The Thraki robot transformed itself into the “jump” mode, leaped onto her shoulder, and sang the original sentence back to her. “My name is Veera Pok.”
Prithians don’t smile—but they do ruffle their neck feathers. Hers fluttered accordingly. “You speak Prithian.”
“You speak Prithian,” Sam chirruped. “My name is Veera Pok.”
Jepp smiled and waved at their surroundings. “Welcome to the family Veera—Come on, let’s salvage whatever rations you have before the nano disassemble your boat.”
The suggestion made sense. Like it or not—Veera was home.
Chapter 11
Persian Sufi poet
Standard year circa 1250
Planet Zynig47, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
Having found it impossible to sleep. Admiral Hooloo Isan Andragna slipped out of bed, shivered in response to the breeze that found its way through a still unrepaired crack. and cursed the technicians who were supposed to have sealed it. While it was true that each and every one of them had spent their entire lives in space and knew next to nothing about the restoration of glass buildings, they did know something about airtight structures, or were supposed to, which made the transgression all the more annoying.
Careful lest he disturb his mate, Andragna dressed in the dark and slipped out into the courtyard. His pet robot jumped off a chair and scuttled along behind.
Used as he was to life aboard spaceships, the courtyard struck the military officer as unnecessarily target, although he did admire the fused glass tiles and the manner in which they went together to make complex geometric patterns. Some glowed as if lit from within—and served to illuminate a ghostly path. It led toward the remains of a gate. The Hudathans had attacked the planet many years before, murdered most of the inhabitants, and lost the ensuing war. Most of the surviving structures, his house included, had been left to the vagaries of the weather. The robot beeped softly and scrambled up a leg. It settled onto a shoulder and warmed his left ear.
Sentries, placed there to protect his wife and him against the possibility of assassins, stood a little straighten They looked dangerous, what with their assault rifles and all, but could they really protect him against the increasingly disaffected Runners, elements of the Priesthood, and the odd psychopath?
No, it didn’t seem likely. What protection he had stemmed more .from tradition, from the rule of law, than the obstacle posed by his guards. The military officer gestured for the sentries to stay where they were and ventured out into the center of the ancient courtyard.
Two moons hung against the velvety blackness of space. One of them was natural, the result of cosmic chance, or the work of the great god Rathna, depending on who you cared to listen to: the scientists or the priesthood. The other satellite was one of the arks his ancestors had built and used to propel their progeny out among the stars. Both glowed with reflected light.
Something about the thin, pale light brought the ruins to life. Andragna imagined the clutch of structures the way they must have been, humming to some forgotten purpose, unaware of the horror ahead. The Ramanthians said that the indigenous sentients, a race of wormlike creatures, had been slaughtered by the Hudathans and driven to the edge of extinction—the same fate that he and the rest of the Thraki people could expect should the Sheen gain the upper hand. Could they? Would they?
The Runners, for whom Andragna felt a considerable amount of sympathy, had deep misgivings about Zynig47 and the future of the race.
The Facers, who were in control of the Committee, had never been happier. Never mind the fact that Zynig47 was little more than an enormous dirt ball orbiting a soso sun, they reveled in running about the surface, squabbling over how much land each individual was entitled to, rummaging through the multicolored ruins and collecting bits of shattered glass. They called the bits and pieces “art,” and he called them “rubble.” The whole thing would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so dangerous. Well, that was his job, to make them see and understand. And today, when the Sectors met, he would make one last attempt.
The sun started to rise in the east, pushed the darkness off to the west, and took control of the sky. It was red, pink, and blue all at the same time. Like the glass in the courtyard walls. Andragna turned and returned to bed. Sleep brought peace.
Commensurate with its owner’s wishes the prefab shelter had been deposited at the summit of a gently rounded hill not far from the still rising community officially known as “Base NH426,” but increasingly called “Starfall” by those with more romantic sensibilities.
As the sun rose and kissed the hilltops with soft pink light, a door whirred open, and a tiny female emerged. In spite of the fact that her body was small, very small, the spirit that dwelt there was large and fierce. Energy
