Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [87]
He set off for Dzelluria, leaving his pleasure mates in Hyrillka’s citadel palace to watch over the imprisoned Adar Zan’nh. He doubted the younger man would voluntarily change his mind; he was too entrenched in misguided loyalty to his father. Fortunately, ensconced in the command nucleus of the flagship warliner, Rusa’h did not need the Adar to accomplish his aims.
Every crewmember serving aboard his forty-five battle vessels now swore their allegiance to his holy cause. Once they’d been converted, all the shiing gas had been purged from the ventilation systems, sharpening the reeducated minds of the soldiers. His thism re-networking would hold fast.
He could not allow any Hyrillkan to consume shiing again, including Prime Designate Thor’h. Now that they were part of his own web, he couldn’t afford to let them become malleable again. A second, equally important reason for the restriction was that all future shiing production must be used for the expanding rebellion. Large amounts of the drug would be Hyrillka’s most effective tool in forcibly spreading Rusa’h’s enlightenment.
The new Imperator had chosen to lead the first conquest himself. Dzelluria would fall.
When the warliners arrived at Dzelluria, the local Designate probably assumed it was a military group from Ildira sent to perform skyparades. Designate Orra’h transmitted welcoming messages, and Designate-in-waiting Czir’h, a son of the false Mage-Imperator, announced that he was ready to perform his ceremonial function.
Imperator Rusa’h said, “You will both be required to perform an important function. Be prepared.”
He dispatched large groups of cutters and entire flights of armed streamers down to the capital city. Warliners loomed overhead, their weapons ready to fire. The Dzelluria Designate and his people were slow to imagine that anything was wrong.
Rusa’h instructed the streamers to sweep through the primary city in attack mode. Swiftly, they launched explosive projectiles that wiped out the communications facility, cutting Dzelluria off from any direct contact with Ildira. Rusa’h did not want to give the corrupt Mage-Imperator any advantage.
The Dzelluria Designate and his protégé clearly did not know what to do. The attack was too fast, too precise.
When his intimidating flagship landed, an enormous honor guard of converted Solar Navy soldiers carried the Imperator’s chrysalis chair out into Dzelluria’s open sunlight. Designate Orra’h stood so astonished that it took him a moment to recognize his own brother. “Rusa’h? What is the meaning of this? Why are you dressed like that? And why do you sit in a facsimile of the chrysalis chair?”
“Because I am your rightful Imperator.” The soldiers bore his chair directly to where Orra’h and his young companion stood waiting. “I have come to invite you to join my cause.”
He explained how, while his injured body remained in sub-thism sleep, he had drifted on the plane of the Lightsource. He had seen the root of all soul-threads that bound the Ildiran race together...and had followed them to the rot eating away at the Empire. Not just the usurper Jora’h, but the previous Mage-Imperator and several predecessors, had led the Ildiran people astray, blinding themselves to true visions. Rusa’h, though, knew how to guide Ildirans back to the Lightsource, a return to old traditions and self-sufficiency, free from parasitical relationships with humans, free from the threat of hydrogues.
Young Czir’h looked frightened as Rusa’h explained his solution, but Designate Orra’h seemed angered. “I had heard about your injury, Rusa’h. Come with me, and I will assign my best medical kithmen to treat your delusions. We would welcome you back into the