Later, after Xander asked Rlinda Kett’s permission to engage a copilot other than OK, Terry was shocked when Xander made him the offer. “Now you can’t say you never had the opportunity. Are you going to take it?”
Together in the Verne, Xander and Terry made a point of traveling many routes. They were the first to put in for isolated or exotic deliveries because Xander wanted to check another place off his big list. Terry did not possess the same completist mentality. Every spot they visited was new to him, and he was glad to go along.
Now, as the Verne penetrated deeper into the nebula, the starlight and reflected radiation were so bright he couldn’t see the full extent of the Roamer facilities. When they approached the illuminating stars of Fireheart Station, they could make out shielded Roamer harvesters that flew between stations. Cylindrical collectors covered with reflective sheeting were isotope farms. Giant molecule-thin sheets of absorbent polymer metals soaked up the powerful star radiation, and processing stations gathered the energized films and folded them into dense packages, which were then sold as ubiquitous power blocks.
Prominent near the heart of the nebula, the arc of Kotto’s Big Ring was far from complete; not even Roamer scientists could understand exactly what Kotto intended to accomplish with it, other than that he said it “might” become a black-hole factory. The genius inventor had made so many useful discoveries over his career that the clans had stopped asking questions and indulged him.
Xander said, “With so much going on here, it’s too bad we’re just doing a mundane supply run.”
“They’ll be happy to see us. They need to eat, and we can get rid of that Primordial Ooze from Del Kellum’s distillery.” He knew the green priests at Fireheart would also be anxious for the seeds and botanical supplies the Verne carried, crate after crate of crop seeds, bulbs, and modified strains of grain designed to grow under the constant, colorful starshine of the Fireheart nebula.
“Would you like me to recite the manifest?” OK asked.
“No, thanks.” Xander continued looking out the windowport. The Verne headed directly for a terrarium station that glinted in the extravagant starlight. “Nice place for a garden.”
OK recited, “The terrarium station was founded by green priests Celli and Solimar. Over the years it has provided supplemental fresh crops for the workers at Fireheart Station.”
After the Verne was welcomed into the terrarium station’s landing dock, OK secured the ship, checked the engines, and assessed the cargo. Xander bounded down the ramp. The gravity was low enough that Terry needed only a slight assist from the antigrav harness strapped to his waist.
The green priest couple met them. Completely hairless with skin the color of fresh leaves, each wore only a traditional Theron loincloth. Celli, Queen Estarra’s sister, was thin and wiry, with small breasts. Solimar’s chest was broad and muscular.
“You’re a long way from Theroc,” Terry said. “This must be different for a green priest.”
“We have our trees,” said Solimar. “We can communicate with the worldforest network whenever we like, and Fireheart Station depends on us.”
Celli added, “We can’t leave.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Xander asked.
The green priests answered in unison, “Can’t.”
Xander and Terry followed them into the main dome of the terrarium, a large structure with a curved crystalline ceiling. The air was moist and lush with plant smells, spicy leaves, warm grasses. Through the crystalline panes, the incandescent pools of gases made an ever-changing panorama.
“Our orchards and gardens grow more than three hundred different varieties of edible plants,” Solimar said.
Xander stopped in awe as he saw the giant worldtrees that rose up and arched outward to fill much of the terrarium. Even the immense dome seemed too small for the great trees.
“Those were… your treelings?” Xander asked.
“We carried them in pots when we came here,” Celli said. “They’ve grown.”
“We agreed to stay at Fireheart Station for a while to provide communication. Under the constant sunlight, the treelings grew more rapidly than we expected. Now they’ve got no place to go.”
The worldtrees had reached the top of the dome, and curved over. The fronds swept down so low they touched the deck and mingled with the rows of crops.
Celli ran her green hand along the golden bark scales. “They can’t leave, and they keep growing.”
Xander followed the trunks and branches, saw the bent boughs, and felt a brooding sense of claustrophobia. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“The trees are trapped here,” Celli said. “That’s why we have to stay.”
Solimar squeezed her hand. “We know it’s only a matter of time.”
FORTY-THREE
PRINCE REYN
After arriving on Earth to numerous receptions, after watching parades and meeting with dozens of business leaders, ambassadors, industrialists, and military representatives, Reyn was exhausted. He worked hard to remember all the important people he had met, and when he was simply overwhelmed, he remained polite and gracious, which seemed to be good enough.
He couldn’t wait to finish his diplomatic duties and find time to rest. He felt drained. His arms were weak and trembled at the most inopportune times.
For centuries, Earth had been the center of the Hansa, with its Whisper Palace where the Great Kings had ruled, where his own father had been groomed to be no more than a figurehead. Now, under the Confederation, a mechanism existed so that the diverse threads of humanity could be pulled together in the event of a massive outside threat, but under normal situations, local governments were adaptable enough to rule their own worlds.
Even two decades after the dissolution of the Hansa, Eldred Cain retained his title as transitional Deputy. He took Reyn under his wing and sympathized with the frenzy of the Prince’s protocol schedule. Deputy Cain was a quiet man, hairless and pale-skinned, with a slight build. He was competent, businesslike, and soft-spoken. After they left a diplomatic reception Cain leaned close to him and said, “I’ll make sure you get time alone.”
Reyn sadly shook his head. “I’ve seen the schedule—I have another meeting in twenty minutes, something about a union of rubble workers combing through the debris of the Moon.”
Cain gave him a soft smile. “I took care of what needs to be done, but I left it in your schedule as a placeholder. No one else knows. You have an hour off.”
“Thank you! I don’t know that I could have acted interested for another hour—not until I recharge my brain.” Then he flushed. “I mean, I am interested. There’s just so much…”
“I understand, young man. I’ve dealt with wars and unimaginable crises, but I find social obligations to be tedious and exhausting.”
Reyn was surprised that he felt so comfortable in front of this man. “They’re all impressive people, and I know that it’s important to meet them, but nobody knows me. They just know who I am.”
Eldred Cain, the former right-hand man of Chairman Basil Wenceslas, had never had the charisma or ruthlessness to be Chairman. Since the end of the Hansa, Cain had served as the transitional representative, overseeing the constitution of the new Confederation, helping broker agreements among the loosely allied planets, clans, entities, and cultures. Because of his soft touch, soft voice, and wise counsel, Cain had helped create a powerful network ruled by a King and a representative council.
During his unexpected hour off, Reyn relaxed in a quiet lounge. Deputy Cain sat on an overstuffed sofa. “I don’t envy you, Prince. Your father was chosen for his position after being observed and tested. They knew he had the material to become a King before anyone ever saw his face. But you’re more shy and introspective, not comfortable as a showy, heroic leader like the people want.”