The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [168]
At any moment, a big burning rock could hurtle through the atmosphere and obliterate the entire campus. He wasn’t sure he cared.
Across the planet, the whole population lived with that fatalism. Some people had become dramatically religious; others responded with wild end-of-the-world hedonism. Many didn’t know what to do. To Anton, no disaster seemed as significant as the death of Vao’sh. He heaved a sigh. Hearing somebody at his door, he looked up from his desk.
For the first time in years, Anton saw his mother.
He stared, and Margaret stared back at him. “Hello, Anton.”
The silence stretched out for an impossibly long moment, and he finally blurted, “Where have you been?”
He couldn’t remember doing so, but suddenly he was up from his desk and running to the office door. His mother seemed bony and rigid as he threw his arms around her. It was an automatic reaction; he couldn’t recall the last time Margaret had given him a hug. His parents had always been so wrapped up in their archaeological pursuits that they didn’t know how to deal with children, not even grown-up ones.
He continued, barely pausing for a breath. “I looked for you! I begged Chairman Wenceslas to send search teams, and he did. I made inquiries, but then I went off to Ildira — ” He shook his head, as if to rattle his thoughts back into place. “It was so hard to get news there.”
“No one knew where I was,” she said. “I was too far away. Much too far. You always did enjoy epic stories, and I’ve got one that’s a saga and a half.”
“What’s it about? Will you tell it to me?” Anton realized maybe he would be able to complete writing that long-planned biography after all.
Margaret seemed lost in thought. “Where do I start? The black robots? How your father died on Rheindic Co? How I lived isolated among the Klikiss for years? How I finally came back home?” She flashed him a strange smile. “Remember that music box you gave me — the one that played ‘Greensleeves’?”
“It was a present for your . . . anniversary? Birthday?” He always had trouble figuring out what to get his mother, and he had bought it at the last minute. Although the little metal box hadn’t cost much, it had appealed to him, and she had seemed pleased by the gift. “You actually kept that?”
“It saved my life. Its music was why the Klikiss didn’t kill me, as they did the other human captives.” She held his shoulders, studying him. “You look sad.”
Once again, he was at a loss for words. “We’ve both got some complicated stories to tell.” He shook his head. “There was a time when I thought being invited as the guest speaker to a conference was the most exciting thing I could aspire to. I liked to read about great heroes, not try to be one.” Without realizing he was doing it, he suddenly found himself crying on her shoulder.
Margaret held him for a long while, and then took him by the arm. “Is there a coffee shop on campus where we can talk?”
He wiped his eyes. “We’ll need more than a cup of coffee. How about we plan on having dinner together?”
Margaret smiled as they walked down the hall. “Tonight, and maybe for the next few nights. This won’t be quick or easy.”
* * *
115
Mage-Imperator Jora’h
Drawing a deep breath of bitter air on the open landing bay with Del Kellum, Jora’h stared out into the clouds, watching the stately Solar Navy ships. Osira’h and Nira were also with him to observe the preparations to take the battle back to Ildira. Nearby, the hydrogue derelict sat waiting for whatever tests Kotto intended to perform, but his work on it — as well as the Klikiss Siren — had been preempted by their preparations to fight the faeros. The intense gear-up had been under way since the previous day.
After the war council meeting, Adar Zan’nh had returned to his flagship to oversee yet another round of practice runs. Warliners cruised back and forth in regimented formations, practicing maneuvers, performing intricate loops and close encounters, in training for their offensive