The Ashes of Worlds

He did, however, have a survival suit, a basic chemical generator, and a few tools. He spent the first day and a half cobbling together a simple chemical extractor, the kind of device a ten-year-old Roamer child could build. With it, he derived all the water and oxygen and hydrogen fuel he needed from the ice outside. With his Roamer know-how, Caleb would be able to extend his survival for a few more weeks — a remarkable achievement, though he doubted anyone would ever find him to admire his fortitude.

Halfway between boredom and desperation, he suited up, cycled through the small airlock, and went outside into the “daylight.” The distant sun was no more than a bright star among all the others. Jonah 12 was a rock, a bleak and cold one at that. He took a toolkit and sample-collection container and trudged off across the rough, frozen surface.

Taking giant strides in the low gravity, he needed less than an hour to reach the large melted crater and the wreckage of what had been Kotto’s hydrogen-extraction facility. He hoped to find some ruined huts, perhaps something he could patch up and use as a base camp. As he strode along, Caleb had dreams of discovering a generator, a cache of food supplies, maybe even a satellite dish transmitter.

Instead, he found only wreckage, a few scraps of metal, some melted lumps of alloys. nothing that seemed immediately useful, but he scavenged it anyway. Most of the outpost had been vaporized in a reactor explosion, and anything else had vanished permanently into the flash-melted ice, which then froze into an iron-hard steel-gray lake with a few slushy patches kept liquid by the heat of radioactive decay.

As Caleb stared, reality sank in: He would probably be here for a long while, and his last days without food would not be pleasant. He stood in total silence for several minutes, but no flashes of inspiration came to him.

He turned and made his way back to his little escape pod.

32

Nira

Knowing that Jora’h must be battling to hold on to sanity itself, Nira was too upset to concentrate on anything else. When Sarein and Captain McCammon arrived at the lunar EDF base and asked to see her, she feared they brought terrible news.

“Come with us to the Whisper Palace, Nira.” Sarein sounded almost compassionate. “The Chairman needs your green priest skills.”

Nira struggled with her anger. Sarein wore her Theron ambassadorial garments, but she was acting as the Chairman’s puppet. Ambassador Otema had once worn those traditional cocoon-weave garments; now, Nira thought, Sarein soiled them.

“No green priest will provide telink services to the Hansa,” Nira said. “Certainly not me.”

“Even if it would bring the Mage-Imperator back safely?” McCammon said. He seemed to be standing closer to Sarein than was actually necessary. He lowered his voice. “All you need to do is come with us.”

Sarein seemed very earnest. “I know I can convince the Chairman to order Diente’s warliner to turn around. You’ll have the Mage-Imperator back, but first you’ve got to show some cooperation.”

Nira’s heart leaped. Jora’h would hate her for bowing to coercion. but she could literally save his life. If he died, or went mad, the consequences to the Ildiran Empire were unimaginably bleak. “I want this agreement in writing, and witnessed.” Nira crossed her arms over her chest. “And within the hour.”

“I’m afraid you’re not in a bargaining position.” Despite his words, McCammon’s eyes showed a depth of feeling that surprised Nira, a compassion that he could not entirely cover. “And we are in no position to grant you anything.”

“Done,” Sarein said, putting a hand lightly on McCammon’s arm. “I will write up the document, in my own hand.” Then she threw in her last bargaining chip. “And the Chairman will have to let you use a treeling, at least for a little while. Keep that in mind.”

Nira considered the advantages of even a brief contact with the worldforest. Yes, she could inform King Peter — and all green priests around the Spiral Arm — of their captivity, maybe learn something more about the faeros on Ildira. Whatever the Chairman had in mind must be important to warrant such a risk; he wouldn’t make an offer like this unless he needed her.

Through green priest memories that were accessible through the worldforest, Nira was familiar with the grandeur of the Whisper Palace, but she paid little attention to the majesty of her surroundings. Behind all the fabulous architecture and shouting crowds, Nira saw the rot deep in the Terran Hanseatic League.

Sarein led her to a colorful orange pavilion at one corner of the Palace Square; it had been decorated as a special box for the “esteemed Theron ambassador.” Sarein had probably done it herself, since Nira doubted the Chairman would display any particular respect for the Confederation’s new capital.

From the pavilion, they could view the central speaking podium, the rapt crowd, the numerous guards. As twilight deepened into dusk, numerous torches blazed atop the Whisper Palace towers. The whole District was extravagantly lit, as if for a celebration.

Nira wrestled with second thoughts. “What am I expected to do?”

Sarein said, “The Chairman wants to make certain King Peter hears this announcement — immediately. Report what you see. Deliver your message and let Peter decide what to do. Be a green priest!” She lowered her voice, and her words surprised Nira. “Afterward, I have to take the treeling away, so make the most of this time. Do what you need to do.”

Chairman Wenceslas sauntered up, accompanied by a guard who carried a small potted treeling as if it were a time bomb. Nira realized how much she had hungered for the touch of a worldtree. For years she had been completely deprived on Dobro, and again recently in her captivity on the Moon. She could not hide her longing.

The Chairman gave her a stern look. “Once you connect to the world-forest, I know I can’t control what other details you send into the verdani mind. I don’t intend to try. So long as you share what you see here tonight, Peter will have his hands full.”

Nira stood her ground, forcing herself not to take the potted treeling. “And the Mage-Imperator? When are you bringing him back? I demand to know — “

“Don’t presume to dictate the terms of this agreement. Sarein has already convinced me to recall Admiral Diente’s warliner if you cooperate today, though I still have my reservations. A little cooperation from the Mage-Imperator would have made many things so much easier. When he gets back in a few days, he may find that public sentiment has changed toward him somewhat.”

The Chairman looked around the crowd. He smiled as Nira’s own image was displayed on the spectator screens surrounding the huge square, a battered old photo that showed her haunted eyes, her gaunt features, her obvious suffering. The mood of the crowd grew decidedly uneasy, even ugly.