Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [220]
The vessel streaked in at high speed with the remnants of velocity imparted by an Ildiran stardrive. The Manta’s long-range sensors showed it as a skeletal framework, a cargo escort used to haul cylinders of processed ekti.
A transmission came over the open channel. “This is Commander Patrick Fitzpatrick III of the Earth Defense Forces. I’ve been eavesdropping, Grandmother, and it looks like you’re about to bite off more than you can chew.”
“Patrick! You’re alive.”
“Obviously, Grandmother. I’ve come back to offer a way out of this mess.”
“Mess?” She controlled her emotions, becoming cool again. “Thank you, Patrick, but we have it under control.”
“No, you don’t, Grandmother—and if you don’t listen to me, you’ll lose one of the greatest advantages the Hansa could hope to gain. I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse.”
Chapter 112—MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H
Hundreds of Solar Navy warliners arrived at Hyrillka, the heart of the insurrection. Mage-Imperator Jora’h felt more keenly attuned to his thism than he had ever been, because he needed it more than ever. Always before, the mental safety net had been a part of him, an unconscious ability that he’d taken for granted. Now it was his greatest strength. It had to be.
In his mind’s eye, the soul-threads stretched out like taut strands spun from unbreakable diamond fiber. He sensed his people, the love and loyalty across the whole Ildiran Empire, no matter how far away.
Here, though, Rusa’h’s—and Thor’h’s—corruption made him angry. Hyrillka was at the center of a growing blank stain, like a hole in the expansive Ildiran Empire. The Horizon Cluster was an empty, silent scar that might never recover fully. But Jora’h intended to take it all back.
When a full cohort of warliners appeared above Hyrillka’s main city, several rebellious battleships launched from the spaceport grounds. These were warliners, cutters, and streamers that had been seized when Dzelluria and Alturas had fallen to the insurrection. Their weapons already primed and powered, they seemed suicidally intent on defending the usurper.
A transmission boomed from the newly arrived battle group, emanating from the recovered warliner that had so recently been intent on subduing Dobro. “This is Adar Zan’nh. We come in the name of the rightful Mage-Imperator.”
The rebel ships prepared for a headlong attack, rising recklessly in front of the oncoming military force, though they were impossibly outnumbered. “Are you willing to fire upon other Ildirans?” said the deluded commander. “We are acting to defend our Imperator—would you slaughter us?”
Zan’nh responded coldly, “If necessary. If you make it necessary.” His ship surged forward, taking the point of the assault. More than three hundred warliners followed him, all of them ready to open fire.
Jora’h waited in the command nucleus of his flagship. Through thism strands to the former rebels that were stronger than ever, the Mage-Imperator could sense that the soldiers aboard Zan’nh’s recovered warliner were surprisingly willing to open fire on their former comrades. Though they could not be held responsible for what they had done after being coerced by Rusa’h, the recovered Solar Navy soldiers still reeled with the realization. They were furious, prepared to fight harder, as if that might purge their shame. Now that their eyes had been opened, they were appalled at how they themselves had been abused, their allegiances twisted.
Jora’h could also sense that they carried a certain sympathy and understanding for the other insurrectionists. Not long ago, these soldiers would have been willing to throw away their lives for Rusa’h instead of for him. But the impostor Imperator did not expect the Mage-Imperator to be here himself. This was no mere military engagement, but a battle of minds.
Hoping to avert a full-fledged and deadly combat, Jora’h reached out again, searching for the disjointed web of thism that his insane brother had stolen. Unlike the converts aboard Zan’nh’s recovered warliner, Rusa’h’s followers manning these