Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (78 page)

“That’ll have to do. Adjust course. Let’s fly close enough to introduce ourselves.”

The
Proud Mary
arrived among ships, habitation modules, storage tanks, pumping stations—and a cluster of strange inflated sacks that drifted through space.

“From markings on the structures, this appears to be an outpost of Iswander Industries,” DD said.

“As long as they’re willing to receive our information, I don’t care who they are.” She adjusted course, shut down the engines, and used reverse thrusters to slow the ship as she drifted to the perimeter of the industrial operations.

“Three ships are approaching us, Orli. We have been detected. They are asking us to identify ourselves.”

They didn’t look like military ships. Orli couldn’t tell if they even had weapons. Her fingers shook as she remembered how Tom Rom had stalked and attacked her. She fumbled with the comm controls before finally managing to activate the system. “This is
Proud Mary
, under quarantine. We are a plague ship, and I’m dying from an alien disease. Please do not approach.”

The security ships hesitated, circling her vessel. “We have limited medical facilities,
Proud Mary.
We certainly don’t have the capability for full quarantine.”

“Not asking for that.” She hardened her voice. “But if you don’t back off, I’m prepared to destroy my ship rather than let you come aboard.”

She glanced at the little compy. DD gave a silent nod. This time, they had prepared for an easy initiation of the self-destruct sequence.

The pause was long enough that she guessed there must have been an intense discussion on secure channels, and no small amount of consternation. The three Iswander Security ships backed off and held their position. “What is your intention,
Proud Mary
? What do you need?”

Orli took a deep breath. “I need to transmit a database of vital information—scientific, archaeological, anthropological, and medical data. I also have final messages for a few friends.” Her voice hitched. “I need your promise that they’ll be delivered.”

She stared at the screen and knew she must look haggard, her eyes red, her skin covered with dark blotches. “And then I just need to be left alone so I can die in peace.”

O
NE HUNDRED AND TWENTY
-
SIX

G
ARRISON
R
EEVES

It was going to get ugly, Garrison knew it.

He and Seth had avoided the catastrophe on Sheol; they had escaped from the exploding bloater cluster out in empty space; they had even, by a miracle, survived the Shana Rei shadow cloud.

But now that the Iswander ships had returned to the ekti-extraction field, assessed the damage, and counted the casualties, Garrison knew that Elisa was going to fight him over Seth. Though Lee Iswander made no threats, he impounded the
Prodigal Son
so that Garrison couldn’t leave.

During the panicked scramble to evacuate, thirty-seven people had lost their lives through mishaps and the brief robot attack. But Garrison had watched the industrialist during the crisis, how he had responded. Iswander had stayed behind and saved as many of his workers as possible—maybe he had learned his lesson after Sheol. Garrison couldn’t exactly blame the man for not preparing against the Shana Rei. It wasn’t something any operation would have planned for. In fact, no one could understand how they had escaped total obliteration. The Shana Rei had just . . . left.

But that didn’t solve Garrison’s personal problem.

“Once everything gets back to normal, we’ll figure this out,” said Iswander. “For now, you can stay here with your son.”

“As a prisoner, you mean.”

Iswander folded his hands together, serious, businesslike. “I’ve checked on you. I know what you’ve been doing since you left my employ—minor and unfulfilling work in the lunar rubble around Earth. You’re better than that. Don’t you want something exciting, engaging, and on par with your abilities?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued, “If you’re willing to set the past aside, I’ll wipe your personnel record clean. A second chance for both of us. I could use another good man on my crews here—work any part of the ekti processing you like. That way, you and Elisa both get to stay with your son, so the boy isn’t in the middle of a tug-of-war. Besides, I keep Elisa as a happy and undistracted employee, and I don’t have to worry about you keeping these operations secret. Everybody wins.” He smiled. “You have to agree, it’s the best possible solution. No need for the situation to get any messier.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Garrison said.

Iswander shrugged. “I’ve run the numbers.”

Grudgingly, Garrison said he would review the list of possible jobs at the extraction field, though he was careful not to give a final answer. He knew Seth wanted to stay with him, but would never say he
wanted
to leave his mother. Garrison wouldn’t force the boy to choose.

Elisa ignored him, as if she assumed the problem was solved. Meanwhile, he spent time with Seth, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be here. He had seen bloaters explode, and he knew they were dangerous—even the green priest had demonstrated that.

During the chaotic evacuation, Aelin had flown to one of the bloaters, following some siren’s song only he could hear. He had immersed himself in it—and then climbed back out of the protoplasm into the inspection pod. He sealed the hatch and somehow found the presence of mind to operate the craft.

Aelin flew back to the modular complex and landed the pod in an available hangar in front of an astonished crowd. The green priest glowed with warmth and an expression of blissful wonder. Now, whenever Aelin looked at any individual, his eyes seemed to have a hypnotic power.

“I have been baptized in the blood of the cosmos. I am rejuvenated.” He didn’t resist as the two flustered doctors led him back to the infirmary. . . .

The following day, Iswander Security forces detected another intruder at the bloater-extraction field and raced out to intercept an unidentified ship. As soon as the unexpected pilot began transmitting, Garrison knew she was no spy come to uncover the secret ekti operations. From the quiet admin module, Garrison and Seth watched the drama unfold. The woman was dying from a plague.

When Orli Covitz introduced herself, Seth lit up with surprise. “That’s the compy lady! Don’t you remember her?”

Seth was right. Although her face was haggard and sickly, Garrison recognized the compy researcher from Relleker who had done so much crusading to support compies. Seth, who watched many of her reports, often showed them to his father in hopes of convincing him to pick up one of her misfit compies. Garrison remembered how beautiful, how intense and animated Orli had been when she spoke in the video recordings about her compies.

Garrison had never expected to find her out here on the edge of a far-flung star system. Yet here she was, with a Friendly compy beside her in the cockpit.

Orli transmitted the files of medical data about the disease, the alien race, the lost derelict city . . . and the dead Roamer clan. Garrison felt a chill as he realized that this was the same plague that had killed clan Reeves.

He went over to the comm screen. “I need to talk with her. She was at the derelict city where my whole family died.”

The technician frowned at the interruption, but Lee Iswander gave a quick nod, and Garrison nudged the comm officer aside. When he told Orli that Olaf Reeves was his father, that he and Seth were possibly the last survivors of clan Reeves, he watched her expression fall. “I’m sorry,” she said. “They were all dead when I arrived, but I have recordings from your father and some of the other clan members.” Orli’s eyes drooped, and her head swayed. She was clearly in pain. “Olaf Reeves did everything he could to prevent the spread of the plague. The derelict city should have been vaporized before I got there, but it was just bad luck and bad timing. The sickness ends with me. Here.”

Garrison planned to review the records, listen to Olaf’s last words. Though he doubted he would hear any apology, it was still his obligation to listen to what his father had to say. He leaned closer to the screen, and his voice was hoarse. “Thank you for bringing this back.”

When Garrison looked at Orli, everyone else in the admin center seemed to fade away. He concentrated on her, felt her intensity.

“I need you to do me a favor, Garrison Reeves,” she said. “There’s a woman, Rlinda Kett—tell her I’m sorry about losing her ship. I should have just stayed on Relleker.” She heaved a breath, her shoulders shuddered.

Joining his father at the comm, Seth spoke to her. “I like compies. We listen to your reports sometimes. I always wanted to meet you.” Then he smiled. “Is that DD?”

The Friendly compy perked up. “Yes, I am DD.”

Garrison asked, “Why did you leave there in the first place? You had your compy work.”

Tears filled her eyes. “My husband, Matthew . . . everything broke apart and it was too painful to stay. I wanted something else. I guess I should have picked a different midlife crisis.” Orli let out a bitter chuckle. “It won’t be long now. DD is ready to self-destruct the
Proud Mary
. He has his orders.”

“Don’t give up yet!”

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself for days.”

Seth’s brows drew together, and he spoke urgently to DD. “A good compy takes care of his master. DD, you need to take care of Orli.”

The little compy turned his optical sensors at the screen. “I promise, I am doing all I possibly can.”

Orli said, “There’s nothing DD or I can do. And I refuse to let anyone else catch this plague. Nothing can cure me.”

Garrison ignored everyone else in the admin module. “We can talk as long as you like. We’ll keep the comm channel open. I’ll be here.” He didn’t even notice the silence that fell in the admin module followed by startled whispers.

The green priest came up to stand between Seth and Garrison. Aelin had a warm smile and bright, intense eyes. “I can cure her. It’s simple.”

O
NE HUNDRED AND TWENTY
-
SEVEN

M
AGE
-I
MPERATOR
J
ORA
’
H

As the leader of the Ildiran Empire, the heart of the
thism
, and the focus of his people, Jora’h could not waver. His personal strength had to be an anchor for all Ildirans. Despite his resolve, a cold blade of fear lanced him as he went with Nira and Tal Gale’nh to the site of the massacre in the human enclave. Yazra’h and Muree’n insisted on accompanying them, armed and armored, alert and angry; they had made it clear they trusted no one else to keep the Mage-Imperator safe.

Jora’h had not wanted Nira to join the group, since she had already been the target of an assassination attempt, but she insisted. “Bring extra guards. I will be safe enough.”

“We will keep you safe, Mother,” Muree’n vowed, and Jora’h didn’t doubt her.

He felt sickened even before he saw the first body—and there were many bodies. The guard kithmen formed a loose protective cordon around him, crystal katanas raised, fearing some other unexpected attack.

But what if his
own guards
became tainted like those in the Vault of Failures? How could he make sure Nira was safe anywhere? Maybe Muree’n and Yazra’h should remain at her side at all times. To be safe, he should have sent Nira back to Theroc with their daughter Osira’h, but Ildira was her home now and had been for years. Nira made it clear she had no intention of staying inside the Prism Palace when all of the human expatriates had been slaughtered.

And Jora’h knew that she strengthened him. With Nira here at his side, he was a more powerful leader.

The flames in the human enclave had been extinguished, but greasy smoke still curled into the sky like escaping shadows.
His own people
had caused this. Peaceful everyday Ildirans from various kiths had turned into mad butchers, slaying every human who had come here to share their culture.

The human bodies on the ground were burned and mangled, but not unrecognizable. Jora’h remembered them: businesspeople, craftsmen, café owners, artists. And all around, like toppled pieces on a game board, lay their dead Ildiran attackers. Of those attackers—more than a hundred of them—not one was marked save for the blood spatters. And it was not their blood. After committing their brutality, they had all simply fallen dead. Each of the corpses wore a frozen expression of horror.

Yazra’h and Muree’n regarded the massacre, grim and assessing. Both of them had their weapons drawn.

Gale’nh stared, as if he had received a stunning blow. His fingers extended, and he reached out a tentative hand, as if to save these people but much too late. He let his arm fall to his side.

Nira shuddered beside Jora’h, her breath hitching raggedly. She began sobbing and knelt beside one of the fallen humans, whose face was battered to a shapeless mass. From the apron and the dark skirt, Jora’h knew it must be Blondie, the diner owner.

“Why?” Nira turned her eyes up to him. “Why . . . why would they do this?” She seemed to think he could give her an answer.

Through the
thism
, the Mage-Imperator understood the threads of thought and emotion that bound his people together . . . but this, he couldn’t understand at all.

Accompanied by uniformed Solar Navy soldiers, Adar Zan’nh arrived in response to the news. Gale’nh stood beside the Adar, as if falling into ranks. Zan’nh inspected the scene grimly. “Liege, my soldiers are here to help defend you.”

Yazra’h and Muree’n stiffened, but they did not insist that they would be sufficient. “The Mage-Imperator cannot have too much protection.”