The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [204]
The expression on the simulated face didn’t change. “I remember you, Chairman Wenceslas. You cannot keep secrets.” A frisson of fear gave Basil gooseflesh. The real Davlin Lotze did know much about his personality, and maybe that wasn’t entirely a good thing.
Then the vaguely human visage lost its features again, sharpened, enlarged, and became a kaleidoscope of the most horrific Klikiss warriors, monstrous domates, spiny insectoid beasts. “You dispatched humans to our worlds. Your Colonization Initiative. You sent battleships to destroy our subhive at Pym.”
When Basil spoke, his voice scraped through a dry throat. “It was a misunderstanding. At the time I felt I had no alternative. The Hansa means the Klikiss no harm. We can be allies. There is no need for hostility.”
“You cannot hide what you have done.” Suddenly, all semblance of the breedex’s integrity — whether Davlin’s face or a Klikiss head — collapsed into churning turmoil again. Even Margaret backed away in alarm. The hive mind’s voice, however, continued to thunder from countless throats, echoing, accusing. “You made an alliance with the robots. You have cooperated with our enemies.”
The domates and warriors moved farther into the central chamber, raised their serrated arms.
Basil’s heart turned to ice. All around them the swarmship began to vibrate, humming and moving. The Klikiss shifted in agitation.
“It was part of a carefully orchestrated plan,” Basil insisted. “Sirix intended to betray us. I always knew that. I set up a trap to wipe out the black robots once and for all. Nothing would please me more than to see them gone.”
Startlingly, the breedex formed the face of Davlin Lotze again. “I know you, Chairman Wenceslas. You believe in . . . situational truth.”
“I tell you it was never a real bargain, always a trap.”
But any hint of Davlin Lotze, any humanity at all, was gone from the thrumming voice. “Two of my swarmships will pursue and destroy the black robots. The rest will sterilize Earth for cooperating with our enemies.”
Basil shouted in desperation. “Davlin, listen to me. I promise it will all become clear.” He tried to summon his composure again as the Chairman. “When you encounter the black robots, you’ll recognize what I did, both for humanity and for the Klikiss. If you know me as you say, then you know it is what I would do.”
He prayed that the subtle plan he had implemented against Sirix would function as he had designed it to. Otherwise, there was no conceivable way he could stop the Klikiss onslaught.
* * *
142
King Peter
A ship as large as a Manta rarely landed in the Palace District. The local spaceport’s tethering and support facilities could not easily accommodate the cruiser’s subsidiary mooring systems and stabilizing struts.
“I’ll use the hovering engines to keep us in place,” Admiral Willis decided. “No need for a full-fledged landing and hours of docking procedures. Too much hassle, and we’re in a hurry. We’ll take our troops out on small skimmers.”
In the vicinity of the commercial spaceport, Peter watched small private flyers dash out of the way. At any other time, their arrival would have been challenged by a major military response, but all of the EDF ships were deployed in a cordon facing the eleven swarmships.
The local Hansa security troops were swamped with increasingly vehement demonstrations across the Palace District — across the planet, in fact. As Sarein had promised, Patrick Fitzpatrick and Zhett Kellum continuously rallied them with new broadcasts enumerating Basil’s transgressions. And Chairman Wenceslas wasn’t around to issue any orders. King Rory was noticeably silent.
“One neat, clean victory coming right up, sire.” Willis brought the Manta down, ignoring the objections of the spaceport authority. “I am escorting the rightful King back to the Whisper Palace, after all. I don’t need to say please and thank-you. Still,