Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [84]
Colonists clustered around the Dogged Persistence as if it were a flea market. Denn and Caleb showed off Roamer metals, synthetic-weave fabrics, solar-power films, and compact industrial apparatus. Breezes drifted through the open hatches into the Persistence, airing out the frequently recycled atmosphere. The Yrekans cooed and jabbered about the most routine things.
Denn saved the best for last, though. “In the back of the cargo hold, I’ve got worldtree wood from Theroc.” Gesturing for the tall Grand Governor to step inside, he explained how Mother Alexa and Father Idriss had permitted the Roamers to take some of the wood in gratitude for helping them to rebuild.
“You worked on Theroc? Interesting.” She lowered her voice. “The Hansa announcement didn’t mention anything about that. According to them, you’re all just hiding in your bolt-holes and weakening humanity with your greed.”
Caleb snorted again. “Why waste time on words that might cast the clans in a positive light?”
The lumber in the hold reminded Denn of gold ingots, boards laminated with a Midas touch. The air held a sweet resinous scent with an undertone of herbs and pungent oils.
During their journey from the Osquivel meeting, Denn had tried his hand at whittling scrap chunks of the wood. When not playing games or sharing a drink with Caleb, he had whiled away the time with a sharp knife, cutting thin curls of wood from block after block. Roamers rarely had the opportunity to work with wood at all, and he hadn’t expected to be good at it, but somehow he managed to expose secret figures that lay within—either projected there by Denn’s own imagination or implanted by green priest acolytes who had spent many years telling stories to the trees.
The vivid grain was like colored gases in a dramatic nebula, strange random patterns laid down by the bloodsap of the giant trees. Denn thought he could see faces and shapes, like ghosts behind his eyelids, memories of scenes he was sure he’d never experienced before.
As the Grand Governor ran her fingertips over the wood, Denn noted the quiet fascination in her eyes. The skeptical narrowness had gone away, and her rich brown irises shone; he could imagine what she had looked like as a young woman. “We’ll take some of this wood. We need to negotiate a price, and what form of currency or barter we can use.” He witnessed the strength and unshakable determination that made her a good leader. “But we will work something out.”
One of the Yrekans came running into the ship’s cargo bay. “An EDF battle group just arrived in orbit! They’re already preparing to launch a shuttle with Admiral Stromo aboard.”
The Grand Governor flinched. “What does he want now?”
“An inspection tour. That’s what he says.”
Denn and Caleb exchanged a panicked glance, briefly wondering if the Yrekans had betrayed them by calling the EDF. But no message could possibly have been received so quickly, and when he saw the Grand Governor’s face, Denn knew she hadn’t tricked him.
“They’ll see my ship,” Denn said. “They’ll know we’re here.”
“No offense, Mr. Peroni, but with all your hatches open, the different styles of hull plating, and the strange design, nobody in the EDF is going to recognize this as a functional ship at all—especially not someone with as little imagination as Admiral Stromo.” She turned to the message bearer and snapped a set of orders. “Call everyone in the vicinity. We need help right away. Bring out as much large equipment as you can find and park it in the spaceport.”
Amazed, Denn and Caleb watched over the next half hour as the Yrekans hustled out harvesters and tillers from their barn hangars. Two hydrogen-powered crop-dusting aircraft were moved into position on either side of the Dogged Persistence. Men and women draped tarpaulins and stacked crates around the landed ship. Before long, the Roamer ship looked like an abandoned wreck that had been converted