Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [110]
Anton turned away from his wan reflection. “There’s really nothing to fear out in the dark, you know, Vao’sh. With the hydrogues abroad and all the planets they’ve destroyed, we’ve got enough real danger to worry about.”
“That may be true, Rememberer Anton, but one’s fears are not based solely on logical analysis.” Vao’sh touched his friend’s shoulder in a human gesture he had learned from Anton. “Come with me. Designate Avi’h is hosting another banquet and wishes everyone to join him.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Then we’d best do our jobs. Could you think of a…distracting story for me tonight? How about a ghost story? I’d like that.”
Vao’sh pondered. “I’m not certain the others would appreciate it as much, but I will do it for you, Anton.”
In the central dining hall reserved for huge crowds during the height of the day season, several small tables had been set out for the thirty-seven remaining inhabitants. The Designate considered it a cheery place, but the grandness of the hall seemed to diminish the size of their company by comparison.
Anton dined on fresh vegetables and preserved meats. The two agricultural kithmen Mhas’k and Syl’k were proud of their bountiful produce, though the returned Designate was consuming fresh supplies so quickly that they would run out of food before long.
The engineer Nur’of enthusiastically reported on the new turbines he had installed in the ancient tunnels he’d found beneath Maratha Prime, but the Designate seemed neither impressed nor interested. Avi’h raised his hands. “Time for something entertaining! My father dispatched his greatest rememberer to keep us company here on Maratha Prime. So, Vao’sh, tell us your best story.”
Beside the Designate, Bhali’v officiously repeated the order. Vao’sh turned most of his attention to Anton. “In honor of our human guest, I will tell a…chilling story.” Designate Avi’h frowned, as if he had hoped for a heroic tale or a ribald adventure, but he sat back and listened.
“The Spiral Arm contains many mysteries. Once, in an earlier age when the Empire was growing, our intrepid explorers traveled great distances to shine light upon the deepest questions of the universe. Our thism extended far, the threads stretched across many star systems. The Mage-Imperator wanted to know the universe, to have his people touch it all.
“Thus, a septa of exploration craft was sent into a dark nebula we call the Mouth of Space—a black enigma that had defied analysis by our best astronomers. The Mage-Imperator wished to know the secrets of this mysterious place between the stars. And though darkness is fearful to Ildirans, their warliners were strung with extra blazers, both inside and out, and the seven ships sailed forth into the black zone.”
Vao’sh paused, and his facial lobes flickered through a symphony of colors and emotions. He changed his voice and spoke quickly to startle his listeners. “But they vanished!”
Anton listened to him, identifying some of the techniques he himself had taught the old rememberer.
Vao’sh leaned forward, closer to his audience. “The entire septa was lost for centuries. No one knew what had happened to those seven ships or the members of their brave crews, but through the thism the Mage-Imperator sensed that something had gone terribly awry. Something cold, and dark, and sinister. No one dared venture into the Mouth of Space to learn the answer. The black nebula hung there like a blot against the stars, anathema to the Lightsource.” The storyteller’s face flushed ominous colors mixed with pallid tinges denoting fear.
“Centuries later, an investigation team found the seven ships again. They were out of power, frozen, completely lifeless. Just drifting and far from any star system. When salvage workers cut their way through the hulls, they discovered that every Ildiran aboard was dead. They had all been killed at the same time, instantly, yet terribly! As if they had been confronted by their most awful fears, struck down by a weapon none of them could understand, locked in infinite