The flight from Earth to Theroc was not long, but Sarein’s reluctance to return home made the journey stretch out interminably. She felt like a woman going to visit a horrifically wounded loved one in a hospital. She had to do this because of personal and political obligations, but in her heart Sarein wished she could just keep Theroc in her memories the way it was and not see the disaster.
Yet Basil had insisted. “As the new Mother of Theroc, think of the advantages you could offer the Hansa from inside. Once we’ve brought the Therons into the fold and made the traitorous Roamers toe the line, it’ll be a great day for the human race.”
But she couldn’t simply walk in and demand the title of Theron Mother, even though she felt she could institute changes—dramatic changes—that could benefit both her world and the Hansa. The Therons knew and loved their leaders, and Sarein had been gone for a long time. Even when she’d lived on Theroc, she had never engendered much devotion in the people. She spent little time with green priests, felt no calling for the worldforest. Everyone would recognize her as a pawn of the Hansa.
And Basil’s ideas of blithely rescinding the long-standing Theron independence made her uneasy. Sarein gradually realized that he now exerted more power over her than she influenced him. As difficult as it was to admit, she was halfway in love with Basil and didn’t want to leave him behind.
Eventually the captain summoned her to the cockpit. “If you come forward now, Ambassador, you can see Theroc in the front observation panels. Thought you’d like to have a look.”
“I’ll be right there.”
In truth, she didn’t want to see, but she entered the cockpit of the diplomatic transport and stared down at the cloud-smeared landmasses where she’d been born. Sarein traced the outlines of the continents. Oddly, she was more familiar with the geography of Earth than of Theroc. How could she possibly rule this planet? It would be a sham.
Normally, the Theron landscape would have been a carpet of green separated by large bodies of water, but now she could see countless dark stains. In a way, she was glad Estarra wasn’t here with her. . . .
Though they had shared many recent tragedies, Sarein spent too little time with her sister. It was a painful oversight. She had focused on her own political activities and obligations, while the Queen had her cadre of attendants and advisers, and the genuine friendship and love of King Peter. But that was no excuse. They should have been friends, allies . . . sisters.
Before Sarein departed for Theroc, the two young women had walked together in the Whisper Palace’s fern garden, passing feathery fans that grew bright green under the sunlight, talking of how life had been when they were just children: simple, optimistic, innocent.
Sarein also felt a wary concern about leaving Estarra and King Peter alone and unprotected. She tried to convince herself that the assassination attempt had merely been Basil’s bluff to put Peter in his place, but she was never sure.
Estarra had stopped beside one of the small potted treelings, looking at it distractedly. “In a way, I envy you. I still feel I belong on Theroc.”
Sarein ran her fingers along the soft lacy fronds of a fern. “Sometimes it would be easier if the two of us just switched places. You could go back home where you want to be, and I’d stay here on Earth.”
The Queen laughed in surprise. “You may be my sister, Sarein, but I wouldn’t give up my husband. I actually love Peter, you know.”
“Yes, I know. It’s painfully obvious.”
They had stood together looking at the single treeling on display, reminded of the immense burned forests. Estarra herself had brought this particular treeling as a gift to the Chairman when she’d first come to Earth, and Nahton often used it for communication.
Sarein put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “It’s just an ironic twist of fate that we’re each better suited for the other’s responsibilities. You’d really like to go back to Theroc, even now that it’s all burned and broken?”
“That’s when it’s possible to love it the most.”
Sarein had playfully yanked one of Estarra’s carefully twisted braids, as she’d done when they were both little girls. No doubt the royal guards, who always discreetly kept watch on them, were horrified at such a disrespectful action on the part of the ambassador, but Sarein didn’t care.
“Come with me, Estarra. You can help me pack.”
Now, as the captain stabilized his orbit, then prepared the descent trajectory, he studied his high-resolution scanners. “Quite a bit of difference down there. A lot of traffic in the air, in orbit, and on the ground. I thought Therons didn’t do much space travel.”
Sarein’s brow furrowed. “No, they don’t.”
A harried-sounding operator provided general directions for where to land. “We don’t really have a spaceport anymore, but we use a large clearing—as long as your ship’s not too big.”
“Not too big,” the captain answered. Full-size Manta cruisers had once landed in the forest clearings. “I’ll manage.”
Sarein braced herself for what she was about to experience. As the diplomatic transport came in beneath the veil of clouds, she could see that the once-thick worldforest canopy was now cracked and burned, giant sections scraped away like eroded canyons. Worldtrees still stood tall and green, but she couldn’t believe how many patches were blackened and cluttered with debris.
Dozens of smaller ships and heavy lifters bustled through the forest, expanding the recovery efforts. To her amazement, she saw large excavations of fallen trees, earthmovers erecting support walls and retaining dikes, soil-retention netting that looked garish on what should have been a natural landscape. Why hadn’t Basil mentioned that full-scale EDF engineering crews were here to assist Theroc?
On second glance, though, the activities didn’t seem regimented or organized enough to have been put together by the Earth military. The EDF tended to lay out everything in straight lines and perfect grids. Conversely, this work seemed energetic and independent, as if each unit was following only a general master plan.
Heavy lifters delivered giant trunks to an open cargo barge that was battered and pitted from decades of hard service. It looked as if it had been designed as an asteroid ore-hauler, and now it was being loaded with fallen worldtrees, taking them out . . . to space.
As the diplomatic craft came in for a landing, Sarein could make out the individual forms of people moving about on the ground. A shiver went down her spine. “Those are Roamers!”
“Looks like it, Ambassador,” said the captain.
Sarein was instantly resentful, knowing exactly what Basil would say about the matter. “I suppose they have plenty of time on their hands, now that they no longer trade with the Hansa. While my planet is wounded and reeling, they slip in to exploit our resources.”
She had heard the Chairman’s lectures, both public and private; she had seen the heavily slanted reports in the Hansa media, which painted the clans as selfish, intractable, and petulant. As ambassador, Sarein felt compelled to agree with Basil and vocally support his stance. Roamers did make convenient and readily unlikable targets.
She leaned closer to the window. “Why are they hauling all that wood away?”
The captain looked at her mildly. “Maybe they just came to offer help, Ambassador. I don’t see too many EDF crewmembers lending a hand down there.”
“Roamers offering to help, with no strings attached? Hardly likely.” And if the Roamers were assisting on Theroc, why hadn’t Nahton or any of the other green priests informed the Hansa what was going on here? Surely it was relevant!
She didn’t know what game the clans were playing, what goal Speaker Peroni was trying to accomplish with her unfounded accusations about EDF piracy. Sarein was certain the woman had somehow deceived Reynald, tricked him into a marriage proposal. At least her brother had died before the wedding could be formalized.
When the captain landed the diplomatic craft in a scorched clearing, Sarein realized with a sharp pang that this place had once been a lovely, expansive meadow filled with flowers and colorful condorflies. Now it had been razed and flattened by ungainly machinery. Her nostrils flared.
When the hatch opened, the first thing she smelled was harsh smoke, the dust and soot of death in the forest. Wrinkling her nose at the acrid tang, she watched both of her parents and her little sister Celli hurry toward her.
Sarein smiled automatically—an expression she had learned from years of serving under the tutelage of Basil Wenceslas. But she was not happy to be here. In fact, she found it painful to focus on her family in the midst of all this tragedy.
Her memories were filled with expanses of gold-barked worldtrees and wild undergrowth. Now she saw black skeletons, bare dirt, and the overlapping treads of heavy Roamer machinery that had mangled what remained of the forest. Her heart turned to lead in her chest, and her doubts about becoming the next Mother of Theroc resurfaced. There wasn’t much left to rule here.