Free Horizon Storms by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

relay friendly messages to Lydia, the green priest spent the majority of his time sitting with one hand resting against the trunk of his potted treeling, wearing a distant smile. The loquacious Kolker never seemed to tire of chatting with his fellow priests through the telink network. He shared messages incessantly, sometimes talking aloud, sometimes just listening, even when there was no news.
    A long time ago, Sullivan remembered finding a chest of his grandfather’s keepsakes, including a bundled stack of old-fashioned photo postcards. Seeing Kolker engaged in so much contact via the worldforest reminded him of those postcards. At least the telink didn’t require Kolker to add extra postage from the gas giant.
    “I’ve described everything to the worldtrees and my fellow green priests, Sullivan.” He smiled, showing green gums. “New information and experiences help to distract them from all the damage the hydrogues have

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    inflicted. But . . . I feel guilty to be here instead of helping in the burned forest.”
    Sullivan pursed his lips as he watched the final cloud-harvester components being riveted together by groups of engineers wearing levitation packs. “You aren’t going to leave this station, are you, Kolker? I need your services. Sending a carrier pigeon just isn’t an option for me.”
    “Leave here? Not on your life, Sullivan Gold. I am in an intriguing new environment, and only I can describe the details for the curious trees. They haven’t had many opportunities to see a gas giant. Besides”—he looked lovingly down at his treeling in its ornate pot—“it’ll do the forest good to see a place where our enemies have been resoundingly defeated.”
    Sullivan glanced out into the expanse of clouds. “We don’t know for certain that the drogues are completely gone here, but we can hope.” As soon as the factory was completed, the cloud harvester’s lead engineer intended to design deep probes that would keep an eye out for returning hydrogues. Just for insurance, though Sullivan didn’t know how much good they would do.
    The assembly work in Qronha 3’s high atmosphere continued at a furious pace. Sullivan scanned the project timetable again and proudly confirmed that each phase had been completed on schedule. Within a few days the facility would be brought online, and they would begin collecting ekti for the Terran Hanseatic League. Then the fun would start.
    The knot in his chest began to loosen. Nothing to worry about . . .

    36

H O R I Z O N S T O R M S
115TASIA TAMBLYN
    Tasia’s cruiser arrived at Ptoro bearing the doomsday weapon. Here we are, you bastards. Ready or not.
    On the viewscreen, Ptoro was a cold ball without the pastel cloud bands of Jupiter or Golgen, without the majestic rings of Osquivel, color-less, lifeless, and gray—just waiting to be lit up with a bit of dazzle.
    As the escort EDF battleships drew closer, they reported their positions. Tasia spoke through the Manta’s intercom, calling all engineers and support personnel to prepare the Klikiss Torch.
    Tasia’s battle group had been obliged to bring two of the EDF’s green priests to properly coordinate the deployment of the Torch. Older and more withdrawn than Rossia, Yarrod had expressed doubts about continuing to serve the Earth military during the worldforest’s greater need, but Tasia hoped he would change his mind after the success of this mission.
    Touching his treeling, Rossia closed his eyes and sent thoughts through telink, then verbalized a report for Tasia. “Yarrod says he and the other engineers are in position at the neutron star. Their wormhole generators are distributed outside the gravitational perimeter.” He blinked again.
    “Those are the words he gave me, Commander Tamblyn. I don’t know what it means.”
    She leaned forward with a grim smile. “It means that when we fire our torpedoes into Ptoro’s clouds, we’ll make an anchor point for this end of the