Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (64 page)

Keah let out a sigh. “Mr. Patton, train our jazers on one of those tankers. Inform your counterparts to do the same and wait for my signal.”

“A smoke screen,” said Patton. “Yes, General.”

When the tanker evac pods had tumbled aboard the waiting CDF ships, Keah gave her order. As the black robot ships continued to attack, jazers exploded the tankers and vaporized their contents. The detonation was powerful enough to spread water vapor in a huge, dense cloud.

It was exactly what they needed.

The vapor cloud engulfed the robot vessels, blinding them, along with the CDF ships. In a last glimpse, Keah saw the Solar Navy warliners wheel about and accelerate away.

Ron Tamblyn stared at the tanker explosions and at the crushed ice moon, seeing in the water droplets a few billion tears for his facilities and his lost friends.

“Helm, full acceleration! Let’s get out of here.”

She would have preferred to score a clear victory rather than just getting away alive, but their survival was vital. She had to report this to the Confederation. The data they had gathered would form the basis for developing new defenses for the CDF and the Solar Navy.

And she wanted a lot of those sun bombs.

She muttered, “Well, Z, looks like we found that unexpected enemy after all.”

N
INETY
-
SEVEN

O
SIRA
’
H

The Ildiran mirror ballet was one of Osira’h’s favorite displays in the city of Mijistra, and she knew that Prince Reynald from Theroc had never seen anything like it. As much as she looked forward to the spectacle, she would spend most of her time watching the sparkle in his eyes.

Reyn was content to see whatever Osira’h wanted to show him, although he was weary of the crowds that followed them everywhere. “My parents sent me here to experience Ildiran culture. While your doctors keep running tests to figure out what’s wrong with me, I should do what I came here for.”

“Then I’ll show you Ildira and tell you everything you need to know.” She found the young man interesting.

The mirror ballet was held in a large arena, taking place whenever all seven of Ildira’s suns were visible in the sky. Today, the double sun of Qronha was low to the horizon and mostly obscured by buildings, but even so, the mirror ballet was performed.

Reyn wore filmgoggles to protect against the intense light inside the arena, and misters dispersed jets of vapor to cool the air, with the added benefit that the humid haze intensified the rainbows for the kinetic-prism part of the performance.

Because of her status, Osira’h reserved a private observation box for herself and Reyn, so that the two of them could relax in solitude during the performance, although the ever-present entourage didn’t seem to understand why they might like to be alone. When a dozen noble kithmen and courtiers crowded into the small box to join them, Osira’h noted Reyn’s flicker of weary disappointment. Glad that she had solved this problem in advance, she instructed the others to leave. “I have arranged special seats for you near the conductor. The Prince and I have important political matters to discuss in private.”

When she and Reyn had the observation box to themselves, he gave her a curious look. “Important political matters?”

Osira’h chuckled. “We’ll think of something. I just didn’t want to be crowded.”

He let out a sigh. “I am glad for just a little peace.”

In the arena, chrome-plated sculptures rose out of compartments in the ground; their articulated arms were studded with large round lenses. Curved mirrors swung into position to direct light into rotating prisms that bobbed up and down like photonic pistons. Reflective slats in the domed ceiling turned downward on louvers and aimed the light into the performance area.

The ballet conductor brought forth an array of laser projectors, which looked like some kind of bizarre weapons system. Rich beams of varied hues danced through the low-hanging mist. The play of lights, mirrors, lasers, and vapor created a hypnotic cat’s cradle of colors.

The Ildiran audience cheered. Some blew on shrill pipes, making a piercing noise that signified their appreciation. Osira’h tore her gaze from the beautiful display to look at Reyn. Even behind his protective filmgoggles, she could see an excited shine in his eyes, and she knew she had chosen the right thing to show him. “I’m glad you like it.”

She saw a flicker of pain cross his face like a sudden quake. He flinched, squeezed his eyes shut, and struggled to concentrate. Finally, he drove back the nerve spasm.

Although the medical kithmen found Reyn’s sickness intriguing, they had offered no breakthroughs. Yet. They had studied his genetic samples, requested several other tests. With their full attention, they pored over the cause, the symptoms, and possible treatments to mitigate his pain. Confederation doctors might have access to more background in the morphology of human diseases, but Osira’h knew that Ildiran medical kithmen had an added drive, since they were trying to find a cure for Reyn in the name of the Mage-Imperator.

She had also sent data and samples to her sister Tamo’l on Kuivahr, where she could study them in her sanctuary domes. Her own medical researchers might have ideas. Osira’h was determined to find some help for him.

As the ballet continued, she reached out and took Reyn’s hand, squeezing hard, focusing her thoughts as if she could break down his barriers. She summoned the considerable mental powers she had inherited from her green priest mother and her father, the Mage-Imperator. That combination of telepathic skills had allowed her to command the hydrogues and the faeros. Now, however, she was just trying to open herself up to Reyn. She wanted to touch his mind and console him.

Alas, as hard as she tried to break through, the Prince felt no contact. His mind was silent to her, and his thoughts remained his own.

Nevertheless, even without telepathy, he seemed to draw strength from her presence.

After the ballet, they visited her brother Gale’nh, with his bleached skin and hair. Despite his wan appearance, Gale’nh seemed to improve each day. While the Adar’s training maniple was away, engaged in intensive combat exercises with the CDF, Gale’nh wore his formal tal uniform, as if it kept him connected to the Solar Navy. Osira’h knew he wanted to be out there with Adar Zan’nh.

When she introduced him to Reyn, Gale’nh touched his own pale skin and explained, “I looked into the shadows that killed every other person aboard the
Kolpraxa.
” He walked across his room and stared out at the curved crystalline towers of the city. “I have no wish to fight them again, but the creatures of darkness are still out there.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if huddling in the light.

Osira’h used their telepathic connection to offer Gale’nh strength and reassurance, but there were dark corners in her brother’s mind. The full details of what he had experienced were still hidden. He was incredibly strong—she knew that—but Osira’h could feel how he had been changed, as if his soul had diminished.

After Gale’nh’s return, he had met with many lens kithmen, who drew upon their own abilities and focused his recovery meditations, trying to bring him closer to the Lightsource.

Reyn looked over at Osira’h. “I have heard that Anton Colicos described the Shana Rei in some of the translations he brought back to the worldforest, but I never really understood the story.”

Osira’h said, “If the Shana Rei have come back, we need to learn how to protect ourselves, how to fight them. The Solar Navy has some prototype weapons drawn from the old records, but in the old war, the Ildiran race survived the creatures of darkness only because Mage-Imperator Xiba’h convinced the faeros to fight alongside us.”

Reyn was obviously concerned. “The faeros are dangerous allies to have. They leveled Mijistra, burned much of Theroc. They are not friends.”

Osira’h was determined though. “The faeros listened when I called them before. Maybe they will listen again.”

“There is another way to bring them,” Gale’nh said. “Mage-Imperator Xiba’h did it long ago.”

Osira’h explained to Reyn, “Mage-Imperator Xiba’h called the faeros by immolating himself. He threw himself into a great pyre, and his agony through the
thism
was so loud that the faeros came.”

Reyn looked at Osira’h in astonishment. “You’re not going to do that!”

“No, I won’t,” she said, then added in a smaller voice, “unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

N
INETY
-
EIGHT

O
RLI
C
OVITZ

As Tom Rom’s ship rushed toward her, at first Orli didn’t understand. She activated the
Proud Mary
’s comm again. “Look, maybe I wasn’t clear. I’m the only person on this ship, and I think I’m infected with a deadly alien microorganism. You cannot come aboard.” Nearby, the glowing debris cloud from the Onthos city continued to expand.

DD said, “Should we transmit copies of the records to him, so that a second person has all the data about the Onthos and clan Reeves.”

“Not yet. There’s something odd about this guy.”

Tom Rom’s face came back on the screen. His expression hadn’t changed; his eyes were just as intent. “I repeat, stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

Now Orli was losing patience. “And I repeat—this ship is quarantined! Do you have static in your ears?”

Tom Rom opened fire.

In the copilot’s seat, DD reacted with speedy compy reflexes and punched in a course-adjustment burst that sent the
Proud Mary
into a corkscrew spin. The lurch threw Orli out of her padded chair, and she barely managed to catch one of the arms before being thrown face-first into the control panel.

The stranger had specifically targeted their engines, trying to cripple the ship, but his low-powered jazer blasts skimmed past. Only one beam grazed the hull, causing no damage.

Orli scrambled to pull herself upright. “DD, get us out of here!”

The compy accelerated the
Proud Mary
away from the expanding debris cloud of the Onthos city. She feared that the Friendly compy would ask too many questions—
Which course, Orli? What acceleration would you prefer, Orli? Do we have a final destination, Orli?
—but the compy simply did his work. The acceleration threw her to the deck.

“Good work, DD,” she muttered under her breath as she hauled herself back onto the seat. She hammered the comm controls, yelling at Tom Rom. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Attempting to acquire a valuable sample. I can extract the virus from your dead tissue, if necessary, but I would prefer you make this simpler.” He opened fire again.

The
Proud Mary
did not have military-grade shields, but they offered enough protection to absorb most of the blast. Her ship shuddered and jerked. She took the piloting controls from DD and began a looping, zigzagging course away, but Tom Rom’s ship stayed close behind them.

Orli gritted her teeth. “Is he insane?”

“I cannot make an assessment of that, Orli,” DD said. “His weapons did not cause significant damage, but our shields are weakened.”

She flicked her glance around the cockpit, still getting to know the ship. “I didn’t expect to take us into battle. Do we have any weapons?”

“There is a hand jazer in the captain’s locker. Don’t you remember? You carried it when we first entered the Onthos city.”

“That’s not going to do me much good in a battle like this. I meant ship’s weapons.”

She scanned space around them. The derelict city was far from any inhabited planet, since the Onthos had not wanted to be found. Deeper into the system, there was an asteroid field she could hide in, but Tom Rom would run her down long before she reached it. The only thing out here was the alien city itself, which was nothing more than an expanding cloud of debris that still throbbed with dissipating thermal energy.

It would have to do.

Orli continued to fly an evasive course, but Tom Rom closed the gap between them. His engines were better, his shields were better—and his weapons were definitely better. He continued to fire at her with carefully modulated low-power bursts. If he accidentally hit the wrong mark, maybe he would blow up the
Proud Mary
instead of crippling the ship. That wouldn’t be Orli’s first choice, but at least it would keep him from getting his hands on the plague. . . .

“DD, we have spare fuel canisters don’t we?”

“Yes. Captain Kett insisted that we be prepared for emergencies.”

“This definitely qualifies as an emergency. We have to lose him. Go into the back compartment, take out one of the ekti canisters, and rig it for detonation. We should have small triggers in the spare-parts locker.”

The little compy left the piloting deck, though he seemed hesitant. “My training is not necessarily appropriate for this activity.”

“The ship’s database should have all the information you need.”

“I will do my best.”

“You’ll do fine, DD. Just get it ready, and I’ll do the blowing-up part. Meanwhile, I’ll keep this nutcase occupied.”

“Perhaps he will see reason if you explain the situation to him,” DD said.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath—I’m just stalling for time so you can rig the canister.” Orli opened a channel, and he appeared on the screen. “Look, Mr. Rom, let me make a bargain with you. I can give you the complete history of an alien race, the architecture of that space city, the full records of clan Reeves, full documentation of the disease and its progress.”

Even as Tom Rom raced after them, his expression remained placid. He didn’t look angry, didn’t smile. “Very well, I will accept those records as adjunct information. Transmit them. They may be useful in the overall characterization of the disease—but my employer has very specific needs. I am required to take a blood and tissue sample.”