The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [18]
“That’s good news, Admiral, but as you can see, we’re in the middle of an emergency here. I don’t have time for formalities.”
“Then I’m glad we got here when we did. I’m coming down in a shuttle — if you promise not to shoot me out of the sky.”
“That’s a promise.”
OX guided the derelict into the open area among several intact worldtrees where Therons had gathered. Peter and Estarra emerged from the hatch and tried to organize all the people. Before long, an EDF command shuttle descended toward their position, alarming many of those gathered there, especially Roamers, but Peter called for calm.
When Willis disembarked, she ran an appraising eye over the royal couple. She straightened, gave a salute, then a bow, as if she wasn’t sure which gesture was expected. “I was hoping to be a bit more diplomatic about this, King Peter, but the circumstances are unusual. The eleven capital ships under my command have come to throw in our hats with the Confederation. Could you use a few battleships?”
Estarra couldn’t believe the offer, especially considering what she’d expected. “We certainly wouldn’t turn them down, Admiral — but right now we’ve got our hands full with other problems. Can you help us?”
Peter added, “I don’t suppose you have any experience with wildfires?”
Willis answered with a shrug of bravado. “How about we consider this our first assignment on your behalf?”
* * *
9
Nira
As the only green priest imprisoned on the Moon with the Ildiran captives, Nira felt cut off, unaware of what else might be happening in the Spiral Arm. The base commandant kept them separated in randomly chosen groups “for security reasons” — guard kithmen, Solar Navy soldiers, attenders, bureaucrats, even Rememberer Vao’sh and his companion Anton Colicos.
The rock walls of the lunar base were cold and dry, sealed with transparent polymer, but Nira tasted dust in every breath. The lights were painfully artificial, too bright, too white. She longed for something green and alive.
But she felt a much greater concern for the Mage-Imperator than for herself. She could see in his red, haunted eyes and jerky mannerisms that Jora’h was desperate and lost. Her heart went out to him, filled with love, fear, and indignation at what Chairman Wenceslas had done to him — and Nira’s pain could be only a whisper of the ragged agony Jora’h must be feeling through the thism. His people needed him!
The Mage-Imperator knew that Rusa’h and the faeros had unleashed an inferno in the capital city of Mijistra, driving Prime Designate Daro’h out of the Prism Palace, and destroying many warliners in Adar Zan’nh’s Solar Navy. When the fiery attack had begun, Nira had briefly received information through a treeling aboard the warliner. Through his thism connection, the Mage-Imperator had sensed the panic and death of many Ildirans. And just when the people needed their leader more than ever before, Chairman Wenceslas had seized Jora’h’s warliner and brought them all here as political prisoners. Hostages.
“I can still feel it,” Jora’h said to her. The star-sapphire glint in his eyes showed an edge of frenzy. His hands trembled, and his long braid had begun to unravel. “Ildira is wounded.”
The Chairman refused to set him free. Though he knew the faeros were attacking Ildira, he remained oblivious to the urgency — or perhaps, Nira thought, he was well aware of the situation and was using it for his own purposes.
The dozen bestial-looking guard kithmen growled and flexed their clawed fingers as they prowled the perimeter of the former mess hall where the hostages were allowed to gather. Though stripped of their crystal katanas, the hopelessly outnumbered guards were ready to tear the humans apart, given the slightest signal from their Mage-Imperator. Nira tried to calm Jora’h, and as he relaxed, so did the guard kithmen.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Jora’h turned to whoever was coming, setting his face in a hard, commanding expression. Even under these appalling circumstances he clung to a pride and dignity that