To Save the Sun

Chapter Seventeen

The Old Man is talking to his son, Amasee Niles thought as he watched the huge moon rise. It glowed a brilliant orange, matching the dying glow of Pallatin’s K-2 star. With the sky not yet dark, it looked as though there were two suns in the sky: a brighter, sinking one in the west; another, seemingly only slightly dimmer, climbing the eastern sky. He smiled, remembering the children’s tale his mother used to tell him on those occasions when the moon’s orbit was just right and both objects were in the sky at the same time.

“The sun doesn’t go down until the moon rises,” she had told him, just as countless other mothers had told countless other children. And like those others, he had listened wide-eyed and believing. “He waits there, seeming to hang forever on the horizon until his son appears. For a while, when they’re in the sky at the same time, he tells his son of his day: what happened on the world below him and what the little people were doing. He tells him to look after the little people, and sometimes…” She had paused then, he remembered, and lowered her voice as if imparting a secret meant only for him. “Sometimes, he picks out one little boy or girl and tells the moon to be especially watchful over that one, and to bring good luck. And do you know how to tell if you’re the one? Well, you keep watching the moon and think good thoughts, and if your thoughts are good enough and you look very closely, you’ll see him wink at you. Just at you and nobody else.”

He remembered lying awake that night as long as he could, staring at the moon, hoping the big face he imagined there would wink just for him. And again the next time the orbit brought it to the same position two months later, and the next. But he always fell asleep.

How many years ago was that? he wondered, surprised at how well he remembered it all. He gazed steadily at the moon, nearly half the size of Pallatin itself. Rugged craters covered its surface and many of them could be easily identified without a telescope, but for just the briefest of moments he tried to imagine the face he remembered from childhood. He squinted and stared, and for a second his mind let go of the reality that what he saw was merely a pattern of craters and mountains, and he thought he saw the face. But then the rational part of his mind intruded once more, and the pattern became just ordinary empty craters again.

Amasee Niles stood at the lower edge of his farm, leaning forward on his elbows on the low strand-metal fence that circled his property, and gazed quietly at the rugged landscape spreading out below his homestead. He’d located the house halfway up a gently sloping ridge, and from where he stood he could see the entire countryside to the east for dozens of kilometers. The bare, exposed sheets of gray rock that had been thrust violently upward in the Big Quake stood out sharply against the soft green of the surrounding grassland. Here and there the hardy bioengineered grasses had managed to establish a foothold on the bare rock, and even at this distance Amasee could pick out several spots of green among the now-silent gray slabs.

He looked closely, trying hard to pick out the site of the original Westland colony, but the surface features had changed so much, so drastically, that the location of the once-familiar landmark—a scattering of small houses, civic buildings and meeting hall surrounding a circular town green—was impossible to spot. Even the cracked and broken concrete of the obsolete landing strip, the largest structure there, was nowhere to be found. He gave up with a troubled shake of his head. The main city of Dannen, reestablished several kilometers to the west more than two hundred years ago, had experienced severe damage; thousands had been left homeless and many had been hurt, but there was, miraculously, no loss of life caused by the earthquake almost twenty years earlier. But at first light following the tremors the residents were stunned to find that Pallatin’s original settlement of Dannen’s Down, maintained and preserved as an historical village, had disappeared, swallowed whole by the turbulent ground. The loss of life was minor in number—only the live-in caretakers and historical roleplayers signed on for the season were in residence when it hit—but devastating in its completeness. His sister Katie, her twin sons, Zack and Toma, and twenty others; all friends, all gone, killed in minutes as Pallatin’s restless geology reached up and took them inside.

Twenty-three people, he thought, reminding himself for the hundredth time that Dannen had been lucky. Although few were killed in the eastern portion of Pallatin’s only major continent, nearly three thousand people had died throughout Westland; Chesterton, less than twenty kilometers to the north, had suffered more than two hundred deaths—almost a fourth of its population—and other settlements, ranging in size from small towns to major trading and industrial centers, had all experienced losses far greater in proportion to their population than had Dannen. So why do these twenty-three haunt me?

He heard a rustling in the tall grass behind him and recognized Marabell by her gait. Without turning around, he said, “I know, I know; I’m going to be late if I don’t leave before sunset.”

There was a soft, high-pitched chuckle behind him and he felt delicate hands slip around his waist. She leaned her head softly against his back, and as an early evening breeze came up behind them it brought the scent of lilacs to him. Without looking, he knew that Marabell had picked a handful of the fragrant flowers from the bushes behind the house.

“You probably thought I was sneaking up on you again, didn’t you?” Her voice was light, although behind her teasing lay an understanding that her husband was troubled.

“And weren’t you?” he asked, laughing. He turned around in her embrace, leaning backward against the fence, and pulled her to him. He held her silently for a moment, staring over her shoulder at the house. The kitchen lights glowed warmly. Clint was nowhere to be seen, but their youngest son, Thad, occupied himself happily on a play set beneath the iron oaks to one side of the house. “Where’s Clint?” he asked. “I was hoping to see him before I left.”

She smiled up into his eyes. “Am, he’s eighteen. Where do you think he’d be about now?”

“The Anderston girl again?”

“Not ‘again,’ Am; still. You refuse to see him growing up, don’t you?” As before, her words were light and airy.

Amasee ran a hand through his wife’s long brown hair, stroking idly down the length of it as it fell over her shoulders and down her back, unintentionally dislodging the lilacs she’d tucked behind one ear. The huge orange ball that was Dannen’s Star hung low on the horizon, and the oblique rays of the evening light glinted hazily through her sweet-smelling hair.

“Can’t blame me there, can you?” He shrugged, reaching for the fallen lilacs. “I’m in no hurry to admit my advancing age. Any more than you’re ready to admit that you’re about to lose your eldest son… old woman.” He brought the flowers to his nose, pretending to hide the mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Who are you calling an old woman!” She pulled back in mock protest and jabbed him playfully in the ribs. They both laughed and held each other briefly before he turned to lean on the fence and stare out again over the darkening landscape. Already the first stars were beginning to appear and it was getting more difficult to distinguish the green grass from the angry gray rocks in the distance. Marabell embraced him from behind, and he reveled at how good her arms felt around him.

“I wish I was just a farmer again,” he said finally. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” she replied simply. “Stay home and take care of us.” Her arms tightened around his waist and for a moment he considered giving in to what they both wanted: for him to quit, and devote himself to his family.

“No.” He sighed heavily in resignation. “I can’t.” He shifted his gaze skyward, searching for the right grouping among the early stars, then extended an arm to a point just above the eastern horizon. “The Westland Congress has only four weeks of Joint Dominion with Eastland left before that starship will be here, in orbit around Pallatin. Oh, did I tell you we can see the Levant now? They’re in full deceleration and we’ve been able to spot the flare.”

She moved to his side, her right arm still around his waist, and followed his gaze into the night sky. “I hate them.” Marabell’s voice was a whisper.

He smiled. “You don’t even know them.”

They walked silently, hand in hand, back to the house where Amasee picked up Thad, tossing him gleefully into the air several times before giving him a hug and good-bye kiss.

“When you coming home, Daddy?” he asked.

“I’ll be back next week, but only for a few days before I have to go again.”

The boy considered the information, accepted it and turned back to the play set. “I’ll wave from the top!” he called over his shoulder, then proceeded to scramble up the narrow bars of the play set until reaching a small, enclosed platform above the swings. “All right! I’m ready, Daddy!”

“Just a minute,” Amasee called out, then turned back to his wife. They embraced a last time and kissed softly before walking together to the car. He lifted the door, glancing at the suitcase he’d tossed into the backseat earlier, and got in. There was a catch-all on the console between the seats and he carefully set the lilacs in it. “I’ll call when I get to the capital.”

She nodded and stood back from the car as he swung the door down and started the engine, the soft whine of the electric motor fading in intensity as the flywheel came up to speed. Amasee pulled the car slowly down the gravel drive that led to the main road to the city, careful to remember to wave to Thad, and flashed his lights in a silent good-bye to Marabell.

The main road was hardtop, and he accelerated rapidly on the smooth pavement. Darkness was closing in quickly now, and he dialed the car’s headlights to their highest setting until he reached the connecting ramp to the intercity highway. Built shortly after the Quake, the new road was a straight throughway to the shuttle station on the south side of Dannen.

As he pulled the car into the leftmost lane, a chime sounded and an accompanying light blinked on the dashboard indicating that the magnetic guidance strips embedded in the road had linked to the car’s system. “Dannen Station,” he said aloud, “northbound terminal.” He squeezed the steering wheel twice, locking the car into road guidance, and leaned back into the seat. The car accelerated smoothly.

It would take nearly an hour to get to the station and he thought about napping, realizing that he’d get little rest once he arrived at the capital, but instead watched the cars in the noncontrol section of roadway at his right as they sped past the windows. When the glow of Dannen Station appeared through the windshield, still two kilometers distant, he idly watched the red and white lights of aircraft coming and going from the facility. Most were simple air traffic, but at one point he recognized the lights and exhaust signature of a spaceplane. Even at this distance the white-hot exhaust almost hurt to look at. As the spaceplane’s trajectory became more vertical, the windshield vibrated and he felt the rolling thunder of the rocket motors kick in as the air-breathing jet engines shut down. It receded rapidly into the sky, but the night was cloudless and he was able to follow the pinpoints of its exhaust as they dwindled on its way into orbit.

He glanced at the clock on the dash. Right on time, he thought. The plane was the daily shuttle ferrying personnel and supplies to a starship in orbit, a very special ship. The Thunder Child was among the fastest class of starships Pallatin constructed, but its mission would be diplomatic, not exploratory. The diplomacy carried aboard her was backed with more than diplomats, however: Instead of the latest scientific equipment Pallatin’s researchers could devise, the ship fairly bristled with weaponry. In less than three weeks it would leave orbit to meet the Imperial starship that even now was decelerating toward Pallatin.

Amasee Niles, as Speaker of the Westland Congress—together with his Eastland counterpart—would be aboard the Thunder Child when it left.

He followed the lights until they grew too dim to see, then, squeezing the steering wheel twice to disengage the road link, pulled the car back into the manual lane. The automatic system would have taken him directly into the terminal, but he felt the sudden need to do something, anything, to keep his hands—and his mind—occupied. Despite his best efforts, however, one thought forced itself upon him, against his will, just as it had time and again in the last months of final preparation for the starship’s coming:

Yes, I hate them, too.

Javas’ message string was different from the many thousands that awaited Adela when, still a month away from Pallatin, she awoke from nearly twenty years of cryosleep. She had put through a worm program, of course, to sort and categorize each of the strings according to importance, subject matter, timeliness and any of dozens of other criteria that would allow her to better handle the sheer mass of information demanding her attention. Many didn’t need to be addressed for some time, and could wait in a holding file until later. Messages that did not require her personal attention at all, according to the explicit criteria she’d encoded into the worm, were rerouted automatically to other members of her project team. It was their job—indeed, their whole reason for accompanying her on this trip—to handle the items related to her work while she was involved in the diplomacy of the mission or while she was in cryosleep. Still other messages had been outdated years ago and were simply purged from the waiting queue entirely.

It was the queue coded as “personal” that concerned her now, and even among them the worm program had arranged all the strings in order of importance. Except one. The worm had kicked the string to the top of the queue against the criteria that she’d carefully emplaced: her own programming superseded by Imperial code.

Adela de Montgarde stirred uneasily in her chair, experiencing both anxious anticipation to view the holo from Javas, and dread as to its contents. Why had he separated this string from the others? There were several other personal message strings from him; why had this one been given imperative-to-read-first status?

“System.” Her voice was soft in the confines of her private suite aboard the huge ship, and it carried with it a tone she didn’t much care for, a tone that told more about her feelings just now than she wanted to admit to herself.

“Ma’am?” the room system responded. The nondescript efficiency of the voice, different from the softly feminine voice of the system back on Luna, was at once annoying and reassuring.

“Please put a code one interrupt on all incoming messages until further notice.” There was a confirming chirp from the system, indicating that she wouldn’t be disturbed for anything short of a shipwide emergency. “Display personal string one-A, message one.” The corner of the room brightened, changing into what she recognized as Javas’ study at the family estate on Earth. He sat in one of the leather chairs before his old wooden desk. The large double doors behind him had been opened, and she could see the rolling Kentucky hillside spreading majestically into the distance. He looked worn, older, and she found it necessary to remind herself that this recording had been made only a few years after her departure from Sol system. How much older must he look now? she wondered as the sixteen-year-old recording coalesced before her. She wished, not for the first time, that she could have stayed behind at his side.

Her attention had been immediately, emotionally, drawn to his face when the image appeared, and it wasn’t until he shifted slightly in the chair before speaking that she became aware of the compact, blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. One corner of the receiving blanket had been pulled aside, revealing a tiny, peaceful face. The infant was asleep, its fresh, pink features appearing incongruously small in the man’s strong arms. A thick mass of dark hair, in a shade that closely matched her own, stood out in marked contrast to Javas’ blond hair.

But Adela could see—perhaps in the man’s eyes or in the way his arms seemed to naturally enfold the baby in his arms—that the two were connected, bonded in a way that she was not. Bonded in a way she could only long to experience.

“Adela, my love, we have a son. His name is Eric, after your father. I regret that I was not able to discuss this with you and hope you will understand my reasons. If not, then perhaps it is your forgiveness that I…”

“Pause.” Adela stared in fascination at the frozen image before her, unable even to determine exactly what she was feeling at this moment. She hadn’t known what to expect of this string, but was this news more, or less, disturbing; more, or less, surprising than anything she could have anticipated? Was she angry with him for having done this, or joyful for the miracle that had produced this small part of herself, this proof of the love she felt for a man more than sixteen years distant in space, and forty years distant in time itself? Adela shook her head in frustrated confusion, pushing any decision she might make concerning her feelings away for now—much in the same way the worm had pushed the non-immediate messages further and further down the queue for later consideration. There was one thing, however, of which she was certain: The child was beautiful.

She opened her mouth to speak, to restart the playback, and was shocked at the croaked whisper that came out. The room system itself had not been able to pick up the word, and beeped in confusion. Adela cleared her throat.

“Resume playback, please.”

“… should hope for,” he said, finishing the sentence begun earlier. He stirred again in the chair, distracted from the recorder lens as a tiny arm came up from the blanket. The infant had been awakened by his father’s voice, she saw, and the little eyes blinked at the bright light streaming through the double doors into the Emperor’s study. The baby didn’t seem pleased, and wrinkled his brow in dislike at the intrusion into whatever thoughts had been going through its dreams, but did not cry. Javas stood, cradling the bundle protectively in his strong arms as he almost imperceptibly rocked the infant. “I won’t go into my reasons just now; I’ll save the lengthy explanation for the following recording in this string. But I wanted… to share this with you first.” He stood there for several moments, trying to think of something else to add and, although he looked as though he were about to say something, stopped when a tiny hand reached out and grazed his cheek. Whatever he was going to say was instantly lost as he smiled and lowered his eyes to the infant before silently commanding the recording to end. The image dimmed, then faded from view.

“Shall I display the next message, ma’am?”

Adela didn’t answer at first, and sat staring quietly at the now-dark corner of the room. She had discussed this possibility with Javas before leaving for Pallatin and had accepted, at the time, the implications. So why can’t I tell what I’m feeling right now? she wondered, and fell heavily back into the cushioning firmness of the chair. The gravity in her quarters—as in the quarters of nearly everyone on the ship who’d be visiting the planet—had been set to Pallatin-normal, allowing her an opportunity to adjust to the 1.2 g environment below. Her day was only half begun, and already she felt exhausted.

“Shall I display the next message, ma’am?” the system repeated.

“Uh, no,” she replied. “Replay previous recording.”

The corner glowed again as the message began once more. She let it play through till the end, waiting for the moment when Javas had stood just before ending the recording. “Pause, and mark.” The image froze. “Resume.” The playback restarted, and continued through his silent command to end the recording. “Pause, and mark,” she repeated just before the image began to fade. “System. Edit, please.”

“Ready.”

“Loop and smooth the marked segment, please.”

“Ready.”

“Playback.”

The computer had edited the recording, smoothly blending Javas’ movements from the moment where he smiled and turned his eyes to the infant and the end of the recording itself, looping the segment into one continuous image.

She rose then and approached the holographic projection before her, stopping mere centimeters from the lifelike image as she looked into the infant’s face. She wanted more than anything to hold, to touch her son and would have gladly given up the entire project and her role in it for just a moment alone with Javas and their child. She reached out, her fingers passing through the image, and noticed something she hadn’t seen from her previous vantage point when she’d first viewed the recording: A happy, toothless smile had spread over the baby’s face as it stared up into Javas’ eyes. Adela stepped through the image itself and looked down into the baby’s face from almost the same angle Javas had when he’d made the recording sixteen years earlier.

Although she knew better, she tried to force from her mind the fact that the baby seemingly looking up at her was now, at this exact moment back on Earth, a young adult.

“Eric,” she whispered, and felt the corners of her mouth turn up in the beginnings of a smile that quickly broadened of its own accord into a joyous grin.

Chapter Eighteen

Commander Montero, captain of the Imperial starship Levant, droned on, giving his delivery of the required precontact briefing as much excitement as he did most of his lectures. Which was to say that a schoolboy’s recitation of a memorized spelling list would contain more spark. Even the constantly changing images on the holoscreen behind him failed to enliven the briefing. The boredom hanging like a dark cloud over the room was compounded by the fact that virtually everything Montero said came from the mission data stick that everyone attending the briefing had already been required to review anyway. With only a week to go before the rendezvous with the Pallatin ship, even the busiest member of the mission would have had time to read the file. Twice.

Only a few of those in the room were actually part of the ship’s crew; most of the members of the diplomatic contact team were nonmilitary personnel, like Adela, and had little experience with the details and rigors of a military briefing. Although a few questions were asked and some clarifications were made to the contents of the data stick, most of the information was being given only because protocol required that a formal briefing be held.

There were more than fifty seats in the briefing room, nearly all of them filled, making it somewhat easier for those who had only recently come out of cryosleep to take the opportunity to nod off if they slouched in their seats just right and hid behind those in front of them. Adela scanned the rows around her, easily picking out several people who couldn’t have been out of the tank more than a few days, and wondered idly if she looked that bad when she came out of cryo. May as well get used to it, she thought, nudging the person next to her with an elbow to quiet his snoring. When this project is finally over, I’ll have logged more years of cryosleep than everyone in this room—maybe even the ship-combined. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, realizing that she would outlive most of the people in the briefing room. But with only a few exceptions, these people here were strangers and meant little to her, but for the important role they might play in the mission to Pallatin. And that realization disturbed her even more. Just when did I stop caring about other people? She lowered her head and sighed loudly enough that those around her might have heard if the crewman next to her hadn’t started snoring again.

The real reason for her feelings was clear, she knew, and had been for some time. It wasn’t that she cared less for others, it was that she cared more for something else: the project itself. It wasn’t more important than her life; it was her life. After all, isn’t that why Rihana Valtane’s words still echoed in her mind as clearly as they had that day in her office back on Luna some twenty-odd years earlier? “You will lose him, you know,” Rihana had said, “just as I did.”

Even now, Adela saw the woman’s wicked smile, heard the amused satisfaction that laughed silently at her from behind the truth in Rihana’s words: When the Pallatin problem was resolved and she returned to Earth, Javas would be more than forty years older than when she left. Eric would be a grown man. And after the next period of cryosleep? And the next? Damn you, she cried out silently. God damn you for being right. Adela felt her lips tighten and noticed that her hands had balled into fists in her lap.

She forced herself to calm down, pushed the thoughts of losing Javas and Eric out of her mind and concentrated instead on Montero’s lecture.

“… the major landmass is divided longitudinally by an enormous fault system,” he was saying, absently pulling on one corner of his thick brown moustache, “consisting of high ridges thrust up through the planetary crust and deep canyons stretching hundreds of kilometers. As on the rest of the planet, this fault system is very active, and weekly, even daily, tremors are not uncommon. The entire planet is highly active tectonically, a condition caused by the planet’s relatively young age, as well as its higher gravity and vast amounts of heavy metal deposits. According to Imperial records, there has been some effort by the citizens of the eastern portion of the continent to reconfigure the entire planet’s coordinate system based on this fault line, making it, in effect, longitude zero, which would add an emotional and psychological division to the continent as well. It is not surprising that the Eastland natives are the most adamant about not wishing to cooperate with the Empire. The natives call this major fault ‘Arroyo,’ and many of their location names are based on the given fault name even when the intent seems to refer instead to the proper longitude. Terms and phrases like ‘dawnside Arroyo’ and ‘one hundred kilometers west Arroyo’ are quite common, although the actual significance of the name itself is unclear. The major cities are separated—”

“Is there water in this fault system?” Adela called out. She wasn’t sure why she had felt the need to speak up just now. Perhaps it was the lingering anger from her thoughts of Rihana Valtane moments before. Or the cavalier attitude with which Montero seemed to view their entire purpose here. More likely, the underlying reason was a combination of both.

Commander Montero stared open-mouthed at her, the look on his face frozen somewhere between surprised anger at being interrupted and frantic indecision at not being able to answer her question. It didn’t help that everyone in the room not asleep was now staring at him, waiting for him to respond to the Emperor’s chosen representative. He forced a smile, then, “Say again?”

Adela leaned back in her seat and felt everyone shift their attention back to her. “The fault system. Does water periodically fill portions of it?” Ignoring the stares of the others at the briefing, she crossed her arms and waited for him to reply.

“Well… They, uh…” Montero keyed the info screen mounted in his podium, searching for the information. It took a few moments before he found what he was looking for. “Our reports indicate that portions of the fault do hydrate from time to time.” Another pause as he read. “As the edges of the major plates running the length of the fault rise and fall with tectonic activity, both the northern and southern seas occasionally flood into the depression caused by the seismic tremors. According to what we’ve been able to glean from our probing of their libraries, the fault has, on two occasions since Pallatin was colonized, been a continuous waterway from the Grande Sea on the north to the Gulf of Caldonia to the south. Although subsequent activity drained most of the water after each occurrence.”

“That’s almost exactly what the word means.” Several of those attending pivoted and gazed at her with renewed interest and she addressed them, rather than Montero, as she spoke. “It’s an Old Earth term from an area of the North American continent called American Southwest. It refers to a gully or trench that, while normally dry, occasionally fills with water.”

Montero cleared his throat loudly. “Thank you, Dr. Montgarde.” There was just the hint of sarcasm behind his gratitude.

Adela had to remind herself as she listened to Montero resume his rote delivery that the experienced Imperial officer had been hand-chosen by Supreme Commander Fain for his military and spacing abilities, and not his outgoing personality.

“As I started to say before, the cities are widely separated. The more densely settled population centers, those with populations ranging from twenty-five thousand on up to four hundred thousand, are frequently surrounded by smaller communities—mostly agricultural or light industry in nature—that continue to spring up as the population spreads out. However, most of these main ‘hub cities’ are separated from each other by many hundreds of kilometers, and are sometimes connected by a single main road or air traffic only. This is not unusual. In fact, we’ve seen that on many colony worlds it takes centuries for the open spaces between population centers to ‘fill up,’ for lack of a better word.”

“That’s not always true,” Adela put in. “They don’t always ‘fill up.’ How about Australia?” Again, all eyes turned to her.

Again, Montero’s face reddened, but more in mild impatience this time than in frustration. “How about where?”

She stood, addressing the room at large. “Australia is a continent in the southern hemisphere of Earth, settled and colonized much the same way we bring planets into the Hundred Worlds. But most of Australia has an incredibly harsh environment, and although many of its cities became metropolises they still were separated by tremendous distances with little between them even at the height of its population in the late twenty-third century. Pallatin is the same; although you’re beginning to see individual settlements in the intervening spaces between centers, the rough environment here—the hot summers and almost constant seismic activity—will most likely keep this world on the same level as Australia. I doubt seriously that Pallatin will ever ‘fill up.’ ”

Montero’s jaw tightened as if he were gritting his teeth, which he probably was. He was aware of her place of importance, not only to the mission but to the Emperor himself, and he spoke in carefully modulated tones as he addressed Adela. “I fail to see what Old Earth history has to do with our current mission here.”

Adela had enjoyed baiting him, prodding at his pompous nature, but every bit of pleasure drained from her at the remark. “Commander Montero, everything we do here relates to Earth. Our whole purpose for being here is because of Earth’s importance.” She retook her seat before continuing, taking in the others in the briefing room as she went on. “The more all of us know about Earth, the better the chances of our success here. Everything I’ve talked about is available in the ship’s files, of course, easily accessible to anyone with an interest in learning more. In fact, I’ll be happy to give the code numbers for the files to anyone who—”

“Dr. Montgarde—” The sudden timbre of his voice silenced her immediately, and several of the uniformed people around her instantly—if not involuntarily—sat straighter in their chairs. It was obvious that while Montero may not enjoy protocol-required briefings, he still was in command aboard the ship. “Not everyone on board this ship is as convinced at the necessity of saving your precious Earth as you.” He lowered his gaze on her, one eyebrow arched, and a look in his eyes told her more than his words that he was here because he was ordered to be. It became clear to Adela that his interests concerned forcing Pallatin back into line as a member of the Hundred Worlds, and not as a means of furthering the project.

She leaned back in her seat and tried to read the faces on those around her. Who among them agreed with Montero, and who believed that Emperor Nicholas’ dream was a worthy goal? She had no way of telling, but decided that until she found out just who was on her side it might be better not to antagonize Montero further.

“The politics of the two halves of the continent,” he went on as if nothing had happened, “seem as ideologically divided as their geography. Those in Eastland remain as uncooperative as they were at the time of Emperor Nicholas’ address. Those in Westland, however, appear to be leaning toward a normalization of relations with the Hundred Worlds. This, after our long voyage, is a pleasant surprise…” He continued his briefing, taking questions as they came, until finishing up a half hour later. Leaving the holoscreen set on a view of the planet itself, he dismissed the meeting. The uniformed members of the team snapped smartly to attention as he left the room without a word, either to her or to anyone else.

Several people asked politely for the code numbers for the Old Earth history files before they left. As she spoke briefly to them, Adela got the impression that many of the contact team cared no more for Montero or his ways than she did, although she had spent so little time out of the tank on this trip that she hadn’t gotten to know any of them well enough that they actually said anything specific to her in that regard. As to how the crew members scattered around the briefing room felt about their commanding officer, she could only guess.

A chime sounded, indicating that the ship’s mess had opened, and the room cleared quickly. As she made her way to the starboard corridor a uniformed crewman approached her. Not unhandsome, he was of medium build with dark, almost black skin, brown eyes that peered intensely out from beneath a thick, low brow, and wavy black hair that, like many of his crewmates, was pulled back and tied into a short ponytail that just touched the high collar of his uniform. The tabs on his collar indicated that he was a Lieutenant. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties—but then, so did she. “Dr. Montgarde, may I walk with you for a few minutes?”

She knew little about him, other than the fact that he was a specialist in Imperial law, and that he had spent only half the trip in cryosleep. She had met him at one of the pre-embarkation meetings, but had spoken to him only momentarily and couldn’t remember his name. “Certainly. Lieutenant… ?”

“Woorunmarra.”

“Lieutenant Woorunmarra, of course. I’m sorry. I’m usually better at names.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, smiling, flashing very white teeth, “it’s not an easy one to remember.” As he spoke, she tried to place the odd accent. She’d heard many accents in the last several decades as she traveled from planet to planet among the Hundred Worlds since the beginning of the project. But this one seemed stranger than most: harsh, guttural, and yet, each word perfectly formed and melodically enunciated. “I wanted to thank you, back there,” he went on, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of the briefing room.

“Thank me?” Adela responded, not understanding. “Thank me for what?”

“Perhaps I should explain. I’m an Earther. I signed on with the Imperial forces when the Empire began its resettlement on Luna.” He stopped, looked at her. “Not everyone on Earth is against the Emperor’s plan. I wanted to do what I could to help, if only in a small way, so I enlisted.” They resumed walking, taking the corridor leading to the officers’ mess.

“But what did I do that—”

He silenced her with a raised hand. “You know Earth, spoke well of her.” He stopped, a smile spreading across his face. “And you spoke of my homeland as though you knew it.”

“Homeland… You’re from Australia?”

“I am Aborigine. My people, the Arunta, are among the oldest civilizations on Earth, and the only people who remain unchanged.”

“Unchanged?” Adela looked at him dubiously, and without talking down to him, said in a friendly tone of voice, “You’re an officer aboard one of the Empire’s fastest starships, approaching a planet sixteen and a half light-years away from Australia. I’d say that qualifies as change.”

The Lieutenant smiled again, the sound of his laughter as melodic as his words. “You take the word too literally, Dr. Montgarde. I speak of not changin’ here”—he lightly touched his forehead—“and here.” He placed the palm of his hand over his heart. “While Earth grew, and her population went out, first to the solar system and then the stars, her people became different. Their values, their lives. Sometimes, I think their very souls changed. But it was different for us. In the outback, our lives continued as they always did. The family group was always central. The land. The sky. All a part of the Dream Lines and at the heart of who we are. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” They reached the entrance to the officers’ mess and stood to one side of the doorway as they spoke. There was little traffic in the corridor now; the two of them had taken their time and most of the officers were already inside.

“But then the world changed back,” he said, tilting his head. There was a distant look on his face, as though his eyes were watching the scene he described so very far away. “Most of Earth’s people left, and those who remained returned to many of the same old values the Aborigine tribes never abandoned.”

“I’ve studied Earth a great deal,” Adela said, “but you’re obviously much more than a simple tribesman.”

“Ah, that.” Again he laughed. There was a long, cushioned seating area that ran for ten meters on each side of the mess entrance and he indicated they should sit.

He seemed so at ease with himself, so satisfied with his life. Further, his pleasant manner was infectious, and she found herself finally letting go of the anger and frustration she had felt at the briefing.

“Many of my people are educated; many are not. It’s an individual decision. But understand something: Even those who go away from the tribe for very long periods of time return to the outback unchanged. After my graduation from the University at Canberra, I returned home and it was as if I’d never left. My belongin’s and city clothing put away, I was in the bush hunting turkey and roo with my brothers within an hour after my arrival. Even though my brothers could barely read and write, it was as if there were no differences among us in the outback. In our home.”

“I would love to see your home one day.”

He looked at her, his head cocked to one side, and nodded. “Yes. I think you’d like it.” He looked away suddenly, his features at once serious. “We have a legend that tells of those who protect us. It is said that they’re responsible for keepin’ my people whole, and that they’ll be with us in the Dream Time, to keep us as one in the time of fire. We called them the Sky Heroes.”

Adela was fascinated by his tale and motioned for him to continue.

“It is well known, even among many of my people, what will happen to the Sun—we have the broadcasts from the nets—but it is foretold that the Sky Heroes will protect our way of life.”

“Is this a…” She hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “Is this a religion, a matter of faith?”

He turned to her again, his face less serious. “For many Aborigine, yes. For others, it’s only legend and campfire stories for the young. For me?” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows where legend stops and fact begins, ay? But ask yourself somethin’: Who’s goin’ to stop the Sun from dying? Who’s goin’ to stop the great fire?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

He took one of her hands in his. The skin of his hands was rough and calloused, but his touch was warm, strong. “You are. Your scientists, your star captains, your mighty ships. Come to Earth to help us remain whole.”

Adela nodded in understanding. “We are the Sky Heroes,” she said softly, feeling not a little embarrassment. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Again he shrugged, and released her hand. “To be honest, I needed to share it with someone. You see, many of those in my settlement—who believe the old legends—feel that I’ve gone to join the Sky Heroes, that I’ve become one of them. Most know I’m on a starship, that it’s nothin’ more than an extension of the same technology that gives us refrigerators, electric lights and communication. But the others—It’s a big responsibility for me.”

Yes, she thought. It is a very big responsibility.

Amasee Niles stood outside Kip Salera’s cabin, contemplating whether the course he was about to pursue would violate Dominion protocol. No, that wasn’t true, he reminded himself—he already knew that meeting Salera in an unofficial capacity in this manner was a breach of procedure.

Despite his best efforts, they had barely spoken since Thunder Child had left Pallatin, and on the rare occasion when they did talk directly to one another it was only with the most officious manner during meals or briefings where others were present. But with only days remaining before their rendezvous with the Imperial ship, Amasee felt the need to try to establish at least some small amount of personal rapport with the Eastland representative.

He cleared his throat, the sound echoing softly in the deserted passageways, and rapped on the door.

“It’s open, Niles,” came a muffled reply from inside. “Come in.”

The door slid open, revealing a comfortable stateroom that was—although oddly mirror-imaged—identical in both design and furnishings to his own quarters on the port side of the ship. Salera was at his desk on the far side of the room, his back to him, and made a point of ignoring Amasee as he shuffled several folders and data sticks into a zippered case. The desk was next to the bed, and Amasee could see more than a few identical folders scattered over the bedspread. The door closed behind him, and he waited patiently inside the doorway for the man to finish before speaking.

“Be with you in a moment, Niles,” he said, still without turning. Salera leaned the case against the side of the desk, then pivoted about in the chair and proceeded to gather the folders from the bed, stacking them one atop the other in a growing pile placed to one corner of the desk. He glanced up once as he reached for a folder on the side of the bed opposite him, meeting Amasee’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered. “Where are my manners? Please, be seated.” He nodded to a seating group on the other side of the stateroom and continued stacking, selecting each folder one by one in accordance with whatever order of importance he was assigning them.

“You knew it was me.” In spite of the heavy sarcasm obvious in Salera’s comment about manners—and in spite of the distrust and misgivings he felt for his Dominion counterpart—Amasee kept his own delivery light and noncommittal.

“I expected you, you know. You Westlanders are nothing if not predictable.” He finished his stacking and, picking up a tall glass from the desk, sat in the sofa across from Amasee. He took a long drink from the glass, rattling ice cubes as he lowered it, and made no offer of a similar refreshment to his guest. “Besides, you knocked on the door, instead of ringing. Your Westland farmer’s habits seem very hard to break.”

Amasee shrugged, ignoring the remark. Since becoming a Dominion representative, he had grown used to the ridicule often directed at Westland traditions. Even small customs like knocking, considered a simple act of politeness at home, seemed to delight Salera and his fellow representatives to the Joint Dominion.

“Anyway,” Salera went on, “I would have been disappointed had you not made an attempt to influence me before our meeting with the invaders.”

Amasee bristled at the word but, knowing that the Eastlander was making an obvious attempt to get under his skin, controlled his response. “I don’t like that term,” he said carefully, “any more than our respective Congresses do.”

“But then, we are not meeting in Joint Dominion, are we?” Salera finished his drink, never taking his eyes off him, and leaned back in the sofa. He hung his arm over the armrest, swirling the ice annoyingly around the bottom of the glass dangling loosely in his fingertips. “And if I prefer, in the privacy of my own room, to speak of these Imperial ‘diplomats’ as I feel they really are, then what difference does it make what words I use?” He paused a beat, then let all traces of amused sarcasm disappear as he added, “Unless, of course, you wish to declare an official inter-Congress meeting between us. If that is your intention, farmer, then our recorders should be summoned from their respective cabins, and remain present for as long as we have anything important to say to one another.” Salera sat motionless, head tilted questioningly, and waited. “Shall I call them?”

This is a waste of time, Amasee thought, and this man is a fool. The other man could read the anger on his face, he knew, and he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and swallowed hard, forcing his anger down and carefully choosing his next words.

“No. It’s not necessary to call them.” He crossed his legs, assuming a relaxed pose, and noted with a bit of surprise that he felt better, less agitated, now that their initial hostilities were in the open. “I intend to consider anything we say to each other in this room off the record.”

“I thought so.” He rose, crossing to the stateroom’s wet bar. “Since this appears to be a purely social call, then, perhaps I should be a bit more sociable. May I offer you something?”

Amasee nodded, and the two chatted idly for the minute or two it took for him to prepare the drinks. They talked of nothing consequential, limiting their discussion to mundane banter—living arrangements on the ship, the quality of the food, speculation on the evening’s entertainment programming—and Amasee noticed that Salera’s manner changed slightly as they spoke, as if the Eastlander had also been hoping for an opportunity to meet in private. Their mutual animosity remained, but was, for the moment, being set aside by unspoken agreement between them.

“I’m not here to attempt to change your mind,” Amasee began once Salera returned to his place on the sofa. “We both know that would be a pointless waste of time. However, I feel it is absolutely imperative that the Imperial”—he hesitated, not wanting to use a word the other might consider an attempt at agitation—“representatives be allowed to attend a session of Joint Dominion without undue influence. From either of us.”

“Meaning?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Kip! We can’t afford to antagonize them at this point.”

. “I disagree. It matters little to me if they feel antagonized. They already know how we feel about their interference. Have for years. What possible difference could it make to reaffirm our beliefs?”

Amasee nodded, granting at least part of the point he had tried to make. “Yes, but that knowledge is outdated by decades, and you know it. Things have changed on Pallatin, attitudes have changed, just in the time it’s taken them to travel here from Sol.”

“Maybe attitudes have changed in the Westland Congress,” Salera said, “but not in ours, as you discovered in Joint Dominion. We still want no part of the Hundred Worlds, and frankly, I intend to remind them of that fact as soon as we rendezvous with their starship.” He sat back, as determined in his decision as Amasee himself was.

Amasee nodded again, smiling in resignation at their mutual obstinance. “I expected as much.” He sighed heavily, setting his glass down on the end table, then leaned forward on his knees and clasped his hands before him. He regarded his counterpart with a look of deadly seriousness, adding, “However, please understand that if you do, I’ve been authorized by my Congress to pledge full, immediate allegiance to the Hundred Worlds on the spot.”

Salera’s eyes widened in surprised shock as he realized the implications. “But the Westland Congress never discussed this with us in Joint Dominion!” he sputtered, instantly on his feet. “We agreed, voted, that any decision to accept the Empire would be made on a planetwide basis!”

“I know.” Amasee lowered his head, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. “We never welcomed Imperial intervention any more than Eastland has, but we’ve always had doubts about severing Pallatin completely from the Empire because of the genetic aspects of a total separation. That’s even more important now that drift has been proven. We need to check the rate of drift or we won’t be able to map the code; and without the mapping, we leave ourselves wide open to new disease.”

Salera shook his head. “We considered that and rejected it. Any drift that is likely to occur is insignificant.”

“Maybe so, and maybe the threat is more imagined than real. But there’s a vastly simpler reason for staying in the Hundred Worlds.” He stood, paced the room nervously before continuing. “We changed, Kip, after the Quake; we’ve been trying to tell you people that for years. Without your help, Westland might never have been able to rebuild, much less advance. It could not have been done alone. We realize now that Pallatin needs the Empire, just as we needed Eastland after the Quake.” He stopped pacing and turned to the Eastlander.

Salera stared impassively at him, his face an unrevealing mask. His initial shock and anger at Amasee’s threat were obviously gone, but he kept well hidden whatever feelings were going through him now. “Big words from someone who wasn’t even here when the Quake hit,” he said emotionlessly.

There had been no background noise in the room—no music, no information feed, nothing—but the cabin seemed to fall into an even colder silence at the man’s words. Salera stared into his eyes, and although he had certainly meant what he’d said, behind the cold stare was a look of regret at having said it.

“Am… I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for.”

“No,” Amasee replied, surprised at himself that he felt no anger at the remark. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and approached the other man. “No, you’re right. But the fact remains that Westland has come to this decision, and that I’ve been authorized to ally with the Empire if you attempt in any way to antagonize or threaten the Imperial representatives before they’ve had a chance to appear in Joint Dominion.”

He left the threat hanging there, unchallenged, and both men knew the unofficial meeting had come to an end. Salera turned wordlessly and Amasee followed him to the door, but stopped when the man looked back at him before opening it.

“They’re only one starship,” he said, almost pleading. “Together, standing as one, Pallatin might have turned them away.”

“Maybe,” Amasee agreed. “But our philosophies are still too different, yours and ours, and once the Imperial threat was gone we would have drawn even further apart than we are now. And Pallatin would ultimately fall.”

Amasee reached past Salera and thumbed the control switch in the doorjamb, and silently left the stateroom.

Chapter Nineteen

By agreement—reached more through mutual distrust than diplomacy—the two ships came to a halt at the outside limit of their immediate firing range, full shields raised, and remained dead in space until boarding parties could be exchanged.

The Imperial party was immediately outnumbered and disarmed by the security forces aboard Thunder Child the moment they disembarked their transfer shuttle. The Imperial forces put up no resistance whatever, nor had they been ordered to.

Meanwhile, aboard the Imperial starship, the boarding party from the Pallatin ship was similarly received the instant their shuttle docked and the mating seal opened. No resistance was offered by the Pallatins, no overt force used by the starship crew.

Pallatin’s level of shield technology, laughably inferior to the Empire’s, might have allowed the Levant to easily blast the colonial ship from space, and the rumor that Commander Montero might do just that as a demonstration of Imperial force had been circulating among the crew for days. Surely an overt display of Imperial power would bring the upstart colony into line, they thought, followed by an immediate turnaround for home. But then, suppose the advancing ship was little more than an enormous explosive device with only enough crew and thrust to get it into position, waiting for just such a response from the Empire?

Likewise, the Thunder Child might manage to destroy the larger Imperial visitor, or disable it in space. More than a few of the passengers aboard her thought longingly of the possibility, thinking that such an action would say “Leave us alone” more loudly than any words. Of course, there was no way to tell that this envoy from the Hundred Worlds was not intended as a decoy ship, with the genuine—fully armed—Imperial starship following a light-month behind the first.

The inspection took nearly two days. While the true extent of the firepower of each ship was kept from the respective boarding parties, each captain was ultimately assured mat the opposite vessel was what it had been purported to be.

Finally, satisfied that the other was responding honestly, each captain ordered his boarding party to return.

Another full day passed, technicians from each ship carefully monitoring the other for the slightest movement or hint of aggression, while debriefing of the boarding parties took place.

Still another day passed as diplomatic discussions and agreements were conducted between the commanding officers of each ship. Then yet another as final preparations were made.

A week after they met in space, the Levant and Thunder Child finally turned toward Pallatin on a heading that would carry them into orbital insertion.

Commander Montero breathed a sigh of relief once they were safely, and without incident, under way. But somewhere deep in the back of his mind was just the slightest disappointment that the entire matter might have been settled at their first meeting, sending a resounding message to every one of the frontier worlds that to go against the Empire was a useless gesture. Fain had given him the authority, after all, to act as he saw best. Montero pushed the nagging thought out of his mind.

He had no way of knowing, of course, that the captain of the Thunder Child felt almost exactly the same conflicting mixture of relief—and regret—that he did.

Chapter Twenty

“Pallatin is not the same world it was,” said the man who had identified himself as Niles. “We ask only that you meet with us in Joint Dominion before deciding on a course of action that would, of necessity, be based on outdated information.”

Montero sat straight in his chair, as he had throughout this meeting, and nodded pensively. “I am willing to listen.” His demeanor was considerably different from that shown at the several briefings that had taken place in the four weeks since Adela had come out of cryosleep. In those lectures, he was merely dictating a list of facts to bored personnel as a simple act of shipboard protocol. Here, however, there was something at stake, not only for the sake of the successful completion of the mission, but it was clear to Adela that there was a certain amount of personal pride connected to the seriousness with which he conducted himself at this meeting with the Pallatin representatives. His lack of communication skills at briefings was more than counterbalanced by the adept nature in which he handled the diplomatic needs of his command.

Adela herself had little role to play during this session. Although she was nominally Emperor Javas’ official Imperial representative, it was Montero who had jurisdiction here—and the final decision as to their next course of action. Her opportunity to speak would come later, she knew, so she sat quietly, talcing in everything she could about the two men from the planet below them. They, along with Captain Thommas of the Thunder Child, had called for this informal meeting to take place once they’d established orbit around the planet. The three Pallatins sat at one end of the long conference table while Montero; Nelon, his First Officer; a representative of the Imperial Council of Academicians named Yuleeva; and Lieutenant Billy Woorunmarra sat with her at the other. Like her, the others remained silent unless asked by Montero for their input.

“What my esteemed counterpart is saying is quite true.” Representative Salera, Speaker of the Eastland Congress, smiled warmly, glancing in polite deference to the man sitting next to him at the table. “The Quake not only caused major damage to a large portion of the infrastructure west of Arroyo, but several of the shipyards were affected, some extensively. Notably, the facilities at Blankensport, Taw and South Passage remain closed to this day; others, including two Eastland yards closest to the epicenter, are still not operating at full capacity.”

Representative Niles nodded in agreement. “It has become necessary to cut back or delay delivery on several contracts. Other contracts have been withdrawn, with customers applying to suppliers on other worlds.” The Speaker of the Westland Congress shrugged, extending his palms outward on the tabletop. “You see, Commander Montero, so much has changed since you left Sol for Pallatin. While my world’s representatives originally refused all cooperation at the time your project was originally announced—openly denounced the Hundred Worlds, in fact—our circumstances have changed such that it is now a matter of extreme impracticality, rather than mere defiance, that makes honoring the requests made by the Emperor so many years ago a difficult task for us.”

“Am I to understand, then,” asked Montero simply, “that the Joint Dominion of Pallatin no longer opposes the Emperor of the Hundred Worlds?” His hands before him on the table, he leaned forward on his elbows and looked into the face of each of the men in turn.

Adela followed his gaze, attempting to read on their faces what wasn’t being said aloud. Captain Thommas remained impassive, as he had throughout the discussion; clearly his duty was to convey and escort the two official planetary representatives, leaving all matters of diplomacy to them, and he made no attempt to offer anything in response to Montero’s question. Speaker Niles, likewise, did not reply immediately, but turned instead to his counterpart. Salera, however, was visibly agitated by Montero’s blunt query. His large eyes widened, darting occasionally to his two companions, and he seemed to wrestle with a response. Adela noted that Montero missed none of it, and raised her respect for the Commander as he waited patiently for an answer. Salera opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, then started to reply when Speaker Niles interrupted.

“While it is true that Speaker Salera and I represent the Joint Dominion, I think I speak for both of us when I say that we would prefer not to influence you with our own opinions at this time.”

Salera seemed at once unburdened by the remark, and the look of anxiety in his expressive eyes disappeared immediately. “I agree with Speaker Niles’ assessment of the situation.” He leaned back in his chair and addressed Montero directly. “It would be better, if you agree to accept our invitation to attend Joint Dominion, that you come with no biases caused by anything we might say.” He looked questioningly at his counterpart, an eyebrow raised as if to ask, “Was that satisfactory?”

Representative Niles nodded politely, looking unmistakably pleased at what the other man had said.

Montero smiled in understanding. “I concur. For my part, I am willing to keep an open mind in this.” He stood, signaling that the meeting had concluded, and added, “Captain Thommas, Speaker Salera, Speaker Niles; thank you for your time and your candid remarks concerning the status of Pallatin in relation to the rest of the Hundred Worlds. I await your formal invitation.” He smiled again, then bowed slightly.

They returned the formal gesture and left immediately. Montero spoke briefly to the academician before dismissing him, then said a few words to his officers, who followed him out of the room. They didn’t go far, however, and stood talking just outside the open door.

Adela paid little attention to them, her thoughts still on the discussion just concluded.

They were fascinating men.

It was obvious to Adela by the way they had spoken to one another that there was no love lost between the two representatives, but each radiated a strength and comradeship—even in those subject areas in which they clearly disagreed—that displayed a great sense of both pride and honor at what Pallatin had accomplished. If the rest of their people were as strong-willed as were these two, even in disagreement, then the mission to gain Pallatin’s support would not be as simple a matter as using force.

What was it Speaker Solera wasn’t saying? she wondered. Something had passed between the two of them at the conclusion of the meeting, Adela knew, but what? It was obvious to her, and certainly to Montero as well, that he was holding something back.

She was no closer to figuring out what it was an hour later when, back in her cabin, her thoughts were disturbed by the door chime.

“Yes?” she called, activating the room system. “Who is it?”

“Only me, Doctor.” She recognized Lieutenant Woorunmarra’s melodic voice. “May I talk to you?”

“Open.” She crossed the short distance to the door, picking up a notepad from her desk, and extended her hand as she welcomed the officer in and led him to the seating area. “Please, feel at home.”

“Thank you.” He looked enviously around at the comfortable suite with an appreciative look common to military personnel more used to spartan living quarters, and nodded his approval. “We’ve received formal invitation to attend a session of Joint Dominion, and Commander Montero has accepted.”

“That’s excellent! When?”

“In three days, ship’s time.”

She opened the pad and quickly keyed in the information. “They didn’t waste much time, did they?”

“No, but I’m not really that surprised. The session must’ve been planned for weeks to coincide with our arrival. No doubt they merely needed only to relay our willingness to join them before makin’ it official.”

It made sense. Why else would they have been so confident that setting up a Joint Dominion could be handled as quickly as they’d indicated? “I’ll need every bit of the time to get ready,” she said, still tapping notes into the pad. “Although I’ll be able to let some of the others handle a few of—”

“There’s something else,” he interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically somber. “I’m the only member of the diplomatic team who’s to attend the session.”

Her fingers froze over the keys of the notepad and she was about to protest, but he held up a hand before she could speak.

“I’ll be accompanied by several members of the ship’s security, politely and discreetly armed, of course; but Commander Montero feels that, in the interests of safety, no other essential contact personnel should go down at this time.”

“Safety!” she burst out, unable to hold back her anger, and was on her feet immediately. “Safety from what? System!”

“Ma’am?”

Adela stood facing the holo display area in the corner of the room, her back to the young officer. “I want to talk to Commander Montero, right now.”

There was a confirming chirp as the room system complied. She looked over her shoulder and stared wordlessly at the Lieutenant for several moments and, literally too angry to speak to him just then, turned away again and entered a few more notes into the pad before slapping the cover closed. Woorunmarra started to say something, but apparently thought better of it and settled back quietly and waited as the call was put through.

There was another chirp as the system responded, and Adela faced the corner, expecting it to brighten with the glow of the holo. It did not, and Adela felt the anger rise anew within her. “Ma’am? Commander Montero requests that—”

“System,” she said forcefully, cutting off the response. “Put it through again.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the room system responded, sounding efficiently anything but apologetic, “your last command had been disallowed by executive order of the Commander until delivery of current message. Will you accept?”

Damn him, she thought, sighing in frustration. “Yes! I’ll accept.”

“Commander Montero requests that you and Lieutenant Woorunmarra meet with him personally. He’ll be waiting in his starboard office on the command deck, and will expect your arrival in fifteen minutes.”

Adela turned and went back to sit across from Woorunmarra, calling back over her shoulder, “Tell Commander Montero we’re on our way.” She looked at him, studying his features, and couldn’t decide if she was mad at him or not.

“Well, now,” he chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was expecting your call.”

“The movements are taking place here, here and here.”

As First Officer Nelon spoke, Adela saw a glowing red dot appear at each of the points he described on the projected representation of Pallatin hanging in the air next to him. A dozen such marks were already scattered on the surface of the projection, most of them located in the Eastland portion of the continent.

“And here,” Nelon went on, “are the locations where we’ve detected fluctuations in power consumption and routing.” A series of pulsing yellow circles appeared, interconnected by thin yellow lines. Again, most of the activity appeared in the major cities of the east and along the eastern edge of the Arroyo fault.

Montero sat behind the desk, hands steepled against his chin, and frowned in displeasure at what he was hearing. She and Woorunmarra occupied two of the chairs placed opposite the desk, the angle just right that Adela could see the Commander’s displeased reflection in the smooth plastic surface of the desktop.

“We’ve been holographing the surface of the planet for weeks, of course,” Montero put in. “But the activity you see up there has been taking place for only the last few days, beginning first in the east. Westland has begun to respond in a similar manner, as you can see, to whatever is happening down there. We don’t know what the significance is, or if there’s any reason to suspect a hostile intent directed at us.”

“Nothin’ at all on the air?” asked Woorunmarra of the First Officer.

Nelon glanced once at Montero, who nodded for him to continue. “We’ve monitored all their broadcasts, both public and private—we have been, in fact, since long before we were close enough to get these readings here—but there’s been nothing said of this.”

Adela swiveled in her chair and indicated the marks on the holo. “No hint in the broadcasts what any of this might be about?”

“Well, there’s been a great deal of talk about our coming, as you might expect. Not all of it complimentary to the Hundred Worlds, either.” Nelon shook his head in frustration and swept an arm through the projection. “But nothing that seems related to any of this. Either this is something that’s so normal there’s no reason to broadcast it, or they want to keep it from us as long as they can.”

Adela stood, nearing the projection for a better look, and studied the locations of the overlaid lines and marked spots on the globe. There were far more on the eastern continental mass, with the power readings radiating in logical sequences from point to point. On the western side, the markings were much more random and interspersed, as though being done in a hurry. After several moments she turned back, addressing no one in particular. “Maybe it’s not us they’re trying to keep this from.”

The room was silent for several moments as Adela’s suggestion was considered. Finally Montero nodded thoughtfully, stroking his moustache with the tips of his thumb and index finger. “It makes sense. That would explain why the readings appeared in the east first, followed later by similar activity in the west. Monitoring satellites operated from the spaceport in Dannen must have picked up the same readings at about the same time we did, and are only now responding to whatever is happening. It might also explain why both Speakers were so vague when we contacted them and asked what was going on down there. Obviously neither is fully aware of what the other is up to.” Montero paused. “I think it’s just as obvious that our real adversary here is Eastland.” He turned to his First Officer. “Thank you, Nelon. Keep monitoring the movements and power readings, and let me know if any significant changes in the numbers occur.” Nelon snapped stiffly to attention, nodded curtly and exited the room, leaving the three of them alone.

“Do you understand now,” Montero asked Adela, “why I’ve limited the size of the delegation to the Joint Dominion?”

Adela looked squarely at him and considered her words judiciously. Where just a short time earlier she might have willingly let her anger at his decision speak for her, Nelon’s presentation of what was happening on the planet below told both her and Woorunmarra that Montero had truly made his decision based on honest fear for their safety.

“Yes, I do understand your concerns, Commander; but I have been chosen by Emperor Javas himself to represent the Hundred Worlds in this matter. He and I both knew the risks involved before we set out from Sol. Admittedly, with this new information there may be more of a threat hidden here than any of us thought; but I accepted the risks, as did he, and am perfectly willing to go through with my part. Can you do any less?”

Woorunmarra cleared his throat. “If I may speak?” Montero was clearly prepared to listen to their arguments, and motioned for him to go on. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Dr. Montgarde. It’s well known now throughout the Hundred Worlds that the project has begun and that she plays the most important role in its successful completion. With that comes the knowledge the Emperor—represented by you and the full power of the weaponry on this starship—would most certainly punish any world responsible for harmin’ her. For this very reason, Dr. Montgarde would probably be the safest member of the diplomatic team while on the planet.”

“That’s probably true,” Montero agreed, “but it is no less true that if something were to happen to Dr. Montgarde while she was planetside, the project might be irreparably set back.” He turned to Adela, raising an eyebrow. “Are you prepared to accept that risk, Doctor?”

Adela smiled. “Perhaps my actual importance has been exaggerated a bit, for the sake of good public relations.” The Commander’s brow furrowed momentarily, and a puzzled look swept over his features. “What I mean is that I am not entirely indispensable to the project. Everything I’ve researched—the formulae, the equations, the resources and needs—is a matter of Imperial record.” She sighed heavily as she realized the implications of what she was saying. She knew it was true, but had never admitted it to herself. “It’s true that I am the driving force behind the project and that the progress of the preparatory research and development of ships and materials might be slowed down somewhat by my absence. However, the project has almost taken on a life of its own. Most of the Hundred Worlds have embraced our efforts as a way of revitalizing themselves and their economies. The scientific community within the Empire is already seeing benefits and new discoveries from the early research.”

She paused, allowing her smile to return before adding, “Even Commander Fain sees the advantages to be gained in increased fleet strength.”

Montero looked from her to Woorunmarra, then back to her again. “Go on.”

“Commander, half of my work—the original research, and convincing Emperor Nicholas of its worthiness—is finished. The other half won’t take place until very near the end of the project many generations from now. The most important thing I can do now is to represent the project and smooth its forward motion, to convince those still uncertain of its validity.” She stood and approached the holographic image of Pallatin. In the time they’d spoken, additional lines of power routing had appeared, further crisscrossing the planet’s surface. “Don’t you see? If I’m to be excluded from the legitimate diplomatic functions of this mission, then I fail to understand why I’m here at all. I might as well get back in the tank and sleep until my scientific abilities are required.”

Clearly weakening, Montero rubbed tiredly at his temples as he addressed her. “You are an integral part of my duties here, Dr. Montgarde, I won’t—can’t deny it. But you are also the single most important aspect of the reason behind our mission here. I’ve made no secret of my doubts for this plan to save Earth’s Sun. But then again, were it not for your project, the opportunity to bring some of the more recalcitrant members of the Hundred Worlds into line might never have arisen. For that I am truly grateful. And who knows? Perhaps this idea that has so captured Emperor Javas and Commander Fain is a worthy goal after all. If that is so, then we all win. Please, be seated.”

Adela returned to her chair, glancing once at Woorunmarra, who couldn’t hide the look of approval on his dark features and made no attempt to do so.

“Did you know that I met with the Emperor before we left?” he asked, his face glowing pleasantly with the memory. “I’ve never been nervous or frightened of anything since joining the Imperial Forces. Until then. He and Commander Fain wanted to speak to me personally before the Levant set out, to tell me how important it was that this mission be successful. They told me I was to do anything, make any decision that I felt would increase our chances of a favorable outcome. But the Emperor also told me to trust your judgment, Doctor. Now, why do you suppose he said that?”

Adela had no answer for the rhetorical question and waited silently for him to continue.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You will accompany Lieutenant Woorunmarra to the Joint Dominion.” He stood and extended his hand, first to her, then Woorunmarra.

“Good luck to both of you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The chamber was filled to capacity, although Adela didn’t actually find it necessary to look for empty seats to prove it. The sound level alone told her that there could not possibly be room for more people in here. The Dominion chamber had been designed along the lines of an amphitheater or lecture hall: a circular arrangement of comfortable seats placed at long, curved tables tiered row upon row. At each seat, the light of a shaded lamp reflected off a flat-panel keypad mounted flush in the tabletop before every representative. A long, steep set of steps bisected the circle of seats, with the representatives from districts in Eastland seated on one side, while those from Westland occupied the seats on the other. Behind her, mounted on the curved wall, was a tally board listing the names of each of the representatives; all the names glowed softly on the board and were divided, with those from Westland listed in order according to their numerical district on the left side, while the representatives from Eastland were on the right.

Adela let her eyes scan up the inclining rows to where a double balcony of spectators, similarly divided, overlooked the proceedings in the chamber. Those seated there were every bit as animated as the representatives below them. At each doorway, at the top and bottom of the steps, and at the end of every tenth row, a Dominion security officer stood and watched the unruly crowd with nervous eyes. The entire thing reminded her of the Grisian Parliament, although her homeworld had nothing that compared with this huge chamber and, more importantly, had never seen this much turmoil and disagreement during a parliamentary session.

Her prepared address before the Joint Dominion had been well received at first, or rather, it had been well received from the Westland side of the chamber. The Eastland representatives had listened to her politely, but silently, for the most part, and it wasn’t until the floor had been opened for questions that the real pandemonium had set in. Members of both sides of the chamber were shouting and arguing not only with those on the other side but among themselves as well. Several were on their feet as they demonstrated, and it seemed that actual physical confrontation might be imminent at several spots in the big room. If the disorder in the chamber was any indication, her address had been entirely wasted on them.

The two Speakers, seated with several Dominion officials at a long table on the dais directly below the podium where she now stood, were making futile attempts to restore order. Each banged gavels and shouted at the Dominion members in the seats nearest them.

This is hopeless, Adela thought disgustedly. Totally and irretrievably hopeless. She found Woorunmarra in the assembly, flanked by several Imperial guards in the guest seating area, and saw that the feelings of failure that were now going through her were also reflected in him. The dark features that so effortlessly beamed his very thoughts when happy, expressed, she was sorry to discover, unhappiness even more effectively. Her lips drew into a tight line and she shook her head in frustration. He nodded back, indicating that he understood.

A movement below her caught her attention. Speaker Niles had leaned to his Eastland counterpart and was discussing something with him, and even though he had to shout for the man to hear, she still wasn’t able to make out what he was saying over the din. The two spoke animatedly for several minutes, seeming to be in nearly as strong a state of disagreement as the chamber at large, before Salera gave an assenting wave of his arm.

Niles leaned forward and shouted into the microphone. “This chamber will come to order or it will be cleared!” He hammered the gavel on its strike plate several times as he shouted. “This session will be terminated and the chamber cleared!” It was necessary for him to make the threat repeatedly before it seemed that the noise finally began to subside.

Just as the uproar had begun in the lower portions of the chamber before spreading up through the spectator galleries, so now did the slow wave of quieting. Speaker Niles continued to hammer away with the gavel until everyone returned to their seats and all that was left in the chamber was a heavy, constant murmuring.

“Members of the Joint Dominion, your attention. If there is a further outburst similar to the one just concluded, we will declare this Dominion terminated.” He looked to his side, and Speaker Salera leaned forward.

“Speaker Niles of Dannen is correct. While I am hesitant to bring these important proceedings to a halt, and while I am on record as being in opposition to the Speaker’s position as it regards the requests made of us by the Emperor’s representative, I am forced to agree that disorder in this chamber cannot be tolerated.”

The murmur decreased further.

“Very well,” said Niles. “These proceedings will resume from the point at which they were interrupted. Speaker Salera?” He placed the gavel on the table and leaned back in the chair.

“Thank you,” Salera said, standing to address the chamber. “There was a question on the floor from Eastland Representative Blakert of Stannary. Representative, the floor is yours; would you please restate the question?” Salera indicated a man in the fourth row and nodded his head reassuringly to him. Even from her vantage point behind Salera, Adela could tell that something passed between the Eastland Speaker and his representative, some silent message or agreement that she couldn’t understand.

In the fourth row, a man stood and faced Adela. “Since the Empire is asking Pallatin to participate in this project on a planetwide basis,” he began, “requiring a united statement issued by the Joint Dominion before taking any action against us, what would be the Imperial response if no statement were to be issued?”

What’s he getting at? Adela wondered. She saw that most of the people in the chamber grew nervous at his question.

Speaker Niles stared at Salera, a deadly, questioning expression plain on his face. The sound of whispering among the representatives reached her ears.

“I’m afraid that I was prepared only for your scientific and technical questions regarding the project to save Earth’s Sun,” she replied. “Your question steps into the area of legalities and colonial protocol, and I’d like to defer your question to Lieutenant Woorunmarra, who has accompanied me here today. The Lieutenant is here to interpret the legal aspects of our dealings with your government, and reports directly to Commander Montero aboard the Levant.”

Both Niles and Salera, almost in unison, said, “No objections.” Speaker Niles motioned for him to approach, and he joined Adela on the podium.

Woorunmarra spoke directly to the man without hesitation. “Am I to understand, Representative Blakert, that a joint statement might be delayed, for reasons beyond the control of the Joint Dominion?” He had obviously studied the protocol of the colony’s governmental procedure, and Adela was impressed with the way he presented himself. When he spoke, he spoke in an official manner, and she was surprised to hear that nearly all traces of the accent and speaking patterns to which she’d become accustomed had vanished. She was not the only one impressed, it seemed; both Speakers had turned to listen to him as he responded to the question and they, too, seemed taken with him.

“No, Lieutenant.” Blakert paused and regarded the Speaker for his Congress. Salera nodded slowly for him to continue. “I am asking what the Imperial response would be if the two Congresses could not agree to issue a joint statement.”

Woorunmarra considered the question for a moment before replying. “If lengthy debate on the wording of a joint statement were to continue, Commander Montero, as the official liaison for the Emperor, would take no overt action against the people of Pallatin—unless a direct attack were made against the Imperial vessel Levant or against any member of her crew—until such time as a vote was taken in Joint Dominion, and a statement issued.”

“And if no such statement was forthcoming, Lieutenant… ?” The man appeared to try to remember the pronunciation of the Lieutenant’s aboriginal family name, but gave up. “What would be the Imperial response?”

There was a sudden increase in the background chatter among those in the chamber at the question, and Speaker Niles was forced to retrieve the gavel from its resting place and strike it firmly a few times to restore order. When relative quiet had returned, he turned to the podium to indicate that the Lieutenant could continue. When he did, Adela saw the worried look on his face, the undisguised fear in his eyes.

“There would be no overt response,” Woorunmarra said levelly. The man remained standing, looking pleased at the answer until he added, “Initially.”

“Initially, sir?” Blakert replied.

“It is a point of Imperial law and custom, as I’m sure you are fully aware, Representative Blakert, that the Empire would not wish to interfere with, nor make demands of, a member world that is not united in its dealings with the Empire. However, just as Commander Montero has been given the authority—by Emperor Javas himself—to determine the best course of action to take should the Joint Dominion issue a united statement against the Empire; so, too, has he been given the authority to deal with Pallatin, as he determines best, should there be a total lack of cooperation. The decision would be his to make, at such time as he sees fit to make it, and would be backed up by the full might of the Hundred Worlds.”

“May I ask a question of the Eastland Representative?” inquired Niles, then waited. Dominion rules of order required the permission of the Eastland Speaker before he could directly address or interrogate a representative of the opposite Congress who had been granted the floor. Salera seemed about to refuse, but apparently thought better of it and motioned for Niles to proceed.

“Why would no joint statement be issued?” he asked bluntly. His voice carried with it a tone of challenge, it seemed to Adela, but at the same time clearly expressing that he already knew the answer. “The debate here will most certainly be both heated and lengthy, as our discussions proved during the weeks we awaited the arrival of the Imperial starship, but the question may be called at virtually any time.”

Most of the whispering in the Dominion chamber faded quickly away as members of both Congresses turned their complete attention to the confrontation forming between the Westland Speaker and Eastland representative. For the first time since he’d gotten up to address the Speaker, Blakert grew openly nervous. He seemed to be having trouble finding something to do with his hands, and his eyes darted from Niles to Salera and back again.

“Representative Blakert?”

“It’s true that at any point in the debate the question may be called,” the man said finally. “But that would only apply if a Joint Dominion were in session… indeed, if a Dominion still existed.” He paused, and the whispers increased to fill in the gap as he regarded Woorunmarra once more, asking, “Legally speaking, Lieutenant, based on what you said a few minutes ago, the Empire of the Hundred Worlds would not interfere if a condition were to arise that prevented a united statement to be issued. Would that consideration also cover a condition under which the Dominion were to, for whatever reason, be dissolved?”

The chamber exploded in raucous cries and shouted accusations from the Westland Congress, forcing Niles to again use the gavel repeatedly. It took several minutes for the noise to subside, and as Woorunmarra awaited an opportunity to answer, Adela saw Speaker Niles turn to Salera, his eyes wide with anger. Still pounding the gavel with his right hand, he covered his microphone with his left, shouting more in rage than to be heard.

“Bastard!” she heard him exclaim. She regarded Woorunmarra at her side, and it was clear from the look on his face that he could also hear what the man was saying. “You set this up all along, didn’t you?”

Salera cupped his hand over his own microphone. “We need to stay together if we’re to defy the Empire, Am!”

“We must stay together, yes; but not in defiance of the Hundred Worlds! We need them as much as we need each other!”

“It’s your choice, Am,” he said, lowering his voice as the room began to settle. “We can dissolve the Dominion. We’ve got the votes to do it.”

Niles shrank back in horror at what Salera was suggesting and, as order returned to the chamber, lay the gavel on its side in front of him. Without turning, he indicated for Woorunmarra to reply to the question.

“Representative Blakert, if at any time during our visit the Dominion should be dissolved, no action would be taken until such time as a resolution to the difficulties between the two Congresses were to be reached. We would offer whatever assistance and mediation we could, at Pallatin’s request, to resolve the differences between you.” There was a heightened buzz at this, but he quickly continued before disorder could spread through the chamber. “I must caution you, however—this applies to dealings with member worlds under normal circumstances. Our reason for being here in the first place stems from Pallatin’s refusal to cooperate with the Hundred Worlds and, obviously, the situation could be called anything but normal circumstances. With that in mind, let me restate that Commander Montero has the ultimate authority here, and will act as he sees fit for the general welfare of the Empire. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, sir, it does.” Blakert looked solemnly at the faces of his co-representatives seated nearest him. All were silent, waiting for him to continue.

Woorunmarra leaned to Adela and spoke softly in her ear. “You know what they’re doin’, don’t you?”

“Speaker Niles was right,” she whispered back, guessing what he was getting at. “This whole thing, this whole session and our part in it, was nothing but an elaborate setup.”

He nodded agreement and seemed about to add something, but stopped when Blakert spoke up again.

“Speakers, my fellow Representatives to the Ninety-second Dominion, citizens of Pallatin,” he began. The chamber was hushed, expectant, and he pivoted about slowly as he addressed the attendees, allowing his gaze to sweep over the crowd before turning back to face Salera and Niles. “I move that the Eastland Congress call for a vote of secession.”

There was, surprisingly, less reaction than Adela had expected; a steady murmuring spread quickly through the rows and galleries, but there was not the total outburst of emotion that she had imagined would occur. Speaker Niles sat unmoving, apparently resigned to the inevitable outcome of what was happening, his hands steepled over his lips. He stared at the representative, still standing before the dais, and refused to even acknowledge the presence of the Speaker sitting next to him. For his part, Salera seemed no more comfortable with his own closeness to his Westland counterpart. She studied Niles’ face as best she could from her vantage point behind and to one side of him; where unbridled rage had been a few moments earlier, his face now reflected what she could only describe as sorrow. Adela knew enough about the political structure of Pallatin’s Dominion form of government to know that he was powerless to stop the inter-Congress vote that had just been requested.

Blakert, in what now seemed an obviously planned—if not actually rehearsed—procedure, turned to another representative seated in the row behind him. The woman stood without hesitation and faced the dais. “Speaker Salera, Hauley township seconds the call for a vote of secession.”

“A vote has been called and seconded.” Behind Adela, the left side of the enormous tally board went dark, the names of the Westland representatives fading immediately from view. It would stand to reason that the table keypads had been activated as well. Salera stood, still avoiding Niles’ eyes. “Representative Blakert, please state the question.”

“Thank you, Speaker Salera.” Blakert smiled uneasily as he regarded those seated around him. “Let this question stand: Shall Eastland withdraw from the Dominion of Pallatin?” He retook his seat and thumbed his choice into the keypad to officially begin the voting process, and a corresponding red light glowed in the “yes” column by his name on the board. The woman who had seconded the call voted next; another red light blinked on. The voting under way, a low, steady chatter returned to the chamber. While Adela and Woorunmarra watched, the board quickly became dappled with glowing lights as the rest of the Eastland Congress voted.

Although both Speakers had smaller versions of the tally board mounted into the tabletops before them, Salera had swiveled his chair around to watch the big board as the votes came in. He nodded approvingly as the board filled up, but behind his confident expression lay something else, Adela noted. Another red light came on next to a name near the bottom of the board, and their eyes met for several seconds, confirming her suspicions. His large eyes radiated a sense of worry and foreboding, a visible sense of apprehension that plainly told her he was hoping they were doing the right thing.

Salera stood and leaned over the podium, speaking to both of them directly. “It might be better,” he said quietly, getting quickly to the point, “if the two of you waited in the guest area.” He indicated the gallery where she and Woorunmarra had been seated prior to addressing the chamber.

Adela saw that the Imperial guards were already on their feet, nervously watching the chamber, and that even now a pair of them was approaching the dais to escort them back to the gallery. “You may be right.”

Salera bowed his head slightly and stood aside, allowing them to pass down the short set of steps leading to the floor. As they crossed in front of him, Salera put his hand on Woorunmarra’s arm, stopping him. “Please inform your Commander that I’ll speak with him as soon as I can. I’m sorry it had to come to this, Lieutenant.”

The Imperial officer paused as he considered his response carefully. “Let us hope,” he said levelly, “that we are not all a lot sorrier before this is finished.” He turned away abruptly and led Adela to the floor, where the guards fell dutifully into step on either side of them.

It didn’t take long for the voting to be completed. A glance at the tally board showed that, while a handful of the Eastlanders had abstained, there were no dissenting votes.

Again, Adela was convinced that the secession vote had been planned in advance.

“He knew he would win.”

“Of course he did,” Woorunmarra agreed, pointing to the board. “Or he’d’ve never made the attempt. Look there, he’s even managed to talk the few members who were against the move to abstain, making the secession vote unanimous.” He allowed the hint of a smile to form at the corners of his lips, adding, “Which is why I wish you outranked me.”

She raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“So that you would be the one to tell Montero.”

Adela couldn’t help laughing aloud and pretended not to see the guard seated next to her turn a sudden curious eye in her direction. Thank you, Adela thought, for bringing a moment’s laughter to this hopeless situation.

The hammering of a gavel cut obtrusively into their brief conversation, and they returned their attention to the dais as the constant background of talking decreased in intensity.

“May I have your attention?” While Salera waited for order to return he spoke a few words to one of the officials seated at his left. The man nodded curtly and rose, quickly descending the steps and exiting the chamber. “The vote is unanimous,” he said simply once the official had left. “As of this date, Eastland is no longer a part of the Dominion of Pallatin.”

Again, Adela was surprised by the response. There was no outburst, no shouting by those in attendance. From here and there an occasional whisper reached her ears, but that was the exception. Nearly everyone else—on both sides of the chamber—waited in stunned silence for the Eastland Speaker to continue.

He coughed softly to clear his throat, and took a sip from the water glass on the table. Niles sat impassively, staring at him. Salera glanced at him once as he set the glass down. “Within the next two days, all persons not citizens of Eastland must leave the—” He stopped, apparently realizing that the word he was about to use was incorrect. “Must leave our country.” It was clear to Adela that even though he had been prepared for this moment, the word still felt strange and unfamiliar to him. “I have given orders that no representative or citizen of Westland in the process of leaving is to be harassed or interfered with in any way. Anyone doing so will be dealt with severely. On this, you have my word.”

Adela and Woorunmarra watched the crowd and noted that the spectators in the upper galleries, unnoticed by those in the lower rows, were already being cleared from the chamber by the security personnel. Those in the Eastland section talked quietly among themselves, while on the Westland side the representatives looked back and forth to one another. There was no panic, no outcry, but rather an overwhelming air of subdued shock and confusion over what to do next. Most kept their attention on the dais, waiting for some direction from Speaker Niles.

“With utmost respect,” Salera concluded, “I must now ask that all citizens of Westland please leave this chamber.” He lay the gavel on the table and turned to Niles, extending his hand. “I’m sorry, Am.”

Niles stood slowly and, ignoring the Speaker’s hand, addressed the now-silent chamber.

“Members of the Ninety-second Dominion…” His voice was strong, and carried with it much more authority than had Salera’s. Adela’s respect for the man doubled at how well he handled himself in the face of defeat—a defeat for which he had been set up with no possible course of action he could have taken to stop it.

“More has happened here today than the dissolution of a governing body,” he began. “Today we divided a world. However, simply dissolving the governing bonds between us will not serve to make us a different people, as Speaker Salera might wish. Have we not, after all, always been a diverse world, with different ideals and goals, different lives and pleasures? Different pains and—different losses?” He paused, staring down at the gavel in his hands.

“Pallatin has always been a harsh, unforgiving place. Those who came first, who began the taming of our home, did so by beating the incredible odds working against them, and they did it as one world, with little help from any of the hundred others. But because of their unity of purpose, they succeeded in spite of the inattention of others. And it is with a similar attitude that many here now view outside intervention from those same Hundred Worlds in their time of need.

“It’s true that we in the west are a different people now from those here in the east. And now that you’ve had an opportunity to see the representatives from the Empire, I’m sure you realize just how vastly different we have become from those on other worlds. But we are still one people, with a common need that overshadows all else…” Niles paused again, leaned forward on the table, then resumed speaking in a tone much louder than before. “Pallatin is still a harsh world, and we need each other to control it, to keep the angry forces within her docile—to keep her a home. I am saddened that Speaker Salera and the representatives of the Eastland Congress, in their efforts to prevent outside interference from creeping into our way of life, have failed to realize that neither body can do it alone.”

He stopped and allowed his eyes to scan the assemblage before him, pausing so long that for a moment Adela thought he might be looking into the eyes of each individual member in turn. Finally he sighed deeply, his eyes lowered to the gavel in his hands once more. He turned it over in his hands as if studying it, then looked up to the assembly, addressing this time only one side of the large room.

“Members of the Westland Congress, we are no longer welcome here. Let us return home.” He took one last look at Salera, then dropped the gavel to the table. It clattered noisily across the polished surface before falling to the carpeted floor.

The Speaker immediately left the dais and neither looked back nor spoke to anyone as he made his way to the floor and walked briskly from the chamber.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The viewer in Speaker Niles’ office at the Westland capital was a flatscreen. Not that holographic technology was unavailable in Westland, it was; but the decision to install the more simple flatscreen display was apparently a matter of choice on the part of Niles himself. Simplicity seemed to be the way of life for the Speaker, just as it was for the Westlanders in general. Normally Adela would have missed being able to see the small nuances in facial expressions and body language afforded by a hologram, but she found that in this discussion the additional clues to mood, motive and inner thoughts were unnecessary: It was abundantly clear what was going through the mind of everyone taking part in this briefing session.

“Speaker Salera kept his word,” Montero was saying to Woorunmarra. “He contacted me about an hour ago, at about the same time you arrived there in Newcastle.”

Adela watched the Commander as he spoke, and realized that even a life-sized holograph could not have more clearly shown how deeply disturbed he was at how quickly the situation here on Pallatin had soured. Any doubts she might have had were erased by the presence of several key members of the Levant’s crew seated with Montero. First Officer Nelon was there, of course, as was Woorunmarra’s shipside counterpart. But also in attendance was the Levant’s Weapons Master, Kyovska, and several of his lieutenants. It was obvious that Montero, while loath to use force here, was still keeping his options open.

So, apparently, was the Westland Congress. Invited by Speaker Niles to sit in on this briefing were other Westland representatives, as well as several uniformed men and women who had been introduced as top officers of the Congressional Guard, the equivalent of a national armed force. Now that Westland had thrown its allegiance to the Hundred Worlds, briefings of this type would most likely become commonplace.

“Did he give any indication at all as to which pressure taps are involved?” Woorunmarra asked, catching her attention.

“That’s just it; he’s told us every one of them, as well as detailing their locations.” Montero shook his head in frustration. “I suppose he could be lying about some of them, but most match up with the surface scanning we’ve done. The troop movements and power routing we’ve been able to detect coincide with the information he’s given us.”

“I’d be willing to bet he’s telling the truth,” Adela put in. “It’s clear he doesn’t want to use force, and he’s hoping that by letting us know just how firmly in place he is, we’ll avoid a confrontation in those key areas.”

“Speaker?” asked one of the uniformed men. His rank insignia identified him as a General. He waited until Niles nodded for him to continue before addressing Montero. “Commander, can you download that information to us? We’ve received a similar communique from Eastland regarding the locations and would like to run a cross-check on them.”

“Of course.”

The General spoke briefly to the officer seated next to him and waited while he keyed several commands into a portable keypad. In the lower right corner of the flatscreen the words “receive mode ready” appeared.

Montero’s image faded, replaced by that of a wide-scale map of the planet’s near hemisphere. The image zoomed in on Pallatin’s major continent, centering on the entire length of the Arroyo fault. With the fault itself running from the top to the bottom of the screen, it was easy to see several hundred kilometers to either side of the fault line. The map had obviously been extracted from somewhere in the middle of Salera’s communication with Montero, and his voice was running beneath the visual.

“… understand that none of this pleases me. We had hoped that Westland would support us and saved this as a last resort. Please note that in addition to the eighty-six tap stations directly adjacent to Arroyo, we…” There was a pause as Salera lowered his voice, taking on an almost apologetic tone. “We also hold five control stations on Westland soil.” Niles was on his feet at this, as was the General and one of the other representatives—Carolane Pence, Adela remembered from the introductions—although whether they had risen in shock or merely to get a closer look at the map, Adela couldn’t tell. Their faces remained impassive.

Five dots on the western side came suddenly to life at the far northern end of the fault, their orange glow matching those scattered along the length of the eastern side. The five were located almost directly on the fault line itself and were grouped so close together that at first glance they appeared to be a single station.

“Commander, can you freeze the image?” Niles asked, then turned to the General. “Can we get an identification on these stations?” The General started to ask the officer with the keypad to cross-reference the location, but was interrupted by Representative Pence.

“We don’t need to,” she said, retaking her seat. “It’s the Leeper grouping, extreme northeast corner of my district.”

Niles smiled a thank-you and asked Montero to resume the playback. The map zoomed in on the five stations, showing the area in greater detail. They were arranged in a nearly perfect line running parallel to the edge of the fault, the scale indicator at the top edge of the map showing them to be just under a kilometer apart from each other.

“Please believe me,” Salera’s voice went on, “when I say that we aim to keep control of these stations; do not force our hand on this. And please, Commander—understand that, while we would be hesitant to use them, we are prepared to do just that.”

The playback of the segment stopped and faded, and Montero once more stared out from the screen, the look of troubled frustration on his face no less apparent than before. “Speaker, may I ask the significance of the, uh, ‘Leeper grouping,’ as you referred to it?”

Niles hesitated. He had been most cooperative since the dissolution vote at Dominion, but it seemed that he was still not entirely comfortable with this new alliance with the Imperial Commander.

“Speaker Niles,” Adela said calmly, “we can’t help you if we’re not fully informed.”

He shot a sidelong glance at her, concern showing in his eyes, then softened as he smiled, nodding in acceptance. “You’re right, I know that, but… understand that it was not all that many years ago that I, too, would have considered you an invader to our world.”

“And what changed your mind?”

Niles shook his head. “It’s not important right now.” He opened a desk drawer and removed a light pen, then approached the screen, saying, “Commander, can you put the map back up, please?” In a matter of seconds the map returned, still at the zoomed-in shot where it had cut off before. “Pull back, please, to show the full length of Arroyo. Thank you.” He activated the light pen and circled the Leeper grouping, then drew a line to another set of similarly arranged orange dots that appeared on the opposite side of the fault, slightly south of the first, and encircled them as well.

“Commander, the isolated stations that you see highlighted along the length of Arroyo and throughout both sides of the continent act as individual pressure taps, bleeding off tectonic stresses as they occur in the areas in which they’re located. They operate independently of one another, but act to reinforce the main controls we have over plate activity along Arroyo itself. But the Leeper grouping, unlike the individual stations, functions as a single control station, a combination pressure-tap and monitor/relay station specifically designed to work in concert with a matched control grouping on the opposite side. Look here.” He drew circles around a dozen more such groupings on the eastern side. “These are all tied in to matching stations on this side,” he went on, extending lines across the fault to the corresponding groupings. “We’ve heard from most of them and, as you might expect, they’ve been disconnected from their counterparts on the eastern side. If you could give me the close-up of Leeper again?”

The scene zoomed in, close enough that surface details and the actual fault could be discerned in the overhead view. Using the light pen, he traced a series of concentric circles around the Leeper grouping, then another series around its counterpart on the eastern side, giving the appearance of ripples spreading away from two stones dropped a few meters apart into a still lake. “Each of these groupings is connected to a network of smaller, unmanned taps located along these lines.” Niles marked several X’s on each of the rings as he spoke. “Responding to whatever tectonic activity occurs in the region of a control grouping, signals are sent to these unmanned taps—and, if needed, to the larger isolated pressure stations—to relieve or apply stress, effectively controlling major earthquake activity.” He returned to his desk, dropping the light pen on the desktop as he sat, adding, “This latest information explains why we haven’t been able to contact Leeper.”

Montero appeared on the screen. He sat in silent thought for several moments, pulling absently at one corner of his moustache, then leaned aside and said something to Nelon. The First Officer in turn spoke to the Weapons Master, and the two of them left the room.

“I’ll be blunt, Speaker,” he finally offered, “and I’ll be thankful for your candid response. Just how much control do they have at this point?”

Adela was surprised to see the hint of a smile appear briefly on Niles’ lips. “I appreciate your straightforward manner, Commander.” He leaned forward on the desk, steepling his hands in front of his face in a gesture Adela had come to recognize as one of his mannerisms. “If Salera controls the Leeper grouping, and there’s no reason at this time to assume he does not, then Westland is in serious danger. Very serious danger.” Niles picked up a handset from the comm terminal on the desk and spoke briefly into it, then set it back in its holder before going on. “Understand that the pressure-tap system is designed to work on a continentwide basis to control fault activity. There are constant tremors, especially in the interior regions nearest Arroyo, but there has not been a major earthquake in more than a decade because of the success of the tap system.”

There was an insistent beeping from the comm terminal, and Niles picked up the handset once more, telling whoever was on the other end, “Stand by,” loudly enough that he could be heard by everyone in the room. “I’m going to have a playback put up showing how the system works from a recording made two years ago.” He spoke into the handset and a different overhead view of Pallatin appeared on the flatscreen. This one was similar to the other, but an overlay clearly showed the entire system of pressure-tap stations in both halves of the continent. “The unmanned taps are highlighted in blue, the individual manned stations in green, and the control groupings are in yellow. That’s Leeper there at the top left of Arroyo. When I start playback, the tectonic pressure forces will appear as a growing red area on the overlay.” Then, into the handset: “Go ahead.”

Nothing seemed to happen at first, but as they looked, a red stain widened and spread out from the upper half of the fault, extending several hundred kilometers in the most actively affected portions of the fault. Parts of the fault itself where the stain spread out the farthest glowed so brightly that it looked like a river of fire bisecting the continent.

“Does this show the extent of the earthquake itself?” Adela asked.

“No, Dr. Montgarde. This is the pressure building up over several months that you’re seeing right now. You’re correct, however, in assuming that the red area shows the pattern of tremors that would occur if the process played itself out. Watch, though, as the tap stations come on-line.”

The red glow spread farther, extending more to the western side of the fault. The groupings visibly activated first, glowing intensely in the worst areas of the pressure buildup. As they watched, spiderweb lines traced out from the groupings to the concentric rings of unmanned stations surrounding them. From a pairing of control stations located not quite a third of the way from the top of the fault, a series of bolder yellow lines snaked out to larger, manned stations centered in a particularly bright red area on the Westland side, and from these more threadlike circles expanded around them. Another set of yellow lines shot out to a second manned station in Westland, slightly above and to the right of the first, and repeated the series of expanding rings around it. A control pairing three down from the other that had activated suddenly glowed. As before, the yellow lines traced a delicate pattern of circles and lines leading to yet another spot on the Westland side, then again to one on the eastern edge of the fault.

Adela almost thought the lacy patterns beautiful, but found it necessary to remind herself of the amount of destructive fury she was looking at. She watched in awestruck fascination as more control pairings activated and lines arced out again and again across the landmass, until finally it became clear that the red glow had begun to diminish in several spots on the overlay.

The glowing area faded, the circles dimming in a backward-leading dance to their originating stations. As if draining water from a basin, the red disappeared along the direction of the stations that had activated until at last only the control groupings themselves still remained lighted. The overlay darkened, the line of control groupings tracing the length of the fault like a brilliant chain of diamonds. Finally even they winked out one by one. Speaker Niles spoke briefly into the handset, and the map and overlay disappeared, showing Montero and the others aboard Levant. Sometime during the playback, or perhaps just before it started, First Officer Nelon and the Weapons Master had returned.

“Impressive.” The Commander was clearly affected by what he had just seen, and sat straighter in his chair as he soberly addressed Niles. “Shall I assume that now that Eastland has taken full control of all stations on the eastern side of the fault, these would be inaccessible to you should further tectonic activity occur?”

Niles nodded silently.

“But you would still have some control over pressure buildups, wouldn’t you?”

Niles sighed heavily and rubbed his face with both hands. “That’s true; but it wouldn’t be enough in the event of a major movement like the one on the recording. That would require the combined efforts of stations on both sides of the fault to equalize pressure.”

“But that’s crazy!” Adela interrupted, barely able to believe what she was hearing. “If another earthquake like that occurred they’d be putting themselves in danger.”

“My thought exactly,” Woorunmarra agreed.

“Not entirely.” Niles shrugged unhappily, turning his attention away from the flatscreen. “They have the entire system east of Arroyo, intact. And they control Leeper. Through Leeper, they can link into the control groupings on our side.”

Woorunmarra nodded slowly in understanding. “I think I see now. If a pressure buildup threatens them, through the Leeper grouping they can override into your system and use it in tandem to bleed off the pressures that affect the area east of Arroyo much the same way as in the recording we just saw.” He paused, lowering his eyes. “On the other hand, if they monitor a pressure buildup that looks like it’ll have the greatest impact on the west…”

“They activate the eastern taps to minimize damage to themselves,” Montero picked up, “and effectively shunt the worst of the movements to the other side of the fault—then they just sit back and watch as Westland crumbles.”

Adela stared at Montero, her mouth open in shocked disbelief.

“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid.” Niles pivoted the small screen of the comm terminal so he could more easily read the information displayed there. “The tap stations equalize pressure buildups; that means additional pressure is applied to parts of the underlying structure at the same time it’s being bled off others. Utilizing the control stations on the eastern edge of Arroyo in concert with Leeper, they can initialize tectonic activity as well as dampen it.”

Everyone in the room sat in stunned silence; aboard Levant, no one spoke. Only the General seemed unsurprised by what Niles had just said.

“We’ll begin severing the Leeper grouping from the control network immediately. There are…” Niles quickly checked the terminal, cursing softly under his breath when the figures came up on the tiny screen. “I’m afraid that when they chose Leeper, they chose well. There are forty-seven manned stations directly controlled by Leeper, but they should present little trouble. However, there are thousands of unmanned taps linked into them, and once the manned stations are taken off-line they’ll have to be shut down, individually, on site.”

“How dangerous will that be,” Adela asked, “as far as current seismic activity is concerned? Will you be able to handle it?”

The Speaker shrugged worriedly. “We’re not sure. There’s no doubt that there will be an increase in minor tremors, mostly in the interior sections, but there shouldn’t be any major threat. No major pressure buildups have been recorded for nearly two years, and we should be able to reroute a number of the stations to working control groupings to handle the minor ones, but…” He paused. “In any event, it’ll take a long time to get them all.” He looked up from the terminal and into the screen. “We could use help.”

“You’ll have it,” Montero replied. “Just let me know what you need.”

“Are you sure, Speaker?” The officer looked Kip Salera over with eyes that glowed with—what? The other officer seated next to him, a Major, mirrored the expression of his superior. There were others in Salera’s office at the former Dominion Capitol, most of them military personnel. The only exception was Representative Blakert.

There is excitement in your face, young soldier, Salera thought, studying the man’s face. You fear the battle you know is coming, and yet you rush headlong to join it. The man stood stiffly before his desk, his breathing fast with anticipation even though he was trying hard to keep his emotions hidden. How long had it been since he’d felt that intoxicating mix of foreboding combined with an undeniable longing that drove you on despite your best efforts at self-reason? He’d felt something similar at the final Joint Dominion, but even that could not compare with what he knew—from remembrances long past—was flowing through the man’s body right now. The officer fidgeted slightly as he awaited the Speaker’s reply.

“Yes, I’m certain of it, Colonel Harston. They would be stupid to attack with anything that might damage the stations themselves. If they mount an offensive at all, it will be with light weaponry. As for the starship…” Salera paused, gnawing momentarily on a lower lip. “I’m told that Commander Montero is sending armed personnel and equipment to help them with their efforts to take Leeper off-line, for all the good that’ll do them, but the good Commander himself will take a hands-off attitude until things are settled here, one way or another.”

“And after?” Blakert asked.

Salera glared once at Blakert, then regarded the Colonel, still standing before him. “You’re dismissed.” Harston snapped to attention, his officers following suit, and exited Salera’s office immediately.

“And what about after, Speaker?”

Salera rose, crossing slowly to the large window overlooking the front of the building. Hundreds of troops were gathered on the long tree-lined parkade, awaiting their turn for the transport shuttles to take them to their assignments. As he watched, a steady stream of twenty-man shuttles landed in a cleared area on the far end of the parkade and almost immediately took off again as they filled up. “The deployment is going smoothly,” he said without turning. “The shuttles are barely on the ground more than a few moments before returning to the air. They’re well trained, all of them. Oh, did you know that I have a daughter in the Guard?”

Blakert went to the window and, ignoring the bustle of activity going on just a few hundred meters below them, asked again, “What about after?”

Speaker Salera didn’t answer.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The man is crazy, Adela said to herself, dragging the back of an arm across her dripping forehead. Only a few hours past dawn, and already it’s unbearable out here. The lightweight hot-weather uniform consisting of roomy khaki shorts and matching shirt helped somewhat, but she was constantly grateful that the humidity was as low as it was. She glanced at her watch and tapped at its diminutive screen, cycling through the various functions until finding the one she wanted. Thirty-nine degrees, and it’s not even local noon yet. He really has lost it. Louder, she called, “Hey! You’re crazy, you know that?”

Woorunmarra ignored her, his attention fixed on something moving just above the horizon. The object circled back toward them and as it got nearer Woorunmarra began sprinting silently across the landscape toward it. In spite of his surprising speed, he was still several meters away when the thing hit the ground, tumbling crazily as it bounced along the surface. He scooped it up on the run, laughing giddily at the top of his lungs, and doubled back to stand before her again.

“Nah,” he said, barely winded, “it feels just like home.” He looked around him as if trying to decide which direction to throw the boomerang again, then added, “It’s just a lot greener.”

Adela followed his gaze. The surrounding countryside near station 67 was, despite the intense heat, lush with vegetation. There was a low, grassy ground cover, and clumps of large bushes were scattered everywhere. Barrel-shaped, branchless trees with leafy crowns dotted the landscape in groups of two and three, while to the west where the land became more hilly the edge of a large evergreen forest could be seen. The area around the station itself was mostly level, with only occasional hills or outcroppings interrupting the almost plainslike topography, but to the east a horizon-spanning ridge rose in the distance. A few kilometers beyond the ridge, belying the peaceful nature of the topography, lay the violent Arroyo fault.

There was a slight rise about a hundred meters on the other side of the station where a temporary shelter had been set up, housing a dozen members of the Congressional Guard that Niles had assigned to them. There were several parked vehicles—ground effect machines, or GEMs, as the soldiers referred to them—clustered nearby. Seated beneath a parasol-like canopy atop one of them, an armed soldier kept watch, glancing only occasionally in their direction. From where she stood she couldn’t be sure which one of the soldiers it was, nor could she see any of the others. They were most likely beneath the protective covering of the shelter, out of the heat—just as the two of them should have been. “Let’s go inside before you give yourself a stroke.”

“Not yet,” he replied, oblivious to the blazing sun. “I almost had it that time. A few more throws and I’ll have a fair go at adjustin’ to one point two g. Care to try?” He teasingly extended the gently curving piece of wood to her, before turning away with a laugh and whipping it into the air so fast that she barely followed the movement of his arm.

He tracked it with his eyes, his body rigid and unmoving. He wore only his khaki shorts—having dumped the rest of his uniform unceremoniously atop his discarded boots and socks—and she saw the smooth muscles rippling beneath his dark skin, glistening under a film of hard-earned perspiration.

The boomerang sailed out and slowly began angling upward, then at the very top of its flight arced gracefully to the left before beginning to circle back. As it came out of its arc, it glided downward at nearly the same angle at which it rose before leveling off for its return. “Watch now.” Woorunmarra took one step to his left, studying its flight path, then another. Adela thought for a moment that the spinning blur would hit them, but at the last second Woorunmarra leaped nearly a meter off the ground and snatched it smoothly from the air. “Not bad, ay?”

Adela crossed her arms in front of her, pretending to be unimpressed. “I thought it was going to take my head off.”

He grinned. “Nah. I weren’t aimin’ for your neck.”

Adela smiled at the way his accent thickened and his speaking patterns changed whenever he was at ease and enjoying himself, as he obviously was now. In the time they’d been here at the station he seemed, almost literally, at home. “You can’t really aim that thing, can you?” she asked dubiously.

“Course not.” He turned again, looking away from the station. “See that tree there?” he asked, pointing at a fat-boled growth about sixty meters distant. She nodded and he handily flipped the boomerang away at a sharp angle that appeared to be taking it nowhere near the tree. It sailed out in a level arc this time, curving gently across the landscape until it impacted the tree, neatly impaling itself into the fleshy pulp of the cactus-like growth. Adela raised an eyebrow and noted that it had hit the tree at a point which, had she been standing in its place, would have been at her eye level.

“Nice.” She tried to insert a tone of annoyance in her voice, but found herself smiling at him.

He laughed again and trotted off to retrieve the boomerang.

“I’m going inside,” she called after him, then turned for the coolness of the station.

The pressure-tap station was well appointed and comfortable, if spartan, in its furnishings. The two-person crew had been informed by Speaker Niles himself that once the process of taking the station off-line had been completed, the station was to be used as guest quarters for the two Imperial visitors. They had cleaned the place thoroughly, even going so far as to put fresh linens in each of the small bedrooms.

Guest quarters, Adela thought sourly as she poured herself a glass of cold water. More like a holding cell.

She had refused to return to the ship and had attempted to convince Montero that it would be better if she and Woorunmarra were closer at hand. After all, she had reasoned, with more than a hundred Levant crew members helping the Westland techs in their efforts to isolate the Leeper control grouping, this whole thing just might be over before anything serious happened.

With warring factions squaring off along the length of the fault line, and with Westland troops now surrounding Leeper at a discreet distance, Montero was not nearly so optimistic. Still, with Woorunmarra echoing Adela’s concern that immediate negotiations would be imperative should an agreement be reached, the Commander reluctantly agreed that the two of them should remain accessible, but safely away from any potential hostilities.

Allowing them to use one of the vacated stations had been Speaker Niles’ idea. Located more than a hundred kilometers south of Leeper, they would be safe from anything occurring at the control station, and yet close enough to organize a settlement between the factions should their presence be needed on short notice. Montero had wanted to station a combat shuttle there, but Adela argued that the presence of the Imperial vehicle at an out-of-the-way spot like this was just asking for the Eastlanders to consider the station a target. The Commander had agreed with her reasoning—again, with reluctance. Besides, she argued, there were dozens of combat shuttles on standby at the Westland capital at Newcastle, and one could be sent if the Congressional Guard Captain in charge of this squad thought it necessary.

As it had turned out, the most dangerous things they’d experienced in the seven days they’d spent here so far had been boredom and the heat. And only she seemed bothered by the latter.

The centrally located control room, where Adela now stood, was dominated by a wall screen displaying a large overlay of the surface structure surrounding the station. Like the overlay they had watched in Niles’ office, this one also showed the location of each station to which it was linked and extended in a four-hundred-kilometer-wide circle. The pressure tap itself was located below the station and, even though off-line from the network, she felt a humming vibration coining from below. The screen display fascinated her. While she had felt nothing since arriving on Pallatin, she knew that minor tremors occurred almost constantly on the planet, and the screen seemed to confirm that fact: Dim flashes of color appeared here and there as the automatic monitors showed even the slightest tectonic activity whenever it occurred.

The flashes came and went randomly, with no set pattern, and yet occasionally followed minor fault lines as they flickered out. The effect reminded her of the way lightning teased the distant sky on Gris whenever a thunderstorm formed. She remembered once, back home, how she and her father had sat on a hillside and watched an approaching storm sweep angrily across the de Parzon valley. The storm itself had never reached their settlement and remained in the distance, too far even to hear the thunder as the flashes played over the horizon. As a child she had always been afraid of the frequent storms on Gris, but remembered how, on that day when her father had called her up from their underground home to watch the silent lightning in the safety of his arms, she had overcome her fear.

She smiled, feeling herself becoming lost in the memory when the screen suddenly winked out, along with all lighting in the station except a dully glowing emergency lamp mounted above each doorway.

There was a low rumbling coming from outside, crossing overhead. The sound carried with it an odd presence that confused her for several long seconds until it struck her why the sound was so clear inside the station: The pressure tap beneath her feet had fallen silent. There was no reassuring vibration, no hum coming from below to indicate the station was alive at all.

Her eyes grew accustomed quickly to the dimness and she found the exit with little trouble, flinging the door wide. A wall of heat hit her in the face as she left the sheltering coolness of the station, and within seconds Adela found herself perspiring beneath the glaring sun as she sought out Woorunmarra.

He and the commanding officer had climbed atop the GEM the guardsman had used for a lookout post, and the three of them, their arms raised to shade their eyes, stared into the sky. He had put his boots back on and retrieved his shirt, tucking it into his belt. The others had come out of the shelter and were likewise trying to follow whatever it was that had attracted the lookout’s attention.

“What is it?” Adela called out, trotting up to stand alongside the GEM. She leaned against the side of the machine, but pulled quickly away from the hot, sun-baked surface. “What happened?”

“Don’t know,” Woorunmarra replied, still gazing skyward. “An aircraft with Eastland markings circled us once at low altitude, then headed in that direction. Didn’t do much, though. Captain Radaker’s already called it in.”

“Could it have had anything to do with the power shutdown inside the station?”

Woorunmarra and Radaker looked at each other, then scrambled down from their perch. The guardsman remained atop the GEM while Adela and the two men headed for the station.

It was still deliciously cool inside, but by the time the three of them finished an inspection of the station searching for the cause of the outage, they could tell the air was beginning to warm considerably. Unfortunately their search turned up nothing that might have been responsible for the power failure; at least, nothing that could be detected and repaired on the site. Whatever the cause of the outage, it didn’t seem to be located here.

“I don’t know what it is,” Radaker said once they were back outside. He stared into the sky in the direction the aircraft had disappeared. “Maybe it did have something to do with it. A magnetic pulse, maybe, tuned to the frequency of the receiving dish—but there should be a buried cable backup.” He cupped his hands over his mouth and called to the lookout on the GEM. “Tell Wyand to get her kit. Tell her to pick four of the others to help her do a complete check on the circuitry.” A young woman, a compact electronics case tucked under her arm, and several of the others came up and, after speaking briefly to the Captain, hurried inside the station.

“Can we contact our people?” Woorunmarra sounded worried. “With the power down we can’t use the station’s comm terminal.”

“Of course, at the shelter. The portable’s voice-only, but help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Radaker nodded, then followed the others inside the station.

“What’s wrong?” Adela asked once they were alone. “Specifically, I mean.”

“I’m not sure. Just want to call in.” He picked up his step, outpacing her. Clearly, if he suspected something, he didn’t want to discuss it until he’d had a chance to check it out. Adela let him go and remained outside the shelter. She wondered if she might be able to help inside the station, but decided against offering. Radaker and the others had been very friendly and courteous to both of them, but it was clear they weren’t pleased with the duty they’d drawn. Best to stay out of their way, she realized.

She sat down in the shade of one of the barrel trees a few meters up the rise, her back resting against the soft, almost spongy bole. In spite of the heat, the humidity was still very low and a soft breeze made the spot quite comfortable. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and had been there only a few minutes when Woorunmarra came running from the shelter.

“Captain Radaker!”

He was sprinting for the station, calling out as he ran, and was about halfway to the front entrance when Adela noted a sudden sharp hissing that filled the air. She jumped to her feet, but before she could move there was a sudden whump! and she saw the canted roof of the station crumple as if in slow motion, followed by a brilliant flash and a shock wave that threw her backward into the tree. Dazed, she tumbled like a rag doll to the ground.

She tried to push herself up, but a dizziness and nausea swept over her and she fell forward into the grass. She tried again, successfully this time, and managed to push herself up to a sitting position. The whole scene spun around her through blurred eyes. There was a throbbing ache at the back of her head and she felt blood trickling down the back of her neck. She rubbed at it gingerly, feeling a small gash in her scalp. Her hand was covered with blood when she pulled it back, but the wound felt too small to be serious. She rose unsteadily to her feet, wiping bloody fingers on her shorts, and looked at the station. Or what was left of it.

The whole building had collapsed, the jumble of twisted plastic and metal now fully engulfed in flames. The heat was intense and pounded against her face in searing waves; she found it difficult to even look directly at it. Burning sections of the station were strewn for dozens of meters in all directions; a chunk of roofing had barely missed the shelter and hit one of the GEMs, setting it afire. Halfway between the burning vehicle and the wreckage of the station, next to a twisted support beam, Woorunmarra lay unmoving.

“Billy!” Some of the men and women at the shelter had cleared the rise and were running down to the fire, reaching the perimeter of the station just as she made it to Woorunmarra. He rose shakily to his feet, stumbling to his knees with the first step he tried to take. Adela helped him to his feet and steadied him as the first of the soldiers came to their side.

“I’m… I’m all right,” he said, waving them away. “The station? Anybody left?”

He turned back to the flames and made a feeble move toward the wreckage before Adela stopped him. There were several people silhouetted against the fire, but it was clear that no one inside could have survived the blast itself, much less the inferno that was raging now.

The remaining soldiers came running over the crest of the rise. Adela noted they had donned battle armor and were now fully armed. The one in the lead, a woman unusually tall for a Pallatin, was shouting as she came down the slope.

“From the south! They’re coming up from the south. Tell the Captain that—” She stopped cold, seeing the wreckage and realizing the seriousness of the hit they’d just taken. She came up alongside them, doing a mental nose count. “Captain Radaker? Wyand and the others?”

One of the men who had arrived at the fire first now came running back, his face red from his proximity to the inferno that just three minutes earlier had been pressure-tap station 67. “They were inside… are inside.” He turned back to the flames, the others who had run down with him immediately after the blast joining them where they stood. “They…” He didn’t have to finish.

There were eight of them now: Adela and Woorunmarra, plus the remaining six guards. The tall woman, Janners, was a Sergeant and had the highest rank among them. A look of subdued anxiety crossed her face when the realization hit that she was now in command, but she immediately sized up the situation and took charge, reluctantly and uncertainly.

“The rest of you suit up. We may have company in a few minutes. Move!” Once the others were out of earshot she turned to them, her voice apologetic. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. There was no indication that—”

“Forget it.” Woorunmarra rubbed at his shoulder, skinned and bleeding where he’d been thrown to the concrete apron around the station. “What information do you have?”

Adela took his arm before she could answer, forcibly leading him up the rise. “Keep talking, but let’s move up to the shelter, out of the open. Sergeant, could we get a dressing for his shoulder?”

She followed, but for a moment Janners was unsure as how to respond to Adela’s overt action. So much had happened in such a short time—the attack, the loss of half her squad, assuming command—that she seemed overwhelmed. Hastily catching up with the pair from behind, she caught sight of Woorunmarra’s shoulder, then her gaze settled on the blood that had run down into the collar of Adela’s shirt. “Come on,” she barked, as if fully comprehending the situation for the first time. Her demeanor changed suddenly and she quickened her step to lead them up the rise, calling ahead of her as they approached the shelter, “I need a medical kit. Now!” She continued talking over her shoulder. “Divisional command just called, there’s an enemy unit heading up from the south. They’re still east of Arroyo, but command has heat-traced the missile that hit the station directly to them. It’s a sure bet that the flyover computer targeted us, then relayed the information to them, and they fired while still twenty-five kilometers out.”

One of the enlisted men had brought the kit at about the same time they entered the shelter and was already spraying a skin gel on Woorunmarra’s shoulder and back. The wound treated, he concentrated on the gash on the back of Adela’s head. The spray stung slightly for a moment, but the anesthetic worked quickly to drive away the throbbing that had been steadily increasing since she’d gotten back on her feet. She felt her scalp tighten where the injury was, indicating the skin gel was going to work closing the cut.

Woorunmarra stretched his arm and shoulder as the gel penetrated his skin, checking his range of motion. “That fits in with what I just learned from the Levant.” He stopped stretching suddenly and let his arm drop to his side. “I just wish I’d managed to find out a few seconds sooner.”

“Don’t even think about it, Billy,” Adela interjected, wiping the now-dried blood from her neck with a moist pad the enlisted man had given her. “Nothing we can do about it. The question is, what happens now?”

“There’s an Imperial combat shuttle on its way from the station at Taw. It’s the only one close, but there are others that’ll be sent as backup.”

“In the meantime we get you away from the station. Listen,” Janners barked at the remaining guards, “you, and you—check the GEMs; get two of them ready to move. The rest of you gather what you need.” The two men, their guns clattering against their armor, ran from the shelter and Janners turned back to them. “Can either of you drive a GEM? We might need—”

Woorunmarra waved a hand to cut her off. “Nah, no good. The Levant scanned the unit heading our way and said they’ve got a fifteen-man long-range hopper. We can’t outrun them in those.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction the vehicles were parked. “They’re part of a larger force that’s takin’ out as many of the individual stations as they can. Apparently they just started movin’ not much more than a half hour ago; but with several dozen of their bloody aircraft and hoppers workin’ together, timin’ their attacks nearly simultaneously, their hit-and-run raids managed to destroy twenty stations before anyone knew what they were up to.” His eyes shifted away for a moment. “Make that twenty-one,” he added soberly.

Janners considered this, then stepped across the shelter to the unit’s portable comm set. A woman in armor, a Private, sat at the unit with her helmet cradled in her lap to accommodate the headset she wore. “Bring a scan up on the screen.”

“It’s up, but they’re still too far out of range for the… Wait…” She listened in the headset for a moment, then tapped at the lower right corner of the screen with a fingertip where a pulsing blip had just appeared at the edge. “There they are, five k out and closing.”

“You said hit-and-run, sir,” Janners said without looking from the screen. “They’re still coming.”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

“It’s us,” Adela realized aloud. “They know we’re here. They monitored communications, or used satellite pictures or something.”

Woorunmarra shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He pulled at the shirt still tucked into his belt, then slipped it on. “Sergeant, has a squad been posted at all the stations that’ve been shut down?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. The individual stations are important, but they’re just not that critical to the pressure-tap network.” She thought a moment, then added, “There are a few stations in populated areas and they may have units assigned to them, but with so much happening to the north I don’t think they’d bother with isolated locations like this one.”

“There’s your answer, then. They want to see what’s so interestin’ about this station.” He buttoned his shirt, hastily tucking the tail into his shorts, and slipped the boomerang into his belt. “Sergeant, an Imperial combat shuttle’s on its way, but these hoons’ll be here in a matter of minutes. Could we borrow some armor?” He pointed to several pieces of battle gear near the bunks.

Janners hesitated a moment, realizing that the gear he’d indicated belonged to those who had just been killed, but nodded hurriedly and grabbed a frag vest from the nearest bunk and tossed it to him. “Put it to use, sir, ma’am. Do you need help in how to use it?”

“I’m fine,” he responded, pulling the vest on and deftly snapping the catches. “How about you, Doctor?”

“Just show me what’s what.”

They started suiting up, with Adela needing to try a few times before finding a set of gear small enough to fit. She finally managed to find a vest that would do and Woorunmarra gave her brief directions on how the pulse rifle worked while she struggled with the vest catches. A sudden squealing from the comm set, an indication that the approaching hopper was hitting them with jamming interference, caused them to finish suiting up without further discussion.

“It’s out! Gone!” The Private pulled off the headset, tossing it against the screen, and donned her helmet.

Adela finished with the frag vest and hefted the rifle, mentally going over Billy’s instructions. “Where were they?”

“Two k, closing.”

“Damn,” Woorunmarra spat under his breath. “The shuttle won’t be here soon enough if they start firin’ on us. Do you have any surface-to-air weapons?”

Janners and two of the Privates immediately started to scramble for the weapons.

“No! No, wait. There’s not enough time. Listen!” They stopped in their tracks. Already the unmistakable high-pitched whine of hopper thrusters could be heard from the southeast. Adela ran for the shelter door, tossing it aside like the glorified tent flap that it was and looked outside for a second, then started running out of the depression for the top of the rise leading to the station. “Come on!”

Woorunmarra, easily the fastest runner among them, was instantly trotting at her side with the rest of them directly behind. “Damn, lady,” he said good-naturedly despite the seriousness of what was happening, “you even had me jumpin’. You ever think about the military as a career instead of science?”

She ignored his attempt at humor. “Billy, when they see the shelter and GEMs intact and nobody around, they’re going to come in shooting from a half kilometer out. We can’t fight them or even hope to hold them off till the shuttle gets here. We need time!”

They cleared the rise and sped down the slope to the station. It had collapsed further as the flames consumed it; the thick, black smoke from the burning plastic billowed away from the site with increased intensity as the flames began to run out of fuel to sustain them.

“Everyone! Down on the ground!” She ran as close to the radiating heat as she could and let herself fall onto the concrete apron and lay still, her gun on the ground at her side but still within reach, then unstrapped her helmet—she’d had difficulty getting it to fit properly anyway—and let it roll across the concrete. “Don’t give them a reason to fire on us from the safety of distance! Make them come in close enough to see we aren’t a threat that needs to be fired upon from the hopper!”

“But keep your weapon close!” Janners shouted, picking up Adela’s strategy. She sprawled on the ground and, flashing a quick grin in Adela’s direction, unbuckled her helmet and let it roll freely to one side.

Woorunmarra had fallen next to her. “Let’s hope they circle us a few times, checkin’ us out,” he called out over the ascending whine of the approaching hopper. “If we can keep’m in the air for five or ten minutes until the combat shuttle gets here, she’ll be sweet.”

“Billy, will they be shielded?”

He smiled. “If they are, then these hoons’ll be in for a big surprise when they drop out of the sky on top of them. If not, the hopper’s sensors’ll see it and probably turn around and get back across Arroyo as fast as they can. Either way, we just need the time.”

Yes, Adela thought, all we need is time.

The hopper hove into view over a rise a kilometer away and skirted the flaming station in a wide circle, the whine of its jets lessening to a lower pitch as it slowed. It came to a stop and hovered at a point due west and remained motionless for several seconds. A sharp hiss split the air and one of the GEMs at the edge of the shelter jumped and spun end over end into the air as a small missile hit it. It fell heavily into the side of the shelter and fell apart, but did not explode. At the same time the hopper shifted abruptly to the side, then rapidly circled the area from the edge of a half-k radius and scanned the scene from a safe distance.

“A test shot,” Woorunmarra said without moving. “They’re buyin’ it. Good job.”

The hopper came in closer and settled to the ground a few hundred meters south of the burning station, kicking up a swirling cloud of dust and loose vegetation around its landing pads. Adela and the others carefully, slowly, turned heads in the direction of the hopper and watched as eight Eastland soldiers, fully decked in armor similar to their own, dropped out of the belly hatch and took positions in an advancing flank pointed toward the station. Either this hopper was not carrying a full complement of soldiers—which would seem likely if they had originally intended station 67 to be a hit-and-run mission—or there were several more still on board.

“Hello!” The shout came from somewhere in the group of advance soldiers, probably from the commanding officer. “Come forward and be recognized!”

“Everyone, stay down!” Adela admonished under her breath. Then, to the amazement of the others, she stirred fitfully, as if injured, and rose to a sitting position.

“Doctor!”

“Dammit, Billy, stay down. I know what I’m doing.”

The advancing men fell to crouching positions as she rose.

“You! I want to see hands in the air! Now!”

She raised her hands and came up on her feet slowly, shakily, keeping up the pretense of being injured. As she stood, she made certain she’d be able to tumble sideways and grab the pulse rifle if she had to, but made a deliberate effort of giving the appearance of being unarmed and helpless. The advancing force halted well outside the apron of the station, half of them training their weapons on her, the rest—apparently on orders of their commander—aiming at the seemingly inert forms scattered on the ground around her.

“Don’t shoot!” Adela pleaded. She did her best to add an edge of fear to her voice but admitted inwardly that the effort wasn’t difficult. “I’m unarmed!” She ambled forward, taking each step as slowly as she thought she could get away with. She remembered something she’d seen in a video and approached with her hands clasped behind her head. She even stumbled once, purposely, dropping to her knees and milking everything she could from her “performance” as she moved toward the waiting Eastlanders.

Someone barked an order and two of the soldiers leaped from their attack positions and trotted in her direction. One of them, a woman no taller than herself, held a pulse rifle leveled at her chest as the other checked her for weapons. As they did, she heard another barked order that sent a second pair of soldiers forward to cover those lying on the ground.

Adela feined confusion as they questioned and searched her for weapons. They were rough with her and at one point during their frisking inadvertently knocked her down. Still on the ground, Adela raised herself up in time to see Billy Woorunmarra jump to his feet and pull the boomerang from his belt in one smooth motion. There was an instantaneous rattling sound as eight pulse rifles came to bear on him.

“Billy, no! I’m all right!”

He froze in place, his arm already pulled back to throw, as one of the soldiers took the boomerang away. The man handled the unfamiliar weapon gingerly, as if it might explode at any moment, and quickly gave it to one of the others of lower rank. The unlucky recipient looked no happier to be holding it than he had.

The rest of the Eastland soldiers jumped suddenly to their feet and came up to surround the two of them, half the company training their weapons on her and Billy, the rest on those lying on the apron.

With the guns holding them motionless, the commanding officer came forward. He was armored to match his company, unlike the Westland practice of distinctive armor arranged by rank. Then again, perhaps he had come into command in much the same way Sergeant Janners had, and there had not been time to receive the new gear befitting his rank. His eyes darted from her to Billy and back again, the look on his face clearly displaying his uneasiness at the presence of the two obvious off-worlders standing before him. He carried a pulse rifle identical to the others and used the barrel of the weapon to prod her as he asked, more than a hint of nervousness in his voice, “Who are you?”

“I am Dr. Adela de Montgarde, appointed representative of Javas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds.” She paused, then added slowly, deliberately, “And mother of the Crown Prince, Eric.” She caught the expression of surprised shock on Woorunmarra’s face out of the corner of one eye. “My companion is Lieutenant Billy Woorunmarra of the Imperial starship Levant. And you are… ?”

The young man, already stressed at his closeness to an unexpected and unwelcome combat situation, turned ashen. The nearest of his troops likewise became increasingly ill at ease by the turn of events. What should have been a routine bombing raid seemed about to erupt into an Imperial incident.

He stared at them for what seemed several minutes before finally coming to a decision. “Corporal Tiverst,” he barked at last to the man nearest him, “take three men and check the shelter.”

“Sir!” The man nodded to three of the others and the group trotted over the rise, weapons at the ready. The officer said nothing, waiting until he received a shouted all-clear from the Corporal. Waving the men back down, he spoke to yet another of the soldiers, the woman who had originally come forward to cover Adela. “Take the Westies to the hopper and keep them under guard.” All but two of the Eastland soldiers rounded up the remainder of Janners’ unit and walked them toward the hopper, waiting where it had landed a half kilometer away.

“And you are… ?” Adela asked again.

He stood straighter, nodding his head at them. “I am Lieutenant Len Elian of the Eastland Guard.” He motioned to the two remaining soldiers, and they came forward, their weapons still trained steadily, if uncertainly, on them. “Doctor, Lieutenant, I’m going to ask you to come with me, but I assure you that you will not be harmed in any way.”

“Where are you taking us?” Woorunmarra asked.

“I haven’t the authority to deal with you,” he admitted, “so I’m taking you back to divisional headquarters.”

“They won’t take kindly to our being kidnapped.” Adela pointed skyward, indicating the orbiting ship.

The words startled him. “You aren’t being kidnapped, you’re being taken as prisoners of war.” He thumbed the safety on his pulse rifle as he turned away, his back already to them when the soldiers prodded her and Billy with the rifles to start moving toward the hopper.

With everything happening so quickly Adela had almost forgotten about the heat, but the full force of the sun beat down on them now as they made their way to the hopper. She stumbled once about halfway to the hopper, tripping on the exposed root of one of the barrel trees, and caused the cut on her head to start bleeding slightly again.

Woorunmarra helped her to her feet and steadied her by the arm, saying, “Doctor, are you all right?” Before she could answer, he pulled her arm forcibly to the side, making it look as though she were having trouble walking. She didn’t know what he had in mind but kept her mouth shut, following his lead. They walked on, staring straight ahead. After several more meters, he squeezed her arm slightly and nodded at the hopper. The last of the prisoners had entered the craft, the soldier bringing up the rear disappearing inside afterward.

So that’s what he’s been waiting for, she thought, and continued walking as if it were getting increasingly difficult. After a few more steps he pulled at her arm again and both of them tumbled to the ground. Billy pushed her to the side, well clear of where he’d fallen, while at the same time rolling in the opposite direction. He twisted gracefully to a crouching position, whipping his arm back. One of the soldiers fell forward as a stone hit him directly between his eyes. Another blur of his arm and the second man went down near the first, groaning heavily and clasping both hands to his forehead.

The whole thing had taken only seconds, but it was still time enough for the Eastland Lieutenant to bring his rifle to bear on the Aborigine. Adela jumped to her feet, drawing his attention—and the barrel of the rifle—away from Billy just long enough for him to hurl a third stone mat smashed into one of the man’s hands. He yelled in pain and she thought she heard the sound of the man’s fingers breaking just before the gun fired, wide of her and harmlessly into the ground. She kicked the rifle, knocking it from his hands, then quickly scrambled to pick it up and covered all three of the Eastlanders—not that any of the three posed a threat at this point. The two on the ground appeared to be recovering from the surprise attack against them from the most ancient of weapons; the Eastland Lieutenant stood passively, cradling his injured hand.

Adela shot a glance at the hopper and was relieved to find no indication that they’d been seen yet, or at least that there were no soldiers coming to their commander’s aid. Then again, perhaps they were aiming the hopper’s guns on them…

A sudden, overwhelming buzz filled the air so fully that even the two men on the ground stirred and covered their ears as they gazed skyward at the four Imperial combat shuttles dropping in a diamond formation out of the sky, taking positions effectively boxing in the entire perimeter of station 67.

Several soldiers had dropped from the underside of the hopper to aid the Lieutenant, Adela saw, but now didn’t know what to do—some of them dropped to the ground and attempted to cover themselves while others stared dumbly at the descending ships. Three of the shuttles formed a hovering triangle around the hopper while the fourth came to rest on the concrete apron and began a shutdown cycle as its thrusters powered down to standby.

Adela stood straighter, lowering the pulse rifle and thumbing the safety back on, and looked the commanding officer over. His eyes moved frantically from the descending array of armed shuttles to the craft on the apron, then to Adela and the others, and then back again. He was very young, she realized, like most of the soldiers she’d seen on both sides of this conflict. He nodded his head once in acceptance of his situation and turned to face the shuttle sitting on the apron and waited.

Adela couldn’t be certain, because he had turned away so abruptly, but she thought she saw a look of quiet thankfulness spread over his features at being relieved of a burden he found too heavy to bear.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Montero sat impassively, quiet for the first time since the briefing had begun several hours earlier. At least he’s stopped shouting, Adela thought. Perhaps now we can actually get something accomplished.

Emotions finally out in the open, the meeting proceeded apace, and would end with a holoconference with both Salera and Niles. There was still much ground to cover until the two national leaders joined them, however.

The Commander was infuriated by what had happened at tap station 67, not to mention the offensive mounted by Eastland in general, although Adela suspected that it was a fury brought on by feelings of deep, intense frustration with the situation rather than a personal reaction to the blatant aggression itself.

“I can obliterate Pallatin,” he was saying. “The Levant has planetbreakers, and I’ve been given full authority to use them should I deem it necessary for the successful completion of this mission.” He paused again, then looked her and Woorunmarra straight in the eyes, adding as a postscript, “The last thing Commander Fain told me—with Emperor Javas’ endorsement, mind you—was that Pallatin could not ultimately refuse the Hundred Worlds, that no world could leave the Empire without the Empire’s approval. If Pallatin is allowed to leave, then others might follow, effectively dismantling the Empire itself. Doctor, you, of all people, should realize the effect this would have on the project to save Earth’s Sun.”

Adela started to protest, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No. No, I understand your feelings regarding your project, and while I don’t concur with the importance of it, I do agree with you and with the Emperor that a bloodless agreement from this key world would carry far more weight in swaying other members of the Hundred than would its destruction. Believe me, I don’t want to do that.” She stared at him wide-eyed, and he chuckled at her reaction. “Surprised?”

“Frankly, yes.” Adela turned to Woorunmarra, attempting to see if he might have known anything about the Commander’s sentiments beforehand, but his normally expressive face remained impassive. “May I ask what changed your mind?”

He smiled, chuckling again under his breath. “Nothing changed my mind. Nothing at all.”

She regarded him with a new respect, at the same time chiding herself inwardly not only for having prejudged him but for carrying her original impression of the man far longer than she should have. If she gained nothing else on this trip, this newfound knowledge about her character would serve her well as the project progressed. If it progressed, she reminded herself.

The meeting went on. Other personnel—First Officer Nelon, Weapons Master Kyovska, Imperial geologists and technicians—came and went as they were called in for their expertise, then dismissed. Many possible courses of action were suggested and discussed, and, while many had merit, none would be decided upon until after a final meeting with the two Speakers.

All other parties heard from, only Montero, Adela and Billy Woorunmarra attended that final portion of the meeting. The Speakers themselves took part from their respective capitals: Salera from the former Joint Dominion Capitol in Eastland, Niles from his own government headquarters at Newcastle. Like Salera, Niles appeared holographically, which surprised Adela somewhat. Adela remembered that his own office was not holographically equipped, and realized that he must be using another facility for this session. She wondered idly how desperate this man, who preferred simplicity in most of the things he did, must have been for a settlement of the conflict with Eastland for him to use the higher technology of holography rather than the simple flatscreen he favored in his own office.

The holoconference room aboard Levant was specifically designed for meetings of this type and had ceiling-mounted projectors arranged in a circular pattern rather than a holo display area located in one corner or along a single wall frame as did most of the other rooms aboard the ship. There were actual chairs here, an even dozen of them, in a semicircle on one side with an open area on the other to allow for the received projections. The room seemed half empty with only two projections on the receiving side, those of the two Speakers. The two men were projected with their chairs next to each other, although the perspective on their end was probably different. Most likely so, in fact; little chance of these two willingly sitting next to one another, even if holographically.

“We are adamant!” Salera was saying, pounding a fist on the armrest of his chair. The man had changed physically since the last time Adela had seen him weeks earlier. His face was thinner, his body gaunt, and large circles could be seen hanging opaquely beneath tired eyes. Although the Eastland Congressional Guard retained its possession of the most strategically located sites of the pressure-tap network and enjoyed virtual control of Pallatin itself, that control had not come without a price. A number of the hopper raids on the abandoned manned stations had been intercepted by Westland forces. The casualties were many, and the numbers of Eastland soldiers now being held as prisoners of war grew daily. The conflict had taken a severe emotional, and now physical, toll on the Speaker that was plain at even a casual glance. “We want neither interference from the Hundred Worlds, nor interaction. We wish simply to be left out of Imperial matters entirely. Tell me why that is so wrong!”

The question had been directed at Lieutenant Woorunmarra, but it was Niles who responded. “It is not ‘wrong,’ ” he said levelly. Amasee Niles, like his counterpart, looked exhausted. “Eastland wishes to be an entity unto itself. That is not wrong, but it is shortsighted.”

Technically, as the Imperial legal representative and negotiator, this portion of the meeting was under the direction of Woorunmarra. It was up to him to attempt to bring about a resolution to this conflict, based in Imperial law and protocol if possible. However, it was a sign of his training that he knew when not to speak as well. Recognizing that much of what he was attempting to get Salera to realize was being said now by Speaker Niles, he remained passive during their several exchanges, speaking only when necessary.

“Simply put,” Niles continued, “as I’ve tried to convince you many times in the past: We need each other, Pallatin and the Hundred Worlds, just as our two Congresses need one another.”

Salera snorted contemptuously, crossing his arms resolutely across his chest. “We don’t need you anymore.” He said the words slowly, almost individually, the meaning behind his words plain.

“And why is that?” Adela put in before Niles could respond. “Because you’ve taken over one of the most important parts of the pressure-tap network, the northern control station on the west side of Arroyo?”

“It is a matter of self-preservation!” Salera was on his feet, his face flushed. He pointed across the meeting room to a point that must have represented Niles’ holographic projection from his perspective, although there was no one seated where he indicated. He looked angrily at the empty chair, adding, “I know that tremors have increased west of Arroyo. We’ve monitored them, but did nothing to stop them—at least as far as the effects have been felt on your side, that is. However, should you decide to join us in our opposition to the Hundred Worlds, Niles, we’ll be more than happy to share the tap network.”

Adela was about to counter his outburst, but the brief smile that appeared on Speaker Niles’ lips stopped her before she could say anything.

“You see, Kip?” he said softly. “You need our half of the network.” He paused, the smile lingering, and directed his remarks at the Eastland Speaker, although it was clear he was addressing the room at large. “You’ve just proven my point—we need each other. Because of the conditions here, because of the violent physical division of Arroyo, Pallatin can never truly be one world; and yet, we can never be truly separated.”

Salera snorted again and retook his seat. Niles’ image turned from the Speaker and, the viewing angle of his reception apparently more accurate than the other’s, looked directly at Adela.

“Dr. Montgarde, several weeks ago I told you that I once felt much as my counterpart does. Do you remember asking me at the time what changed my mind?”

Adela nodded. “As I recall, you changed the subject.”

He pursed his lips in an abashed half-smile and sighed. “Yes, I guess I did.” He leaned forward as he spoke, resting elbows on knees. “Nearly twenty years ago—probably at about the same time you left Earth to come here—I was a junior representative to the Joint Dominion, assigned to accompany a trading delegation to Killian’s World, a frontier trading world that deals in science and engineering. Specifically, I was to bring back the technology needed to develop the pressure-tap network.”

“But that wasn’t necessary,” Woorunmarra interrupted. “You could’ve obtained that technology from the Empire. You didn’t need to go to another frontier world to—”

“No? It is when you’d rather conduct business outside your world, simply to avoid letting the influence of outsiders in. We… I was as stubborn as the rest of Pallatin in my belief that the influence of the Hundred Worlds should not be felt here, even if it meant going outside for what we needed and bringing only that one thing back. There was control that way, you see? That way there would be no danger of any outside ‘contamination’ from the Empire’s influence.

“Killian’s World is close; using one of our fastest starships, the entire trip lasted under six years. I was on my way back, less than a month out, the technology to control our world in my hands…” He thrust his hands, balled into tight fists, forcefully out in front of him. He sat like that for several moments, his fists gradually loosening as he brought the painful memory under control. “There have been many earthquakes here since Pallatin was settled centuries ago, but none as devastating in terms of loss of life as the one that occurred while I was gone.”

Speaker Salera remained quiet in his chair, and Adela noted that the anger seemed to have drained from his features as he listened to Niles. The defiance still glowed in his eyes, but behind them lay a glimmer of—what?—sorrow at Niles’ story? My God, she suddenly realized, there is a connection between them. Were they related? Was there a common experience or a shared background that, despite their different philosophies, constantly tried to draw these two men together?

“We rebuilt, of course,” Niles went on softly. “We always rebuilt. But the tap technology I brought back ensured that we might never need rebuild again; that we might never see the losses we saw then. Working together, controlling Arroyo from both sides of the fault tamed it, made us the masters of our world at last.” He lifted his eyes, turning to face the other Speaker. “But it was something that could have been done years earlier, were it not for our foolish isolationist paranoia. Cutting ourselves off from the Hundred Worlds—and my support of the belief that it was the right thing to do—killed thousands, including members of my own family, unnecessarily. Killed them at a time when I was safe and cozy aboard a Pallatin starship.”

He hesitated, overcome with emotion, and reached outside the image for a moment. His hand returned with a glass of water, and he sipped quietly before going on. “Much time has passed since then, and in that time we in the west have gradually come to realize the folly of isolationism on a world like Pallatin.” He turned again to Salera. “We can be different, we can honor different customs and ideas that are dear to us, we can live our lives as we choose. We can even disagree. But we can’t continue this separation, Kip. It’ll destroy us both.”

The room was silent. Salera leaned back heavily in his chair, stroking at his neck and forehead with a handkerchief.

“Then join us,” he replied coldly. He thumbed a control on the armrest of the chair, and his image winked out.

They spoke to Speaker Niles for several minutes longer, then he, too, signed off and the three of them considered carefully what both men had said and how it would relate to whatever actions they would ultimately have to take. The discussion that followed lasted nearly as long as the session before the holoconference.

“Like he said, they are adamant in their stance.” Woorunmarra rubbed his face tiredly. “As he sees it, isolationism applies only to interaction with the Hundred Worlds; as long as both sides of Arroyo control the fault, Salera feels that they are united. And as long as he controls the Leeper stations, he’s willin’ to wait until Westland agrees with his stance.”

“The man is an idiot,” Adela spat. The tone in her voice took both Woorunmarra and Montero by surprise—neither had ever seen this side of her before. She became suddenly aware that they were staring at her, but didn’t care. Stupidity, in whatever form she encountered it, angered her and she felt that Salera was stupidly blinding himself to the truth of everything Speaker Niles had said during the holoconference. “He feels that as long as control can be maintained on a rudimentary level, Pallatin has no need of anyone else.”

“But he isn’t the only one,” Montero countered. Just as she had unsettled him with her angry outburst a moment ago, so, too, did he take her by surprise with the softness in his voice now. “Speaker Niles seems as adamant about what he wants as does Salera.”

“But he’s right!”

Montero held up both hands, palms out. “I know, I know; and I agree with the sentiments behind his philosophy.” He peered deeply into Adela’s eyes. “Isn’t that what this mission is all about? Holding the Empire together, just as he wants to hold his world together? But he seems, in many ways, as unwilling to bend in what he wants as Salera.”

Adela was forced to admit that the Commander was correct. She glanced once at Woorunmarra, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded in agreement to make it unanimous.

Thirty-six hours later, Niles appeared in the holoconference room once more. The Westland Speaker had readily agreed, as he had in the past, to further discussion of the situation and, as he had before, came to this session full of hope. Adela felt ashamed by what they were about to tell him and, even though his image was holographic, she had difficulty looking him in the eye as he waited patiently for the proceedings to begin. Salera, on the other hand, had been nearly impossible to pin down and had made several excuses and postponements of this session. It was he, in fact, that they waited for now.

Niles sat patiently, his elbows on the armrests of his chair, hands steepled before him. Only initial pleasantries had been exchanged among them once his image had appeared in the room, but that was normal. In holoconferences planned with both Speakers, no discussion was undertaken until both were present. He seemed to sense, however, that this meeting, called at Montero’s urgent request, was different and that the Imperial starship Commander had come to a decision regarding his home. He waited wordlessly, a noncommittal look cloaking his features.

There was a brief crackling in the air on the other side of the room, then a flicker of light before Salera’s image took shape across from them. He, too, had a look of anxious anticipation in his eyes that he tried with little success to keep hidden. Like Niles, he did not seem surprised that Adela, Woorunmarra and Montero had been joined by First Officer Nelon and Weapons Master Kyovska. Again, a few brief pleasantries were exchanged.

“A decision has been made,” Woorunmarra began without preamble, addressing the two Speakers. “It is with great regret that a satisfactory agreement could not be reached between your two Congresses, and the Empire will take no enjoyment from what it must do.” The brief statement of purpose completed, he looked to Montero, turning the rest of the conference over to him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Montero’s face was grim, and Adela noted that the man was deeply pained by what he was about to say. Far from the warmongering Imperial Commander she had first imagined him, she realized, perhaps for the first time, just how heavily this decision had weighed on him. He sat straighter in his chair and regarded Speaker Niles. “First, it has been decided that all support services, including—but not limited to—personnel, armament, transportation, medical, reconnaissance, and electronic and software services will be immediately withdrawn from Westland.”

Salera allowed a smile, pleased that the decision seemed to be going in his favor. In contrast, all color drained from Niles’ face. His breathing came in sharp gasps and his mouth worked futilely as he attempted to respond.

“Please remain silent,” Montero said before he could utter a word. “All parties will be allowed to speak when I’m finished. The audio of anyone attempting to disrupt these proceedings will be muted.” He turned then to face Salera. “Second, Pallatin is hereby notified that it will be quarantined until a resolution—peaceful or otherwise—is reached between your respective Congresses.”

“Quarantine?” Salera asked, his smile fading.

“All off-planet communications will be jammed. Incoming communications, regardless of their source, will be blocked. Other than orbital activity to service satellites and regular translunar traffic, all of which will be watched extremely carefully, no ships will be permitted to leave the Pallatin system. The rest of the Hundred Worlds will—”

“This is not acceptable!”

Montero nodded to Nelon, who touched a key on a handheld keypad. Instantly Salera—on his feet, his arms gesticulating wildly—fell silent as the audio portion of his feed was cut. Realizing he’d been muted, he sat grudgingly back down. The glow of anger on his face remained.

“Speaker Salera,” Montero said calmly as if nothing had happened, “Speaker Niles, the rest of the Hundred Worlds will be informed that a state of civil war exists on Pallatin, and a general noncontact order will be issued.”

Adela watched the reactions of the two men. Niles was in shock, a look of horror at what was about to happen stood immobile in his eyes. His holographic image was several meters away on the other side of the holoconference room and it was difficult to be sure, but… was he shaking? While Niles clearly was terrified at the prospects of what would happen, the Eastland Speaker seemed to have calmed down. Clearly he was coming to realize that the Imperial noncontact order was not all that far removed from what his goals were. Of the two, however, she wasn’t sure which reaction disturbed her the most. Are we doing the right thing here? she wondered fearfully. Was I right to encourage Montero to take this course of action?

Montero leaned forward in his chair, his gaze shifting from one Speaker to the other. Again, his professional manner and the strength with which he spoke made Adela remind herself that, yes, this forceful Commander was the same man who put people to sleep at routine briefings.

“Speaker Salera,” he continued, extending his hand palm-up to him, “you wish for the Empire to leave Pallatin alone, to be able to govern your own affairs without interference. I grant you that wish. The Levant will remain in orbit until a resolution to your conflict has been reached, at which time diplomatic negotiations will be reopened with those remaining in power. As we speak, self-contained and -powered observation stations are being established in several remote, unpopulated areas on both sides of Arroyo as well as on some of the larger islands on the far side of Pallatin. These stations will be protected by shield projectors utilizing a level of sophistication not found on Pallatin. Technology of this type is among the ‘Imperial contamination’ you would like to bar from your world, Speaker Salera. The stations will be untouchable. Rest assured, however, that they are being set up to monitor and enforce the quarantine only.

“Speaker Niles…” He turned to the other. Although Adela knew he favored the Westlander’s cause, Montero’s voice and manner of speaking remained the same as when he had addressed Salera. “You want only to bring the two halves of your world together, united in a common goal. I grant you your wish, as well.”

A puzzled expression washed over the Westland Speaker’s face. “But… but how?” Niles asked plaintively. Montero didn’t mute him.

“Because,” he replied, his voice taking on a deadly serious tone, “we feel that your forces are far superior to those of Eastland’s. Officer Kyovska?”

“Sir.” The Weapons Master stood, hands clasped at the small of his back, and addressed Niles. “Because of the effectiveness of their first strike against you, and because they now control a major portion of the pressure-tap network, the Eastland Guard has a tremendous advantage over your forces. However, during our brief period of cooperation, we were able to determine the full extent of your own Congressional Guard and find you to have a number of advantages. Westland’s greater size and population, for example, have enabled you to draw from a greater pool of personnel for the Guard. Your industrial facilities received more severe damage during your big quake than did those of the opposition, but were rebuilt with higher technological standards than the older, existing facilities in the east. Further, your troops are greater in number and better trained than those we’ve monitored in the east. We’ve run several hundred simulations based on the statistical strength and tactics exhibited by the opposing forces, and have found that Westland will ultimately achieve victory.”

“Thank you, Master Kyovska.” The officer retook his seat and Montero regarded the two Speakers again. “Please understand that the loss of life in this conflict will be tremendous, far exceeding anything Pallatin has experienced as a result of all its natural disasters combined.”

Salera raised a hand to speak. A nod from Montero and the muting for his transmission was canceled. “I don’t accept your projections,” he said, keeping his voice low and controlled. “Nor do I believe you’ll merely ‘wait around’ in orbit until such time as we’ve defeated the Westland forces.”

“Speaker Salera,” Montero shot back, “at this point, I don’t much care what you believe.”

The room fell into a deep, stunned silence.

Adela felt her stomach twisting in knots. The idea of a quarantine had been hers, but Montero was eager to put it into effect as a perfect compromise to using force to bring the frontier world into line with the Empire. But the idea was hers, and the full realization at the implications, the potential destruction and loss of life, weighed heavily upon her.

“Please understand something.” Adela spoke softly, but in the sudden quiet following Montero’s words her voice reverberated in the room, and she felt sure of herself as she spoke to the two men. “Our project will take centuries, and will impact the lives of more people than could fill a hundred Pallatins…” Her eyes met Niles’, and she quickly looked away. “I regret this, all of this, but we’ll wait it out. I’m sorry.”

Niles sat stolidly and gripped the armrests of his chair so hard that his knuckles went white. Someone appeared fuzzily at the edge of the image and he attempted to wave him away. There was an audible whispering too far out of his system’s pickup range to be understood. “Not now!” he barked, then thumbed his audio off as he dealt with the interruption. He spoke for several moments, then restored his audio.

“I’m sorry, too, Doctor.” He stood up wearily and regarded Montero. “I guess there isn’t much more to say, then, is there?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve just been informed that tremors have been reported near the Taw encampment. There may be injuries. Excuse me.”

He reached a shaking hand to the control stud on the armrest, and his image winked out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Can I help you with that?”

Amasee Niles had difficulty hearing the young soldier as he called from the front seat. He stopped fumbling with the restraining harness and adjusted the volume on his helmet comm, all the while trying to ignore the weight of the ungainly thing on his head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he shouted unnecessarily into the curved mouthpiece, then returned to the tangled mess of straps crossing his chest.

The soldier from the front section, his shoulders hunched over to negotiate the restrictive cabin of the four-man supply hopper, came back to his seat. The Guard Corporal was a mere boy, surely no older than his son Clint.

“Let me help you with that, sir.” The Corporal deftly pulled the harness across Niles’ chest, clacking the catches and pulling the loose ends of the straps taut for him. “How’s that, sir? Too tight?”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”

He smiled and climbed back into the copilot’s position, and Niles heard the sound of the boy’s own harness being secured.

Niles leaned back, making himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped cabin. The craft had been designed mainly for short-range transport of shipping crates and supplies for commercial purposes, and the four seats forward of the cargo compartment—two crew positions and two passenger—felt as if they’d been added as an afterthought. At least, the two passenger seats did. In truth, the original cabin had been stripped and reoutfitted with smaller accommodations to allow for additional equipment when the craft had been adapted for military use. The rear seats were redesigned as gunner’s positions, but all weaponry had—on his personal order—been hastily stripped from the hopper for this trip. Niles absently fingered the mounting holes left behind when the starboard gun was unbolted from its spot below the glassless window.

Except for an occasional word or two between the pilots, the cabin was quiet; the constant vibration of the engines, on standby while they waited, was the only sound. Although the two soldiers in the pilots’ positions were volunteers, they were clearly nervous about this flight, and chose not to talk. The cabin seemed empty without the usual chatter Niles had grown accustomed to when being shuttled on congressional business.

The sun was nearly overhead, and he sweltered in the confines of the tiny space. Once under way the rush of air through the cabin would cool it sufficiently, but for now the scant breeze left sweat trickling down his scalp beneath the helmet. His back, securely harnessed against the plastic of the seat, was soaked through.

“Sir?” The pilot, a young Sergeant with the name “Ponde” stenciled on his helmet, had twisted around in his seat. “The truck’s here.”

Niles turned in the indicated direction and saw the supply truck speeding toward them over the concrete. It slowed as it neared and looped around so it could back up to the hopper’s opened and waiting cargo bay. The truck pulled to a halt a few meters from the hopper and two uniformed men jumped out of the cab. They opened the rear doors of the truck and climbed in, then directed the driver the rest of the way to the open hold. Over the soft humming of the standbys he could hear them moving about in the hold as they unloaded the truck. There wasn’t much to transfer, he knew, and the hold was sealed quickly, with the truck pulling away after only a few moments.

As the truck disappeared across the concrete, Amasee said, “Anytime, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Ponde gave him a thumbs-up, then nodded a silent “Good luck” to his copilot. He spoke a few words to the base controller, and they were on their way.

The hopper lifted quickly, smoothly, with the engines making little more sound than they had on standby. They flew in an exit pattern to the takeoff lane of the facility, then held position a hundred meters over the concrete, the hopper facing due east. From this height, the foothills lining Arroyo were easily visible several kilometers away, although the fault itself was still too far to be seen. Both Ponde and the copilot turned to him expectantly.

“The course is in?” Niles asked. A nod of confirmation. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

The engine whine climbed to a higher pitch and he felt himself being pressed back into the gunner’s seat. His eyes stung, and he pulled the helmet’s tinted visor down to shield his face from the wind now rushing into the cabin. With armaments stripped and minimal cargo, Niles realized, the hopper would reach top speed in only a few moments.

He reached for the small case on the seat next to him and set it on his knees, balancing it there as he flipped the latches open. He fingered the control pad of the portable comm set inside, activating the small system. “Sergeant, I’m cutting the internal two-way.” The pilot nodded over his shoulder and Niles flipped a switch, cutting the static-filled signal he’d been listening to for the last half hour. Touching a few more buttons brought a quiet, breathy carrier signal into his headphones. Tied in now to the main communications station at Newcastle, he tapped in a short sequence of numbers and a voice quickly came on the line.

“We’re ready, Speaker.”

This is it, then, he thought, staring out the window at the landscape passing rapidly underneath. He let his eyes scan the eastern horizon, where Arroyo was just now coming into view.

“Put the call through.”

“Something’s happening down there,” Montero said.

Adela and Woorunmarra, called to the Commander’s office moments earlier, sat wordlessly and waited for him to continue.

“We’ve been tracking a Westland aircraft—a small shuttle or supply hopper—since it crossed Arroyo about a half hour ago. As far as we can tell, it appears to be on an approach pattern to the Joint Dominion Capitol.”

“A sneak-in of some kind?” Woorunmarra asked.

“Doubtful. Anything fissionable would be scanned immediately, and it’s too small to be carrying much of any other kind of threat. It could be carrying biologicals, but that’s unlikely. It would be easier and more effective to launch something like that ballistically.”

“How far into Eastland is it now?”

Montero glanced once at his terminal screen. “About a hundred fifty kilometers.”

Woorunmarra sat straighter in his chair. “But… why haven’t they been shot down? Are they flyin’ too bloody low to be detected, or shielded somehow from ground-based monitors?”

Montero shook his head. “No. In fact, they seem to be purposely flying an easily detectable course. They’re holding at a steady altitude and flying on a direct heading with no deviation at all. Whatever they’re up to, they seem to want to be seen.”

“Have you attempted to contact Speaker Niles?” Adela asked. “Or has he been in touch with you about this?”

“I’ve tried to reach him, but he is ‘unavailable at this time.’ Whatever it is he’s doing, I’m not entirely sure his full staff is aware of it.” Montero pivoted his chair away from the terminal, pulling at his moustache with thumb and forefinger. “We have intercepted a communication from the aircraft; it’s on a coded signal, however, routed to Eastland through Newcastle.”

“Coded?” Adela said, puzzled. “We should be able to break most of the military codes by now. What does linguistics make of it?”

“That’s just it.” Montero reached for the terminal and spun it around so the two of them could see the screen. “It’s not a military code at all.”

“Wait a minute…” Billy leaned forward, peering intently into the screen at the gibberish scrolling across its surface. He raised a questioning eyebrow and Montero nodded. The Lieutenent crossed to the desk and tapped a fingertip against the screen, causing a sequence of numbers to enlarge and redisplay themselves in a window at the bottom. “Look at the prefixes. That’s a diplomatic code sequence.” He stared at the screen a few moments longer, then tapped once more on the glass, freezing a second set of numbers which also reappeared in the window. He retook his seat, nodding in apparent understanding.

“I recognize those two sequences.” He pointed at the terminal. “I should; I’ve used them enough times in setting up calls to Niles and Salera. I haven’t a clue as to the rest of what’s there, but this is a direct line they’ve set up between them. A ‘hot line.’ ”

“My God,” Adela breathed. “It’s him. He’s on board the craft himself.”

Montero sat quietly, considering this for several moments, then swung the terminal around and jabbed at the keys, saying, “I want a class-three combat shuttle prepared immediately.”

Adela glanced at Woorunmarra and, seeing that he was as stunned by what the Commander had requested as she, jumped to her feet. “But we can’t,” she almost pleaded. “A military strike would be a violation of our own quarantine.”

The Commander stood, fastening the top button of his uniform, and crossed purposefully toward the door. It slid open at his approach. “Don’t worry, Doctor,” he said, turning back. “I don’t intend to violate anything or anyone. We’re going down as observers only, fully shielded. They possess no weaponry that can breach the shielding on a class three, at least none that can safely be used in the vicinity of the Capitol.”

He exited the room, then stopped in the corridor and turned back. “Well, are you two coming or not?”

“Have us scanned again, then!” Amasee yelled into the helmet comm over the rushing wind, and stared out the window at his elbow.

They had an escort now.

Two fully armed fixed-wing aircraft had appeared from the south and now rode along at a discreet distance from the starboard side. A larger hopper, easily three times their size, shadowed them on the other. He couldn’t see it, but he knew there was another craft somewhere above, and behind, them.

The two pilots watched the aircraft that boxed them in but remained calm, concentrating their efforts on flying the hopper and staying on course without alarming the escort in any way.

“I have,” Salera responded finally. His voice was incongruously low and measured in his headphones; but then, he was sitting in an office or command post, and not flying squarely within the targeting sights of four armed aircraft. “But what does that tell me? You’re carrying no weapons-grade fissionable material, and judging from your speed and power output you seem to be flying empty, or nearly so. Why should I trust you?”

The Westland Speaker turned at a sudden sound. Another aircraft, a fifth, passed noisily over them and took position several hundred meters in front of the hopper. Its guns, he saw, had been rotated to bear on them, and a sudden high-pitched beeping from the command console told him that yet another missile had been locked on them.

“Why shouldn’t you?” was his response. “What possible threat do I pose?”

There was a long silence. “Stay on your present heading until you reach sector…” He paused, then, “… two-two-nine. Your escort will conduct you then to the military base at—”

“No! I’m landing at the facilities at the parkade!” He caught himself, forcing his emotions back down. “We have to meet at the Capitol. What I have to say is official state business and will not be conducted at an airstrip.”

Salera waited a full minute before replying. “All right, then. I’ve just given an order for the landing area to be cleared. Follow your escort down and land where they indicate.”

“Thanks, Kip.”

The other’s response was immediate. “Do not deviate from the flight pattern. If so much as a stray gust of wind moves you a meter off course, you’ll be incinerated before you know what happened.”

Niles looked to the two pilots in front of him. He had patched the private communications channel into their comm panel when the first of the Eastland aircraft had appeared, allowing them to hear what was being said. He owed them that much. Ponde turned to him and nodded, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Do you understand, Niles?”

“Yes. I understand.”

The combat shuttle Kestrel fell out of the sky unchallenged by Eastland forces and landed to one side of the circular parkade in front of the Capitol. Immediately upon touchdown, the shield was modified to a dome that securely covered the shuttle while it rested on the surface. Montero had informed Speaker Salera personally of his intentions to observe whatever was about to happen, and had requested a landing spot be cleared for them. Salera had balked, of course, but relented when convinced that he had little choice in the matter.

Adela and Woorunmarra rode out the landing in the Commander’s post, and watched what was happening on the several viewscreens whose cameras had been trained on the parkade.

The area looked considerably different, she noticed, from when she and Billy had attended that final session of the Joint Dominion. The parkade had been a virtual garden then, but bore little resemblance now to the splendor it had once possessed. Where before stood row after row of flowering trees and rolling green lawns, a military encampment had sprung up. Temporary housing and headquarters had been placed in the area surrounding the landing field now occupying the largest part of what had once been an enormous park and gathering area centered in the roadway that circled in front of the Capitol building itself. A landing surface that extended for several hundred meters in each direction had been put down and little, if any, plant life remained.

“Here he comes.”

Montero’s words brought her out of her reflection and she turned to the screen he was watching. The Westland hopper was coming in, slowly and carefully, flanked on either side by Eastland craft. The three ships settled on the landing surface at the same time, kicking up clouds of dust.

“I want to go outside,” Adela said forcefully, prepared for an argument. The Commander surprised her, however, when he nodded and rose, leading the two of them down the shuttle corridor to the embarkation ramp located on the lower level. He selected two armed guards for each of them and gave the order for the ramp to be lowered.

The dome of the shielding was nonpermeable, allowing no breeze to penetrate it, and a wall of heat met them as they descended the ramp. She looked at the sun hanging in the late afternoon sky and was grateful they’d changed into their hot-weathers before leaving the Levant. She walked to the edge of the shield, accompanied by Montero and Billy, and stood quietly as the scene unfolded not far from them.

A ring of soldiers had formed around the tiny hopper, and every pulse rifle was trained on it and its occupants. The guns of the two Eastland craft that had landed with it were likewise pointed menacingly at the little craft. Other weapons, both larger and smaller man the ones that now kept the landing area in their sights, had also been brought to bear on the Kestrel.

Nothing moved. The occupants of the hopper made no attempt to leave the craft until a small open transport, similar in design to the GEMs Adela had seen at the tap station, entered the edge of the landing area from the direction of the Capitol, followed by several wheeled vehicles. The hopper’s cabin hatch swung open when the vehicles came to a stop, and a helmeted man stepped out onto the pavement. Salera, surrounded by security, got out of the GEM and barked an order to several of the soldiers. They immediately approached the hopper.

The man was searched, a little too roughly, Adela thought. Other soldiers, their weapons leveled at the cockpit of the craft, forced the two pilots out onto the landing surface as well, their hands behind their heads. The two were taken to one side and detained, while the other man walked forward under heavy guard and stood before the Eastland Speaker. As he passed in front of them at the edge of the shield he hesitated and turned to them, lifting his helmet’s tinted visor. It was Niles, as they’d suspected.

“Well, it’s your move,” Salera said angrily when the man stopped before him. He swept his arm to take in the whole area, adding, “We’ve met you as you requested. We’ve agreed to your conditions. We’ve lived up to our promises.” He looked over to the shuttle, staring coldly at Adela and her companions, and bowed mockingly in their direction. “We’ve even been given the honor of having the high and mighty Imperial representatives attend.”

“I’m glad they’re here.”

“Well, I’m so happy that you’re pleased,” he said sarcastically. He stood straighter and nodded to the soldiers at his side, who immediately brought their weapons a bit higher. “Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you into custody immediately and end this charade of a war.”

“I’m here to end this charade, too.” He pulled off the helmet and dropped it, allowing it to clatter loudly to the ground. The soldiers fidgeted, the metallic sounds of a hundred weapons being shifted simultaneously breaking through the still, hot air.

Niles came forward, his hair pasted to his scalp with sweat, and stood facing Salera. “This has gone on long enough, Kip. I’ve run the same simulations he has.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Montero. “So have you. You know you can’t win. Let’s stop this now before even one more dies.”

Salera laughed. A soft chuckling sound at first, then he tilted his head back and roared with laughter until tears flowed from his eyes. The young soldiers at his side smiled, following his lead, but they were clearly too unnerved by this confrontation to see any humor in anything that had been said.

“That’s it?” Salera demanded, wiping his eyes. “That’s all this was about?” He laughed again and turned for the GEM, hopping into the open passenger seating. “I think you need to rerun your simulations. But this time, include a factor about the breakdown of the Westland Commander in Chief. I plan to.” He motioned for his driver to take him back to the Capitol.

“Wait!” Several guns clattered as they were reaimed at Niles.

Salera turned in the GEM, his manner seemingly more of annoyance now than anything else. “Yes, Niles?”

The man started to speak, but stopped himself as his face changed abruptly, showing an expression of—what? Adela couldn’t tell from her viewing angle just what had masked the man’s features. Sorrow? Fear? Hatred?

“Open the shield,” she said to the Imperial guard nearest her. The man stood dumbly, not knowing what to do, and looked to Montero for guidance. Adela followed his gaze and stared the Commander in the eyes. “Open it!”

He nodded, and the guard removed a flashlight-shaped object from his belt and pointed it at the shield in front of him, nullifying a circular area large enough for Adela to pass through. A stiff breeze, far cooler than the air inside the shield, blew refreshingly through the opening. Adela stepped through.

Woorunmarra stood by the opening. “Commander?”

“Go with her,” he replied. Woorunmarra stepped through and caught up with Adela. The pair was immediately flanked by several Eastland soldiers, causing the Imperial guards nearest the opening to prepare to follow them. “No,” Montero ordered, stopping the guards before they could clear the opening. “I think they’ll be safer if you stay here.” He nodded once to the man at his side and the opening disappeared.

Ignoring the armed soldiers covering the two of them with their weapons, Adela and the Lieutenant walked steadily to where Niles and Salera confronted each other. Niles regarded her and Woorunmarra as they approached and stood to one side, and Adela saw the look on his face for what it was: pain.

“I’ve brought something you need to see,” he said, facing Salera again. “In the hopper.” He started for the craft.

“Hold it!” Salera called at his back. He turned to several of the soldiers, ordering them to check the hopper before Niles could move any closer to the parked aircraft.

The men trotted for the craft, easily opening the hatch to the cargo hold. One handed his weapon to a companion and, covered by the others, climbed into the hold. A minute passed, then another, and he reappeared in the opening and said something to one of the others, who also climbed inside. They both reappeared a moment later and spoke animatedly to the others.

All but one of the soldiers remained at the open hold of the hopper while the first man who had inspected the craft ran back to stand panting, and fearful, before Salera.

“Well?” he demanded when the young man hesitated.

“Sir, I…”

“Is there a weapon? What?”

The young man stuttered, unable to speak. “There is… are… no weapons. Nothing dangerous. Sir.”

Speaker Salera scrambled down out of the GEM, shoving the soldier aside as he strode toward the hopper. The men at the cargo hold moved away as he neared, futilely attempting to make themselves invisible.

Salera stood at the edge of the open hatch and stared inside, remaining there, unmoving, for several moments.

“What is it?” Adela asked of Niles. He turned to her, his eyes welling with tears, but didn’t answer.

“Adela, look,” Woorunmarra whispered, his hand on her shoulder, and nodded toward the hopper.

Salera had reached inside the hold, removing its contents, and was walking slowly toward them, his face a mask of consuming grief. The crowd, until just moments before abuzz with speculation and chatter, fell silent. There were gasps here and there from some of the soldiers as the Speaker walked into their field of view. He carried a uniformed woman in his embrace, her arms and legs dangling limply as he walked slowly back to the GEM.

But as he neared, Adela realized that it wasn’t a woman at all. She was tiny, smaller than she was, and couldn’t have been more than a teenager—eighteen, maybe nineteen years old at the most. Her blond hair hung, dirty and blood-matted, over her youthful face. The left shoulder of her uniform was blood-soaked, and her left arm swung at an odd angle as Salera stopped before them.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words. He gasped painfully and looked away, his eyes scanning the soldiers whose attention was now riveted on him. His lower lip quivering, he asked, simply, “What happened?” Gone was the forceful sense of command he’d displayed only moments earlier. He walked past them and sat on the fender skirt of one of the wheeled transports that had escorted the GEM, and stroked the filthy hair away from the girl’s face. He looked up suddenly, his expression repeating his question.

His daughter, Adela realized. She felt tears of her own forming and turned to Billy, who put his arm around her, to comfort himself, she knew, as much as her.

Niles went to Salera, stopping just short of him, and looked down at the man as he held the broken body to his chest. “She was a member of one of the raiding parties involved in the hit-and-runs on the abandoned stations,” he said softly. “Her hopper was shot down last night near station 189.”

Salera knelt forward, laying the dead girl gently on the ground before him. Remaining on one knee, he rested an arm on the fender skirt and, still staring unblinkingly at her, whispered, “You’ve killed my daughter, bastard.” He didn’t rise, but looked up into Niles’ face. “You’ve killed Lanni.”

“No,” Niles replied, his voice filled with pain. “She received only minor injuries in the hit; none of her crewmates were badly hurt.” Niles sat on the fender and several soldiers brandished weapons, but Salera waved them off and stared again at the girl. They moved a few paces away, their weapons still held uncertainly at the ready, leaving the two Speakers, and Adela and Billy, alone.

“She and the others from her hopper were taken to a detention center at the encampment near Taw,” Niles continued. “Their injuries were treated and they were being taken care of according to the Laws of War.” He hesitated, his voice dropping still lower. “But this morning there was a series of tremors. The POW holding facility collapsed, as did one of our barracks. Others were severely damaged. Thirty of our people, most of them civilian support, and ten of the prisoners were killed. There was no power to the medical building, and the supplies it contained were destroyed. Medical evacuation hoppers were dispatched immediately, but eighteen more people died before they could be treated. Lanni was one of them.”

Salera, his head bowed deeply, asked, “What section of the tap system runs through Taw?”

“It was controlled from Leeper grouping, on one of the sections you ordered severed two weeks ago.” Niles shook his head. “There was nothing we could do to stop the tremors. I’m sorry, Kip.”

Salera slid to the ground at his daughter’s side and picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he rocked back and forth on his knees, causing her head to loll lifelessly from side to side. “I did it,” he croaked. “I did it.” His eyes closed tightly and he pulled his daughter closer, sobbing into the dead girl’s neck.

A throat cleared softly at her side and Adela realized that Montero had left the combat shuttle and had come up behind them. The Commander said nothing, but stood silently with the two of them.

Niles knelt at the man’s side, a hand laid softly on his shoulder.

“Let her be the last to die,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“My people fought well,” Amasee Niles said, looking around him at the blackened landscape. “So did Eastland’s.”

“It’s not wrong to be proud of fighting to serve your homeland,” Adela said, “even if the fight is wrong.”

Niles sighed heavily, shook his head at the signs of war that had swept the area surrounding the stations at Leeper.

The ceremonies had been planned for early morning, to take advantage of the cooler temperatures. The control grouping at Leeper was the northernmost of the stations, a few kilometers farther north, in fact, than the corresponding groupings linked to it on the other side of Arroyo. The breezes that blew down from the Grande Sea, laden with the tangy smell of salt water, helped a bit, but it was already hot. The orange K-type sun that was Dannen’s Star still hung low in a clear morning sky that promised an even hotter day.

The fighting at Leeper had been the first to begin and the last to stop, and had seen the greatest loss of life. It was decided to hold the ceremonies here, at the site of the worst fighting, and most of the battlefield had been left untouched. Here and there the overturned charred hulks of GEMs were scattered over the rolling hills that were more common here than at station 67. Even though the fighting had been over for months, the hulks looked as if they had only recently fallen silent. Adela supposed that the wrecks would someday be cleared, but that day would come long after the Levant had gone.

Someone had put white wooden markers, hundreds of them, in the ground to mark where soldiers died. In one spot a Westland hopper had crashed into a unit that must have included nearly a dozen GEMs with Eastland markings. The markers sprouted there like wildflowers, with no differentiation as to which marked Eastland soldiers and which signified the dead sons and daughters of Westland families. It was the markers, rather than the wreckage, that held Niles spellbound.

They sat in a group of seats that had been set up on the apron of the second station of the five-station grouping. The station had been the first one rebuilt, the work on the other four in the grouping still in its final stages. Where Adela sat now was a smaller section of maybe thirty portable chairs located at the front of the Westland viewing area. To her left Speaker Niles sat with his wife, Marabell. Although they sat stiffly, she held his hand as if afraid to let go; as if he might disappear and be lost from her if she did. She held a small leather case on her lap with her other hand. Carolane Pence, the representative from Leeper, along with a man she didn’t know, sat next to them. There were others in the seating area—Westland government officials, several men and women in military and scientific uniforms, other guests. Montero and two officers from the Levant were at her right. Behind them, seated in a separate section, was the entire Westland Congress. No, not the entire Congress, Adela reminded herself. There were empty seats scattered throughout the assemblage; seats left vacant for representatives who also served in the Congressional Guard, but did not come home from Pallatin’s short civil war. Behind the formal seating area stood row after row of uniformed men and women. They ringed the low area that comprised the station apron and spilled up the rise that surrounded the station like an amphitheater.

Farther down the apron was a corresponding seating area where the Eastland officials were to watch the proceedings. Like the one where she now sat, the most forward portion was set up as a VIP section where Speaker Salera and those closest to him would be watching. Woorunmarra was there, next to Salera.

The ceremonies were nearing their end. The speeches, including an address by Commander Montero, were over and a color guard made up of a mixed corps of soldiers from both sides of Pallatin was now drilling in formation for the assembled crowd. A band played; not patriotic military songs, Adela noted, but a melodic refrain that was both beautiful and haunting at the same time.

“It’s lovely,” Adela whispered to Niles. “What is it?”

“It’s called ‘Marianna Dawn.’ There are lyrics, as well, that tell of a young man going off to a war that nobody wins.” He listened closely a moment, determining where the band was in the song, then spoke softly in time to the music: “ ‘Tell me why you leave me, whene’er the hot wind blows; and I’ll tell you of my love for you, to guard you when you go. But tell me you’ll return to me, and tell me not to cry; and tell me we’ll be one again, and I won’t ask you why.’ It was written not long after Pallatin was settled, by a woman who emigrated here from Hawthorne.”

Adela nodded in understanding. Hawthorne was a dead world, evacuated two centuries earlier following a bloody civil war that left the planet’s ecosystem unable to support human life. Survey ships had since returned there, but no attempt had ever been made to resettle it.

The song ended, the last soft notes of the horns fading away over the crowds of soldiers lining the rolling hills. As the band moved off the apron, Niles leaned over and kissed his wife, embracing her briefly before turning to Adela. “I guess this is it,” he said simply. Marabell handed him the case and he walked briskly to the center of the apron, where Speaker Salera was already waiting.

Salera made some brief comments regarding the end of the hostilities and of hopes for a brighter future. He spoke optimistically about the newfound trust that had developed between the two halves of Pallatin, and of a new relationship with the Hundred Worlds. His words came naturally, as they would to a man so used to public speaking, but Adela heard the feelings behind what he was saying, and saw that he was indeed making his best effort to accept the situation.

And why not? Commander Montero had lived up to his promise to help rebuild the war-torn world. The work to restore—and improve—the pressure-tap network was nearly done. The new technology and software that had been downloaded from the Levant directly into the planet’s data libraries would enable the Pallatins not only to better control the violent nature of their world but to become more efficient in production at their shipyards. Further, Salera had at last seemed to accept that the Empire truly had no intention of interfering in their way of life. Genetic information, trade, technology and more would be available for Pallatins to accept—or not—as they saw fit.

When Niles’ turn to address the crowd came, he echoed many of the sentiments expressed by his counterpart. While he was now realizing a goal of which he’d dreamed for more than two decades, he said nothing in his remarks that might appear to be condescending to the other Speaker.

“There is one thing more,” he said as he concluded. He released a catch on the leather case and unfolded it, removing a thin rectangular slab of gleaming silvery metal that reflected the morning sunlight. “We have learned many things from those aboard the starship from Earth, but the most important things we’ve learned cannot be measured by technological means. The things we’ve learned… are about ourselves.

“I’ve also learned a great deal from the information contained in the Levant libraries. One thing I learned came from the writings of a man who lived on Earth many centuries ago. The people of his homeland would one day divide themselves, much as we have done, and he was destined to give up his life to reunite his people. Twenty years before his land was ripped apart, however, he wrote these lines.” Niles lifted the metal plate and read the words that had been engraved onto its polished surface. “ ‘At what point shall we expect the approach of danger? By what means shall we fortify against it? Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant to step the ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the Earth, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.’ ” The crowd had fallen silent, so much so that Adela thought she heard the sound of the snaps on the leather case as he refolded it around the plate.

“The references to the nations of Earth, and to her mountains and rivers, have no correlation to our world, of course. The message behind the words, however, is clear; but were it not for the efforts of these people from Earth we might have destroyed ourselves before understanding that message. To them, we owe a debt of thanks.”

He motioned for Adela and Montero to stand, then waved a similar invitation to Woorunmarra and the others from the starship. Some in the crowd might still have harbored a few reservations regarding those who, only a few months earlier, had been looked upon as “invaders” from the Hundred Worlds; but a resounding noise of approval arose now for the off-worlders. Even those from Eastland who had staunchly supported their secession from the Joint Dominion, Speaker Salera included, were relieved at the global tragedy that had been narrowly averted and joined in the applause.

Later, at a reception held at the Joint Dominion Capitol, Speaker Niles called Adela aside.

“I know you’re leaving soon,” he said over the music, “and wanted to thank you—in person, not over a holographic link.”

Adela’s face grew suddenly warm, and she wondered idly how long it had been since she’d last blushed. “We’re all very happy that everything turned out so well. Commander Montero—”

He took her hands in his, a gentle squeeze cutting her off. “I spoke earlier to the Commander. I know that the quarantine was your idea.”

A wave of cold washed over her, as if she’d just been caught in the act of committing a vicious crime. She felt a guilty lump forming in her throat and looked away to hide the tears she felt gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I… I’m sorry,” she began, fighting back her emotions. “I just couldn’t stand to see you destroying each other; destroying all you’ve worked so long and hard to accomplish here. It… all just seemed so stupid.”

“You’re right, Doctor. It was our own stupidity we were fighting for. Dying for. As those lines from Lincoln said, we were becoming the author of our own destruction.” He fished a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his formal attire, handed it to her. “Please, feel no regrets for what you did. It was your idea that terrified us enough to make us stop the killing. For that, we will be forever in your debt.”

Marabell came out of the crowd, accompanied by Kip Salera and his wife. The Eastland Speaker spoke to Adela politely, introducing her to his wife, Jailene. “I thought I might find you here,” Marabell said lightly once the introductions were completed. “The dinner is about to begin, whenever you two”—she indicated Niles and Salera—“are ready to join Jailene and me at the main table.”

“Thanks, I’ll join you in the dressing room in a few moments.” Marabell smiled and turned away with the other couple. As she did, Adela noted the similarity between the two women.

“They seem very close,” she said. “Have they become friends?”

Niles smiled. “They’re sisters. Kip Salera is my brother-in-law.”

The shimmering globe that was Pallatin began to dwindle in the display as the Levant picked up speed. Their mission here a success, they were leaving, heading “home” for Luna.

She would miss Billy Woorunmarra. He had stayed behind, along with several other Imperial officers, to help the Joint Dominion as they set about the task of rebuilding the Pallatin government and economy. He and the others would then become the first crew of one of the first starships to be produced in the new shipyards, and would follow Levant back to Sol system, arriving a few years later. His expertise at negotiations, not to mention his warmth and good humor, had made this trip bearable for her.

Alone again in her private suite, the planet glowing in the holographic display in the corner the only light in the room, she sat in silence.

The quiet was at once calming after the wearying ordeal on Pallatin, and frightening for the thoughts it now allowed to come creeping back into her consciousness after so long an absence. During the long months here she had managed, with varying degrees of success, to put Javas’ message out of her mind. But now, alone, with little left to be done before returning to the tank for the long voyage home, she found the image of his message playing over and over in her mind.

“System,” she said. There was an edge to her soft voice that she heard immediately. An edge that asked, what are you afraid of?

I’m afraid because I finally have to deal with this, she answered inwardly, and I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him.

“Ma’am?” the room system responded.

“Please cancel the current display and retrieve my personal file.” The image of Pallatin dissolved, leaving the room in near darkness.

“Personal files are ready for playback.”

“Display personal string one-A, message one.”

The corner of the room brightened, and coalesced into Javas’ study at Woodsgate on Earth. Just as the first time she’d viewed this file upon waking from the long voyage from Luna, Javas sat in the leather chair, the blanket-wrapped bundle cradled gently in his strong arms.

“Adela, my love, we have a son…”

“Cancel playback.” The image froze, and dissolved. “System.”

“Ma’am?”

“Retrieve edited file of personal string one-A, message one.”

“Ready.”

“Playback.”

Javas stood before her in the looped edit she had made of his message, smiling down at the infant in his arms. As she had before, she approached the image and looked into the eyes of her son.

He’s sixteen now, she thought. Almost a man. He’ll be thirty-six by the time I return.

She turned away from the image and went to a mirror, palming the light plate as she did. She brushed her long hair—lightened from spending so much time in the Pallatin sun—and noticed how it stood out against her darkly tanned skin. She considered changing from the hot-weather uniform she still wore, but decided against it and returned to the display area of her suite.

The edit loop was still running and she lingered a few moments in loving awe of the beautiful child in Javas’ arms that was her son. Their son.

“Cancel playback and prepare to record outgoing message.” Father and son disappeared and the room lights came up enough to make a clear recording.

“Ready.”

Adela sat in the chair, then changed her mind and decided to stand instead as she spoke. Before starting the recording, however, she changed her mind again and went back to the chair. She remained seated for a full minute before doing anything further and breathed in deeply, then exhaled, then breathed in again, forcing herself to relax.

“Ready,” the system repeated.

At the sound, she looked up into the recorder. “Record.” A red light glowed above the lens.

“Hello, my love,” she began.

“I’m coming home.”