A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [100]
From beneath the cruiser’s lower hull, Tasia’s weapons officer deployed the tactical armor foam, spraying the gummy substance onto the waves like pancake batter that spread out and hardened. She didn’t want to hear the moans of dismay among the refugees. They had been attacked, unexpectedly rescued, and now were being cast back onto the water. There, they would be vulnerable to a hydrogue attack without so much as an awning over their heads.
But there wasn’t any other way, short of abandoning over 90 percent of the planet’s population to certain death.
When the Manta’s cargo bay opened, reluctant refugees began to drop down to the water, some of them hitting the soft unstable islands. A few of the first ones hesitated at the hatch, afraid to jump the several meters down to the uninviting green squishiness of the rafts. But when others nudged them forward, hundreds of rescued colonists tumbled out of the cargo door like lemmings. They struggled to get to their feet on the floating mass and stagger away from the waterfall of bodies.
Tasia’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Every delay costs the lives of other settlers. Now move!” She sent Sergeant Zizu and his security crew armed with stun weapons to make sure all the refugees left the ship as ordered. Her voice softened slightly. “Hey, don’t worry. We rescued you once…We’ll do it again.”
Two more EDF Mantas came in low over the water, spraying armor foam that hardened into spongy platforms. Each of the scattered smelly polymer rafts would support hundreds of evacuees. The rescue proceeded at a record pace.
People stumbled and fell. Tasia didn’t want to think about the number of broken bones the refugees would suffer—she only hoped they survived long enough to complain about it. Water sloshed over the edges of the largest rotating rafts. Groups stood staring at the hazy coast in dread as the hydrogues continued to lay waste to the continent.
In the end, Tasia’s security troops needed to stun only a few dozen frantic evacuees and dump them out. She could see from the faces on her command screens that many of the Boone’s Crossing colonists had already given up hope. They simply clung to survival, moment by moment.
Before the cargo bay doors closed, Tasia gave the order to lift off, circle over the rafts, and streak back to the mainland at top speed. Over the emergency band, she could hear the distress calls from Settlement L, the next town facing the enemy onslaught. “Stand ready,” she transmitted. “We’re on our way.”
And the hydrogues kept coming.
50
PRIME DESIGNATE JORA’H
After the attack on Hyrillka, Prime Designate Jora’h no longer felt safe even in the PrismPalace. Enhanced sunshine passed through the transmission windows and curved panes, lighting every corner and driving back all shadows. But the warglobes could still be out there, converging on Ildira even now…
The Solar Navy had been roundly defeated at Qronha 3 and again at Hyrillka. If the hydrogues chose to attack anywhere else in the Empire—even Mijistra itself—how could the Ildirans stand against them?
Jora’h‘s father summoned him for an immediate consultation, but he took the time to compose himself. With a flicker of sentimentality, he donned a loose-sleeved tunic made of Theron cocoon fiber given to him by Nira Khali. He hoped it would give him strength, and peace.
A short time later, he stood rigidly in front of the chrysalis chair. It pained him to see the shock of loss and horror on the Mage-Imperator’s grayish face. Jora’h thought he could see the glowing bones directly through his father’s skin. Had the leader’s health failed significantly in the past few weeks? His long braid looked dull and frayed, as if even the strands of hair were losing their will to live.
Through the thism, the leader had experienced the torment and suffering of his people during the Hyrillka devastation. “You are uninjured, my son?” The leader’s concern seemed to stem more from political and dynastic worries than from a more personal fear for Jora’h‘s well-being.