRED
C
AIN

Fire rained down from the sky, as it did every night. Viewing it with a sort of detachment, Cain thought the spectacle was beautiful—a celestial work of art, always changing. Always dangerous.

Although the continuing meteor showers still gave nightmares to the people on Earth, General Nalani Keah was not so easily intimidated, and Deputy Cain had no qualms about inviting her for dinner on his expansive balcony to watch the show as shattered Moon fragments burned up in the night sky.

“Thank you for inviting me, Deputy. It beats mess-hall food,” she said. “But mess-hall food is fine if that’s what’s being served.”

While their dinner was prepared, Cain walked her through his apartment, which was a veritable maze of thin walls built to maximize display space for his art. He showed her the beautiful and sometimes disturbing masterpieces of Goya, Hieronymus Bosch, and his particular favorite, Diego Velasquez.

The original Prado in Madrid had been destroyed in the aftermath of bombardment when the faeros destroyed the Moon. The actual meteor strike had missed Madrid, but rampant fires swept through what was left of the city and gutted the Prado. He couldn’t forgive the cosmic malice that had destroyed all those irreplaceable masterpieces. Fewer than thirty original paintings were rescued.

The works displayed on his own walls now were only high-res 3-D images, the most perfect facsimiles he could obtain. He could stare at the paintings for hours, marveling at the tiny details, the play of brushstrokes and shadows. When he showed her, Keah glanced at them as if they were government reports. She moved from one painting to the next, spending no more time than if she were perusing produce in a grocery store. Cain had hoped, but hadn’t really expected, to find a kindred soul.

She said, “So, these are just copies?”

“Perfect copies. Every detail is identical.”

“Then they might as well be the originals.” She gave a second glance to the Velasquez painting
Los Borrachos.
“I can’t see any difference.”

Of course she couldn’t. Cain was unable to take his eyes from the image. “I’m still trying . . . or maybe I’m just deluding myself.”

During the reconstruction on Earth, Cain had chosen to build his personal residence on the edge of the impact crater near Madrid. Many people marveled at the risk he took by erecting his home so close to the strike, as if another meteor would hit the same place again. He had confidence in the rubble-shepherding operations, as well as the extensive and (he hoped) infallible network of sky sensors to detect and deflect any large fragments that slipped through. . . .

Cain had arranged for the meal to be catered and served by a rented Domestic compy. They ate alone outside on the wide balcony. The night was crisp, but not so chilly that Cain needed to turn on heaters or wind barricades.

Without the Moon, Earth’s climate had suffered radical changes, and the coastal areas were the most significantly affected. With the loss of tides, it was as if the heartbeat of the world’s oceans had stopped. The numerous impacts and resulting fires added a pall of smoke to the atmosphere, which brought about dramatic cooling and turbulent storms in the first few years. The winters were severe enough worldwide that climatologists predicted Earth would descend into a new ice age.

Unlike the dinosaurs, though, humanity had spread itself across many worlds and had developed sufficient technology to survive harsh climate shifts. Not even a celestial impact would cause the extinction of the human race. Enemies like the hydrogues and the Klikiss robots, however, were another story. Cain had thought such threats ended with the Elemental War, but recent startling news from General Keah and Del Kellum threw his confidence into question again.

He had suggested that the General wear civilian clothes, since this was an open and informal discussion, and she looked strikingly different without her military uniform. Her long, dark hair hung in a ponytail, and she wore a loose blouse and slacks. Her Polynesian features seemed more prominent without the distraction of the uniform. Even sitting in the patio chair, Nalani Keah looked twice his size.

When they finished eating, the compy silently retrieved their dishes and brought them coffee. A fireball tumbled overhead, flashed, and split into two pieces, both of which flickered out. “That was a bright one,” she said, picking up her coffee. She drank most of it in a single gulp, wiped her lips, and held up the cup. “Where’s that compy? I could use a bit more. In fact, have him leave the pot.” The Domestic compy scuttled forward to refill Keah’s cup, and left an insulated carafe between them on the table. “You’ve gone to too much trouble with the meal, Deputy. Are you flirting with me? Is this a date?”

The very idea startled him. “Absolutely not.”

Keah nodded, satisfied, then reconsidered. “What? Is there something the matter with me?”

“No. Nevertheless, I have no such designs. I would have chosen the same meal for myself.” Deputy Cain saw three faint shooting stars, none of which was remarkable. “I believe we can be more productive outside the context of a formal meeting. We have serious matters to discuss.”

More meteors streaked overhead accompanied by a shrill whistle. “They remind me of jazer blasts,” Keah said, then got down to business. “I spent the afternoon in a quick inspection of the shipyards and the CDF Lunar Orbital Complex. Impressive industry there, but I worry that our people have gotten lazy over the past twenty years. Just when you think you’ve eliminated a gigantic cosmic threat, something else comes and messes things up again.”

During the flight from Theroc after Father Idriss’s funeral, Cain had reviewed the records of CDF’s encounter with the black robots and the shadow cloud. It made no sense. The blackness erupting in the clouds of Golgen had destroyed the Kellum skymine, and that was just as inexplicable.

“I suggest dispatching a battle group to Theroc to strengthen defenses around the King and Queen,” Cain said. “And launch new patrols across all ten grids. We have to be on high alert until we know the nature of the threat.”

General Keah couldn’t agree fast enough. “If there are any more robot infestations, we’ll find them and wipe them out. I’ve got a vendetta against those bugbots, and I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning than smashing a few thousand of them.”

“All well and good, General,” Cain said, “but a handful of surviving Klikiss robots can’t possibly be more than a nuisance. We don’t want to cause a panic among colonists by telling them the sky is falling.”

As if the heavens had heard him, six shooting stars came down in rapid succession. One large bolide made a sighing, crackling sound as it tumbled in the atmosphere.

Keah agreed. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Deputy, that shadow cloud we encountered makes me more nervous than the bugbots. I’ve never seen anything like it. Adar Zan’nh believes it could be very dangerous.”

“Send an astronomical investigation team to map it, find out if it’s a dust cloud or a nebula.”

The General set down her coffee cup. “I did send a scout back there, but the cloud was gone.”

That took him aback. “How can a nebula disappear?”

“A standard-issue nebula can’t—but that shadow cloud
moved.
It messed with our systems, it swallowed up the robot ships. The Ildirans have legends about some ancient enemy called the Shana Rei, creatures of darkness. After what we saw, the Adar believes the Shana Rei may be more than just legends, and I’m inclined to agree. If he’s right, we’ll need to know whatever they know. We may even need their help.”

“I agree,” Cain said. “Launch more joint patrols if you like.”

“I’m on it, Mr. Deputy—anything to keep me away from a desk job.”

Overhead, the meteors continued to fall.

S
IXTY
-
SIX

G
ARRISON
R
EEVES

For the first few years after the destruction of the Moon, it had taken a massive effort to map the orbits of the largest remnants and then to stabilize the rubble. Groups of celestial mechanics plotted orbital perturbations and ran simulations to determine which asteroids would intersect the Earth’s path. The primary concern was to identify any chunks on an imminent collision course, so the cleanup teams could work to deflect them.

In a few centuries—an eyeblink on an astronomical scale—the Moon’s rubble would have distributed itself into a lovely ring around Earth, but with so many fresh fragments in unstable orbits, collisions occurred faster than they could be mapped, and the impacts deflected previously benign rubble, which forced the cleanup teams to react and make changes.

Garrison loved the work. In the
Prodigal Son,
he was one of the surveyors sent out to respond and submit recommendations each time the automated network of telescopes detected a large-scale impact.

Growing up in clan Reeves, he had spent a lot of time studying celestial mechanics, because Olaf Reeves insisted that every Roamer needed to know how the universe worked. He had a particular intuition for nuances and subtle effects, which was why he noticed slight perturbations at Sheol that others had discounted.

Garrison took no pride in being right about Sheol, and carried a weight of guilt, wondering if he could have done more to warn about the danger. If Elisa had believed him and supported him, he would have had enough leverage to convince Lee Iswander. But it had been a long time since his own wife had given him the benefit of the doubt. At least he had saved Seth. . . .