1
ADMIRAL SHEILA WILLIS

Ten Mantas and one giant Juggernaut cruised across empty space, leaving Earth behind -- possibly forever, as far as Admiral Willis was concerned. Though her ships still bore the markings of the Earth Defense Forces, their crews no longer served the Hansa.  No, not after everything they had seen. 

Chairman Wenceslas would have called them mutineers.  How could anyone not feel bitter about that?

There’d been a time when Willis was young and naïve (or perhaps just insufficiently jaded), when she had thought all decisions were clear-cut, all answers black-and-white.  She had believed that the good guys were fundamentally different from the bad guys.  Well, she’d left that attitude behind on Rhejak when General Lanyan’s brutality had forced her to make a previously unthinkable decision.

By seizing a whole battle group and turning her back on the EDF, she had set wheels in motion -- wheels that might well run her over.  After dumping Lanyan, Conrad Brindle, and a handful of hardline loyalists on the outskirts of Earth’s solar system, she was taking her ships to Theroc, to join King Peter and his Confederation.

No matter how many times she tried to rationalize her decision, though, it still felt like desertion.  Her brain was simply wired that way.  She scanned the people on her bridge for signs of uneasiness.  Willis was surprised at just how many of them had volunteered to burn their bridges and join her.  Abandoning their homes, friends, families, and possessions was not a decision to make lightly.  Obviously, she wasn’t the only one who had smelled something rotten in the Hansa.

The last time she had brought these particular Mantas to Theroc, Willis had been under orders to arrest Peter as an outlaw ruler. . . .

“Approaching destination, Admiral,” said her helmsman.

“Make sure you announce our arrival politely.  We don’t want them to get the wrong impression and pee their pants when all these warships show up.”  She took a few moments to adjust her posture, her uniform, her expression.  Ready to go meet the new boss.

As soon as the eleven ships entered planetary orbit, however, Willis saw that something was wrong.  A flurry of mismatched Roamer ships launched into erratic orbits.  Cargo craft, fast scouts, lumbering barges all lifted off from the forested continent and raced away from the planet in all directions.  Two of the larger Roamer ships nearly collided with each other.

Her comm officer’s skin turned prominently pink.  “Admiral, it’s total pandemonium down there!  Frantic distress calls, screams -- Theroc is being attacked, but I can’t see how.”

The threatening verdani treeships that circled the lush forested world like a crown of thorns were in trouble.  Thrashing their enormous thorny branches, they did not even react to the oncoming EDF war vessels.  They were battling some pervasive, unseen enemy.

“Ask how we can assist them,” Willis barked.  She looked around for any unexpected threat . . . perhaps the return of the hydrogues or one of General Lanyan’s vessels.  “Get close enough to respond as needed.  We’re supposed to be the cavalry here -- I’d like to make a great first impression.”

The feedback shrieks coming over the comm system were worse than fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. 

Cruising directly in front of them, its boughs twisting and snapping as if in extreme internal pain, one of the thorny tree battleships literally burst into flames.  Despite the cold vacuum of space, bright yellow-orange fire cracked out of its core and spread across the branches, devouring the energized wood. 

On the high-res surveillance scans of the forests below, Willis saw intense blazes appear, spontaneously igniting and beginning to spread through the dense worldforest . . . exactly where she knew King Peter had established the Confederation’s headquarters.

2
KING PETER

Another worldtree shuddered and then erupted into flames as the faeros possessed its heartwood.  With sounds like cannon shots, the malicious fires crackled through the delicate fronds, striving toward the canopy -- burning, but not entirely consuming the heartwood.

High up within the fungus-reef city, King Peter shouted for the people to evacuate.  The smoke and heat in the air bit the back of his throat.  From an opening in the organic walls, he and Estarra saw the flames race greedily up one trunk after another, but none of the living verdani turned to ash.  Not yet. 

The green priests who remained inside the white-walled tree city clasped hands like vices against their smooth emerald scalps as pain surged through the worldforest mind.  The followers of Yarrod and Kolker, who were joined in their tightly bonded thism/telink web, suffered most of all. 

A male green priest stuttered to a halt, then raised his arms in agony.  The priest bent backward and with a wordless wail burst into flames.  Other green priests stared at the smear of ash and burning coals that marked where the man had stood.  Some wept; others collapsed to their knees. 

Queen Estarra tugged her husband’s sleeve as they ran from the shuddering throne room.  “Peter, we have to get Reynald and go!”  Her beaded braids clicked and bounced behind her head.

In their private rooms, Estarra snatched their baby son from the arms of the Teacher compy OX, who had already gathered him up for the evacuation.  Little Reynald was crying from the loud commotion and the smoke from brush fires.

OX was not at all panicked.  “Before we hurry to the lift platforms, Queen Estarra, I suggest we soak a blanket with water.  I will wrap it around the baby for protection as I carry him.”  When Estarra was reluctant to relinquish the child, OX pointed out, “Consider that I am physically stronger than either of you.  And neither the fire nor the smoke will affect me.” 

“He’s right,” Peter said, yanking a blanket from the bed and running to the water basin that Roamer engineers had installed.  “It’s our best chance.”

Outside, the elemental fires continued to spread.  After being transmitted through the few hapless green-priest conduits, the faeros had formed a parasitic bond with the verdani, converting them into torch trees.  From there, secondary blazes had spread to the underbrush, consuming smaller shrubs and plants. 

Peter and Estarra wrapped the wet cloth around the squirming infant, and secured the wailing bundle to OX’s chest with a utility cord.  The Teacher compy held Reynald firmly, keeping pace with the King and Queen as they rushed through winding fungus-reef passages to the outer balconies.

Breathing heavily, Peter stepped out into the choking hot air and watched the faeros flames jump from one tree to the next.  Normal fires raced across the fringes of the clearing, where people ran pell-mell away from the fungus-reef tree.

Therons crowded the small lift platforms, trying to ride the cables down to the ground.  But the elevators were equipped to carry only a few people at a time, not to accommodate such a massive evacuation.  When sixteen people crammed onto one platform, clutching the side rails and each other, the overloaded lift groaned and gave way, spilling the passengers to their deaths.  Watching in horror, Peter shouted, but he couldn’t help them. 

For just a moment the scope and suddenness of the disaster knocked the wind out of him.  Even if everyone got to the ground, how would they cross the meadow safely through growing curtains of flames?  There was no time to wonder how this had happened and no time for panic or grief either.  Peter had to keep his wits about him and somehow get his people, and his family, to safety. 

Estarra saw it, too, and quickly made her decision.  “We’ll have to climb.”  In answer to Peter’s concerned expression, she gave a confident nod.  “I spent most of my life scrambling up and down worldtrees.  If OX can carry the baby safely, we should be fine.  Can you manage?”

Flashing her a determined smile, Peter shouted to the frantic people, “Every able-bodied person, climb down!  Tree dancers, help the others.  Use the platforms only if you can’t climb.”

A few of the overcrowded elevators managed to reach the ground, and the people sprinted across the meadow toward the ring of fire.  By now, the fungus-reef tree had caught fire from eager sparks that spread from the initial torch trees.  Tongues of flame raced up the golden bark, consuming small fronds, scorching the bark plates, until part of the city began to smolder. 

Some people swiftly grasped knobs and handholds in the bark scales.  Peter could see they didn’t have much time.  “Let’s go.”

Because OX had lashed the blanket-wrapped baby to his torso, his polymer arms were left free.  Without further comment, the compy swung himself over the edge and began to climb down.  Peter had never seen OX do anything so nimble or athletic before, but the Teacher compy seemed perfectly capable of working his way down swiftly and methodically.

Estarra went next, calling out encouragement to the people still evacuating.  Peter followed.  Smoke and steam oozed from between the bark plates, burning his hands, but he didn’t let go. 

The compy reached the ground first and turned to wait for the King and Queen.  He adjusted the wet wrappings around the infant, keeping Reynald secured to his solid chest.  By now the wildfire had caught on the grasses and flowers; shrubs burst into fireballs.  Above them, the fungus reef was fully engulfed, and orange flames spat from the upper balconies and windows.

Peter dropped the rest of the way to the ground.  “To the edge of the meadow!”

Like solar flares, living arcs of fire sprang from torch tree to torch tree.  With a crack like an incandescent bullwhip, another majestic worldtree succumbed to the fiery elementals.  Its interlocked canopy of fronds became a ceiling of orange embers; smaller branches caught and transmitted sparks to adjacent ones. 

While OX hurried ahead of them, carrying the baby, Estarra kept her head down and ran, her braided hair jangling behind her.  But before they could follow the evacuees into the dense surrounding forest, flames cut them off.  The perimeter of the grove formed a burning wall, forcing OX to halt ahead of them. 

With a crack and a roar, a thick branch broke loose from above, and a clump of flaming fronds crashed directly down onto the compy in a feathery spray of sparks and embers. 

Estarra screamed for the baby.  Peter shielded his stinging eyes and dove toward them, but he knew he was too late.

The little compy pushed his way out, knocking aside the blazing fronds.  He kept his synthetic body hunched over, arms wrapped protectively around Reynald.  OX’s polymer skin was damaged; ash and soot were smeared like war paint on his smooth face, but his systems still functioned. 

Estarra raced forward in panicked relief to retrieve Reynald.  Peeling the steaming blanket away, Peter checked to make sure the baby hadn’t been burned.  The little boy was wailing, but very much alive.

Green grass smoldered around them, making the smoke burn like acid in their lungs.  Estarra pointed desperately across the meadow to the diamond sphere of the hydrogue derelict, which OX had flown during their escape from Earth.  “There!  That’s our only way out!”

With nowhere else to run, they crashed through the embers of underbrush until they reached the small alien ship.  Thankfully, the hatch had been left open.  As flames flicked at their heels, Peter and Estarra, along with OX and the baby, clambered inside.  Peter sealed the doorway behind them, and the sudden silence made his ears pop.  They slapped at the ashes burning their garments, wheezing, coughing, frightened, and shaking with exertion.  But safe. 

Through the transparent curved wall, they watched angry flames engulf the rest of the meadow and then rush over them.