A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [229]
There had been no reason whatsoever for the attack. The swarm of Ildiran battleships had cruised into the system on patrol just in time to see the alien warglobes departing from their nonsensical destruction. From his command nucleus, Kori’nh stared stoically at the images of the scorched world.
“Who can comprehend these hydrogues, Adar?” said Tal Zan’nh, standing beside Kori’nh in the command nucleus of the lead warliner. “We must report this to Ildira. Perhaps through the thism, my grandfather can explain our enemy.”
The Solar Navy had watched, but with their hands tied by the Mage-Imperator’s orders, they made no move to pursue the hydrogues. Fuming, Kori’nh had clenched the rails around his command platform. “Yes, our only assignment is to observe…and then back away without fighting.” The words tasted flat in his mouth.
Zan’nh looked at him, disturbed. “We know that the Solar Navy has no weapon effective against the hydrogues. What would be the purpose in going on the offensive and being slaughtered?”
“We did have some success at Qronha 3,” the Adar said, looking at his talented protégé.
“But…we were utterly defeated there.”
“Only a matter of perspective, Tal. Do not forget that we hurt them. Even though we weren’t prepared for that fight, Qul Aro’nh still destroyed one warglobe and damaged two others.”
He knew that all of his crew members could sense his uneasiness, though they believed his anger was directed toward the hydrogues. With a sigh, he ordered the cohort to move out of the system. The Ildiran stardrives engaged, and the giant warliners slipped at blinding speed into the empty gulf between stars, heading toward another pointless rendezvous—
And then, on far-off Ildira, the Mage-Imperator died.
Everyone aboard the hundreds of ships felt it—from Adar Kori’nh and Tal Zan’nh, down to the lowest maintenance worker and deckhand. Sudden emptiness burst through the thism like a thunderbolt, exploding the bright soul-threads, blinding every Ildiran from the Lightsource. Cutting them off. Leaving them abandoned, alone. Hopeless.
Kori’nh reeled backward, supporting himself against the platform railing, barely able to see through the crippling loss. Zan’nh let out a desperate cry. The warliner’s crewmen clasped their temples, squeezed their eyes shut, letting out a low, moaning wail.
The shock wave instantly rippled through the compartments, the decks, the chambers of every Solar Navy ship. No one paid attention to their duty stations, and the battleships drifted on their preset courses.
With a supreme effort, Adar Kori’nh rallied himself, pulling his body erect. He had never felt such…emptiness. The ringing in his head and the despair washing through his mind clamored for attention, but he forced his thoughts forward. He shouted to his bridge crew, “Attention! Sound the alarm.” His first words came out hoarse, but then he repeated them with more strength, more urgency.
When the crew continued to writhe and wail, he strode away from the command nucleus to the consoles themselves and initiated the all-hands signal. Due to their Solar Navy indoctrination, the warbling siren struck instant resolve into every soldier aboard every ship in the cohort.
“Tal Zan’nh! Summon all quls and septars.” He drew a deep breath. “I want all subcommanders to join me. Our situation has changed dramatically. We must discuss this emergency immediately.” The ships soared along on course, unswerving…though everything else in the Ildiran universe had changed.
“But, Adar, the Mage-Imperator is dead!” cried his communications officer. “We can all feel it.”
“We are still the Solar Navy!” Kori’nh snapped. “The Ildiran Solar Navy. What would the Mage-Imperator think if he knew you turned into whimpering jelly in a crisis?”
While the alarms continued to ring, slowly—very slowly—the soldiers began to clamp down