Horizon Storms by Kevin J. Anderson Read Free Book Online

colonists. After reviewing your ship’s internal log, I have concluded that your performance during the Osquivel battle was exceptional. Furthermore, at Oncier you recently obtained vital information about the faeros and their struggle with the hydrogues.”
    “Yes, sir.” Tasia didn’t know what else he wanted to hear. Her heart pounded. Was she somehow in line for another promotion? True, the battle of Osquivel had killed a great many officers, and the EDF would need to replace them. . . .
    Admiral Willis folded her hands together. She was a thin, folksy woman who spoke in obscure platitudes, yet she had a wit as sharp as a monofilament wire. “Commander Tamblyn, would you be at all interested in having your ship carry a nasty little present to the drogues? King Peter has finally yanked off the leash and let us run loose.”
    “What sort of nasty present, ma’am?”
    The grandmotherly woman smiled. “How’d you like to drop a Klikiss Torch down their throats and blow the crap out of a whole hydrogue planet?”
    Tasia responded instantly. “Admiral, General, I would welcome any opportunity for a little payback. We all have plenty of personal reasons for carrying a grudge.”
    Lanyan chuckled. “I like your attitude, Commander Tamblyn.” He handed her documents and maps pinpointing the chosen target for the Klikiss Torch, an obscure gas giant named Ptoro.
    Tasia couldn’t hide her surprised response. The Roamer clan Tylar had operated a large old skymine on Ptoro, but the facility was withdrawn after the hydrogue ultimatum. As far as she knew, no one had gone to chilly Ptoro in years. “Ptoro? Why would you want to—” She caught herself, and the General frowned at her.

T A S I A T A M B L Y N
15
    “You’ve actually heard of it? It seems to be a fairly insignificant planet.”
    “You’re right, sir. It’s just . . . in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?”
    “We’ve detected drogue activity there. That’s what counts.”
    Admiral Willis added, “We’ll be sending a whole battle group along to keep you company, but your Manta will carry the big surprise.”
    “As soon as we’re out of spacedock, my crew and I are completely at your disposal, sirs.”
    Tasia practically danced her way back to the shuttle.
    Roamers didn’t judge maturity by age, but by capabilities. The clans considered a person to be a functional adult once he or she could strip down, break apart, and reassemble virtually any piece of mechanical apparatus and could successfully navigate using stars and the old Ildiran databases. After being coached by her two brothers, Tasia had been particularly proud when she’d demonstrated that she could don a spacesuit and correctly match all the seals, ten times out of ten. She had been twelve the first time she’d done it.
    Now she felt the same measure of pride as she stood in her Manta’s cargo bay. Swarms of engineers and technicians worked to install the racks, monitors, and peripheral equipment needed for deploying the Klikiss Torch. Oh, how she was going to enjoy seeing a bloated hydrogue planet turn into a bright new sun.
    The green priest Rossia, Tasia’s communications link with the rest of the Spiral Arm, came up beside her, walking with a pronounced limp owing to an injury he had suffered on Theroc many years before. His eyes were bulging and oversized like stray Ping-Pong balls from the rec room.
    “Turmoil . . . always turmoil,” he said. “The EDF seems to relish banging and pounding and reconfiguring things.”
    Together they watched engineers load blunt-nosed torpedoes, part of the Klikiss Torch apparatus. The crew had already brought aboard a fast cargo ship that would be used to deliver the other end of the wormhole-generating machinery to a neutron star that would be transferred like a stellar bomb into Ptoro’s core.
    “Gotta crack a few shells if you want to scramble the drogues,” she said. “After what they did to Theroc, you want to see them stopped, don’t