The Ashes of Worlds

Exuberant, Kotto took the communication controls and urged the eighteen other Roamer ships to launch their frozen projectiles. “It works — I encourage you all to try it!”

Tasia headed toward a faeros and shot their second icy artillery shell. One more fireball annihilated. Altogether, the clan ships on Golgen had nearly two hundred of the special shells. Maybe it would be enough to make a dent and turn back the faeros. As far as she could tell, they had no other weapons that were even remotely effective.

Her third icy projectile created yet another spectacular cold flash that extinguished a faeros. “I can start enjoying this. Your artillery is a success, Kotto — I just wish I had a full battery of them.”

Now, more Roamer ships flew into the chaos of fireballs, launching their own frozen projectiles. Numerous flaming ellipsoids were extinguished, leaving behind flashes of dying light.

Down below, skimming over the cloud tops, Tasia could see the watery vessel flown by her brother and Cesca, rallying the wentals in the atmosphere, pulling curls of mist higher into the sky. She expended her fourth projectile, and Orli and Steinman let out a cheer.

When the enraged fireballs hurtled toward them, though, she knew for certain they didn’t have enough ammunition.

117

Osira’h

From where they stood inside the large bay, looking out at the landing deck and the open sky, Osira’h and the others watched several warliners being destroyed in their attempts to fight back. The daring Roamer ships flew about, and their icy projectiles were having some effect, but their numbers could not possibly be sufficient. The fireballs kept coming.

Adar Zan’nh’s voice called out on the open channel of the Mage-Imperator’s small communication device, “Liege, will you remain on the skymine, or do you wish to be brought up to the flagship? I do not know which gives you a better guarantee of safety.”

“There is no guarantee of safety.” Jora’h glanced at Kellum, then responded briskly. “However, the Roamers will have a better chance if I do not remain among them. Rusa’h wantsme. Send a cutter to retrieve us.” He gestured to Nira and their daughter to come with him.

Osira’h, though, turned toward the small diamond derelict. “No, there is one other chance.” She knew it in her heart, even though none of the others were willing to consider the idea. “And by now we must be desperate enough to take it.”

The hydrogues had caused much damage to so many planets, including the Ildiran Empire, but Osira’h had been linked with them. She had confronted them, formed a bridge, used her mind as well as her connection to the telink and thethism to force them to listen to her. She had touched their thoughts, and she knew how much they hated the faeros.

Nira’s eyes widened. “It’s too dangerous.”

But Osira’h broke away from them and sprinted over to the small diamond sphere. The ship would fall into the depths by itself, but she needed to get it away from the skymine. just the slightest nudge would send it over the edge of the launching deck.

Jora’h’s ornate robes fluttered in the thin air of the open deck. He shouted, “No, Osira’h! I cannot ask you to do this again.”

Osira’h scrambled through the hatch and paused just for a second to answer him. “You did not ask — I chose.”

As her parents ran after her, Del Kellum called out, “What the hell does that girl think she’s doing?”

Osira’h sealed the transparent hatch just as her mother reached the hull. She couldn’t look at Nira, but instead hurried to the lumpy crystalline controls. She had no idea how to fly the craft, remembered only a few glimpses of thoughts from the hydrogues. But all she needed to do was activate the engines, give the sphere a nudge. She would never be able to guide it. gravity would have to do the rest.

An explosion rumbled across the sky. Jora’h and Nira stood pleading outside the transparent hull, but she couldn’t hear them. Instead, her small hands danced over the controls, trying to interpret them, searching for anything that made sense. One of the panels lit up, and though Osira’h heard nothing, she sensed a faint vibration. She tried similar controls, and finally felt a burst of power, a brief pulse from the alien engines.

The transparent sphere moved forward, began to roll as if someone had given it a shove across the smooth deck toward the precipitous drop-off. Her mother and father could not stop it. Faeros and Roamer ships streaked by overhead.

Osira’h steeled herself as she glanced out at the firestorm in the skies. It had not been so long since she’d established a link with the hydrogues and used the power of the verdani to coerce them. She had been raised and trained to do this, and she could do it again. Through thethism, the Mage-Imperator would know she remained alive.

And then she was over the edge. The derelict dropped like a stone away from the giant city in the sky. As she fell, Osira’h peered through the transparent ceiling and saw Nira and Jora’h still shouting, still reaching out for her.

She watched the gigantic skymine and the frenzied battle dwindle in the distance far above her. Then gauzy clouds engulfed her, and she felt claustrophobic and alone.

118

Patrick Fitzpatrick III

Patrick managed to send out four more subversive broadcasts before Hansa troops stormed the mansion. He knew the resources Basil Wenceslas could bring to bear against them — especially now that the Chairman was infuriated. He had used relays to cover their origin. He thought he was clever. He thought he was safe.

He was wrong.

Though Wenceslas certainly had far more pressing problems, he ruthlessly prosecuted anyone who criticized him, never mind the facts. And, of course, he bore a particular grudge against anybody claiming to represent Freedom’s Sword. Patrick was definitely in the crosshairs.

The worldwide panic and continuing threat of meteor strikes had plunged the population into near anarchy, and they took up the cry against the Chairman with great fervor. Although King Rory made plenty of impassioned speeches, he fooled no one; in fact, since the destruction of the Moon and the horrendous meteor impacts that followed, not many people listened to him anymore.

With the arrival of King Peter and his cavalry of Confederation rescuers, there could be no better time for a change of government. Patrick felt he was making real progress, but protests could accomplish only so much. Still, that didn’t stop him and Zhett. Thanks to his grandmother’s connections and finances, he had a powerful platform, if only for a little while. He rather enjoyed being a folk hero, but he knew he had to be living on borrowed time.

With external sensors and automatic alarms, he made his preparations to slip away at the first sign of danger, and in that he made his most serious mistake.

Since only he and Zhett were in the mansion, he was astonished by the size of the force arrayed against them: four hundred uniformed troops, fourteen low-altitude gunships, six land assault vehicles. He had expected at least a few minutes of warning, but the cleanup crew came in like a blitzkrieg. In the first minute, a projectile blew up theGypsy where it sat on the small private landing pad; repeated explosions wiped out the adjacent hangar and all of Maureen’s vehicle bays. The space yacht had been primed and ready to go, but now it was only a smoldering lump of wreckage. He and Zhett had counted on eluding pursuit with their Roamer-augmented engines. Now, his Plans B, C, and D had also been cut off. The Chairman’s goons were very thorough.