When the triumphant EDF fleet returned from Ptoro, Yarrod could think of no better time to end his service with the Earth Defense Forces—nor could he find a reason to stay that was more important than the reasons to go.
Yes, the hydrogues continued to attack random colonies, both human and Ildiran, but now it seemed clear the deep-core aliens had been hunting for vestiges of the worldforest. Perhaps it made logical sense to stay with the Earth military, to assist in the efforts to fight the enemy. But, oh, how the aching trees called to him every time he touched his treeling!
Yarrod had never wanted to join the Earth military in the first place, had volunteered only grudgingly and never considered himself a true EDF soldier. Unlike his talkative and adventurous friend Kolker, he felt no call to see other planets besides Theroc. He found enough fascinating things within the worldforest to occupy his attention for an entire lifetime.
His niece Sarein, acting as Theron ambassador to Earth, had begged for their assistance in the hydrogue war, and the trees had given their approval. He and eighteen other green priests had left Theroc and been dispersed to serve aboard widely separated military ships in far-off space battlefields.
But now Yarrod could not turn a deaf ear to the greater demands of the wounded trees. Through vivid telink he had experienced all the terror, the struggle, the pain—which had given him helpless nightmares for weeks. He should have been on Theroc using his powers to help, instead of riding in this metal-walled ship. Maybe he would have died like so many others, but at least he would have been there.
His fingers clenched as the memory of flames and cold and agony swept through him. No one had known the hydrogues would attack Theroc. He had been on the bridge of an EDF cruiser awaiting new orders when the wail of the worldforest had hammered through him. Through the eyes of a thousand trees, he’d observed the death of his nephew Reynald and so many more. It was all too much to bear.
Now it was too late to fight in that battle, but not too late to clear away the mess, rebuild, tend the new shoots . . . and prepare, should such a disaster happen again.
Through telink he had discussed his need with other green priests, especially with Kolker, who was now aboard a distant skymine at Qronha 3. Kolker and Yarrod had been acolytes together long ago, had taken the green on the same day. “At Ptoro you struck a blow for perfect revenge,” Kolker told him through telink. “That was your way of fighting the hydrogues, and you accomplished more than the rest of us.”
Though he’d been stationed as a simple relayer of information, transmitting instructions from Commander Tamblyn, Yarrod had shared every moment with Kolker, Rossia, and all other green priests. He had watched the yawning, interdimensional wormhole open like a toothless mouth to gulp the collapsed star and send it to Ptoro.
Yes, he had struck back at the forest’s enemies—but it was not enough, and not what his heart demanded of him.
Victory messages about Ptoro had already been sent throughout the Spiral Arm via the network of green priests. Now, as the fleet returned at full speed to Earth, Yarrod sat alone in his cabin aboard the lead Manta. He did not wish to talk with Rossia or any of the EDF officers. He had already made up his mind. He had no choice but to resign and set aside his weak commitments to the military.
When he finally stood in the skeletal graveyard of worldtrees, smelling the harsh soot and charcoal like the blood of cremated trees, he knew the pain would slash like razors at his soul. Still, Yarrod knew what he must do.
Alone in his small cabin, he drew strength from communing in silence with his treeling. Then finally, before the Manta could come to dock at Earth, he walked purposefully toward the bridge to inform Commander Tamblyn of his decision.