Hidden Empire

Book 1: The Saga of Seven Suns

by Kevin J. Anderson

Genres: Sci-fi Action & Adventure

Synopsis

An explosive new science fiction series by New York Times best-selling author Kevin J. Anderson, Hidden Empire is the first volume in The Saga of the Seven Suns, modeled after the Star Wars and X-Files universes. Anderson has become the foremost science fiction writer of the century, bringing to life vivid characters and worlds that delight his fans across the galaxy.

The Klikiss, a now-extinct alien civilization, left behind vast technological information that has been discovered by two xenoarchaeologists. One discovery, a device that converts gas planets into life-giving suns is quickly put to the test with unimaginable results.

Arising out of the test is a new alien species that threatens every human. Mankind is left with the dim reality--either fight the new alien life form or face humiliation, death and extinction. This riveting adventure swings you from one wondrous realm to another as the Hidden Empire is sought after and exposed.

Anderson has created a gripping beginning to what will surely be his best series yet. George Guidall has returned a stellar performance and brought these characters to life in vivid detail.

Release date: July 24, 2002

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 464

Sample

1MARGARET COLICOS

Safe in orbit high above the gas giant, Margaret looked through the observation port at continent-sized hurricanes and clouds
far below. She wondered how long it would take for the entire planet to catch fire, once the experiment began.


Oncier was a pastel globe of hydrogen and mixed gases five times the size of Jupiter. Moons surrounded the gas giant like
a litter of pups jostling against their mother. The four of greatest interest were large bodies of ice and rock named Jack,
Ben, George, and Christopher, after the first four Great Kings of the Terran Hanseatic League. If today’s test proved a success,
those moons could eventually be terraformed into Earthlike colonies.


If the Klikiss Torch failed, the respected career of Margaret Colicos would fizzle along with it. But she would survive. As
xeno-archaeologists, she and her husband Louis were accustomed to working in blissful obscurity.


In preparation for the experiment, the technical observation platform bustled with scientists, engineers, and political observers.
Though Margaret had nothing to do with the actual test, her presence was still required here. A celebrity. She had to make
a good show of it. After all, she had discovered the alien device among the ruins.


Tucking gray-streaked brown hair behind her ear, she looked across the deck and saw Louis grinning like a boy. They had been
married for decades and had never worked without each other. It had been years since she’d seen him in a dashing, formal suit.
Margaret could tell how much he reveled in the excitement, and she smiled for his sake.


She preferred to watch people rather than interact with them. Louis once joked that his wife had become fascinated with archaeology
on alien planets because there was no chance she might have to strike up a conversation with one of her subjects.


With plenty of dirt under their fingernails and groundbreaking discoveries on their résumés, Margaret and Louis Colicos had
already sifted through numerous worlds abandoned by the insectlike Klikiss race, searching for clues to explain what had happened
to their vanished civilization. The alien empire had left only ghost cities and occasional tall beetlelike robots that bore
no helpful memories of their progenitors. In the eerie ruins on Corribus, the Colicos team had discovered and deciphered the
remarkable planet-igniting technology they had called the “Klikiss Torch.”


Now excitement thrummed in the filtered air of the observation platform. Invited functionaries crowded around the observation
windows, talking with each other. Never before had humans attempted to create their own sun. The consequences and the commercial
possibilities were far-reaching.


Chairman Basil Wenceslas noticed Margaret standing alone. When a small-statured server compy came by bearing a tray filled
with expensive champagne, the powerful Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League snagged two extruded-polymer glasses and walked
over to her, proud and beaming. “Less than an hour to go.”


She dutifully accepted the glass and indulged him by taking a drink. Since the reprocessed air of the observation platform
affected the senses of smell and taste, a cheaper champagne would probably have tasted as good. “I’ll be glad when it’s over,
Mr. Chairman. I prefer to spend my time on empty worlds, listening for the whispers of a long-dead civilization. Here, there
are too many people for me.”


Across the deck she saw a green priest sitting silent and alone. The emerald-skinned man was there to provide instantaneous
telepathic communication in case of emergency. Outside the observation platform hung a ceremonial fleet of alien warliners,
seven spectacular ships from the Solar Navy of the Ildirans, the benevolent humanoid race that had helped mankind spread across
the stars. The beautifully decorated Ildiran ships had taken up positions where they could observe the spectacular test.


“I understand perfectly,” the Chairman said. “I try to stay out of the limelight myself.” Wenceslas was a distinguished man,
one of those people who grew more attractive and sophisticated with each passing year, as if he learned how to be suave rather
than forgot how to be physically fit. He sipped his champagne, but so slightly that it barely seemed to wet his lips. “Waiting
is always so hard, isn’t it? You are not accustomed to working with such a rigid time clock.”


She answered him with a polite laugh. “Archaeology is not meant to be rushed—unlike business.” Margaret just wished she could
get back to work.


The Chairman touched his champagne glass against Margaret’s like a kiss of crystal. “You and your husband are an investment
that has certainly paid off for the Hanseatic League.” The xeno-archaeologists had long been sponsored by the Hansa, but the
star-igniting technology she and Louis had discovered would be worth more than all the archaeology budgets combined.


Working in the cool emptiness of Corribus, sifting through the ideographs painted on the walls of Klikiss ruins, Margaret
had been able to match up the precise coordinates of neutron stars and pulsars scattered around the Spiral Arm, comparing
them with maps developed by the Hansa.


This single correlation caused an avalanche of subsequent breakthroughs: By comparing the coordinates of neutron stars from
the Klikiss drawings with known stellar drift, she had been able to back-calculate how old the maps were. Thus, she determined
that the Klikiss race had disappeared five thousand years ago. Using the coordinates and diagrams as a key, as well as all
the other information compiled on numerous digs, Louis, with his engineering bent, had deciphered Klikiss mathematical notations,
thereby allowing him to figure out the basic functioning of the Torch.


The Chairman’s gray eyes became harder, all business now. “I promise you this, Margaret: If the Klikiss Torch does function
as expected, choose any site you wish, any planet you’ve wanted to explore, and I will personally see that you have all the
funding you require.”


Margaret clinked her glass against his in a return toast. “I’ll take advantage of that offer, Mr. Chairman. In fact, Louis
and I have a likely site already picked out.”


The previously untouched ghost world of Rheindic Co, full of mysteries, pristine territory, uncataloged ruins … But first
they had to do their duty dance here and endure the public accolades after they ignited the gas world below.


Margaret went to stand beside Louis. She slipped her arm through his as he struck up a conversation with the patient green
priest who waited beside his potted worldtree sapling. She could hardly wait for the experiment to be finished. To her, an
empty ancient city was far more exciting than setting a whole planet ablaze.


2BASIL WENCESLAS

Quiet and unassuming, Basil Wenceslas moved through social circles. He smiled when he was supposed to, bantered when expected,
and filed the details in his mind. To an outsider, he never showed more than a fraction of his deepest thoughts and intricate
plans. The Terran Hanseatic League depended on it.


A well-preserved older man whose age was difficult to determine even with close study, he had access to vigorous antiaging
treatments and availed himself of cellular chelation techniques that kept him limber and healthy. Dapper and distinguished,
he wore impeccable suits that cost more than some families earned in a year, but Basil was not a vain man. Though everyone
on the observation platform knew he was in charge, he maintained a low profile.


When an overeager mahogany-skinned media charmer asked him for an interview about the Klikiss Torch, he diverted the woman
and her recording crew to the chief scientist of the project, then melted into the small crowd. Watching. Observing. Thinking.


He looked out at the great ball of ochre clouds that made Oncier look like a poorly stirred confection. This system had no
habitable planets, and Oncier’s gas mix was not particularly appropriate for harvesting ekti, the exotic allotrope of hydrogen
used in Ildiran stardrives. This out-of-the-way gas giant was an excellent test subject for the unproven Klikiss Torch.


Chief scientist Gerald Serizawa talked smoothly and passionately about the upcoming test, and the media crew pressed forward.
Beside him, technicians manned banks of equipment. Basil scanned the control panels, assessing the readings for himself. Everything
was on schedule.


Dr. Serizawa was completely hairless, though whether because of a cosmetic choice, a genetic predisposition, or an exotic
disease, Basil did not know. Lean and energetic, Serizawa spoke with his hands as much as his voice, gesturing broadly. Every
few minutes, like clockwork, he grew self-conscious and clasped his hands to keep them motionless in front of him.


“Gas giants, such as Jupiter in our own home solar system, are on the edge of a gravitational slope that could send them into
stellar collapse. Any planetary body between thirteen and a hundred times Jupiter’s mass will burn deuterium at its core and
begin to shine.”


Serizawa jabbed an insistent finger at the media charmer who had approached Basil earlier. “With this rediscovered technology,
we can push a gas giant such as Oncier over the mass limit so that its core will ignite nuclear fires and turn this big ball
of fuel into a brand-new sun—”


The woman broke in. “Please tell our audience where the increase in mass comes from.”

Serizawa smiled, delighted to explain further. Basil crooked his mouth in a faint expression of amusement. He thanked his
luck that the bald doctor was such an enthusiastic spokesman.


“You see, the Klikiss Torch anchors two ends of a worm-hole, a tunnel ten kilometers wide.” It was clear his listeners knew little about wormhole mechanics and the difficulty of creating such a huge space-time gap.
“We open one terminus near a superdense neutron star, then target the other end at the core of Oncier. In the blink of an
eye, the neutron star is transported into the planetary heart. With so much added mass, the gas giant will collapse, ignite,
and begin to shine. This light and heat, you see, will make the largest moons habitable.”


One of the media recorders pointed an imager at the white glints orbiting the pastel gas planet as Serizawa continued. “Alas,
the new sun will burn for only a hundred thousand years, but that’s still plenty of time for us to make the four moons into
productive Hansa colonies. Practically an eternity, as far as we’re concerned.”


Basil nodded unobtrusively to himself. Typical short-term thinking, but useful. Now that Earth was part of a much larger galactic
network, though, true visionaries would have to operate on a completely different time scale. Human history was only one small
part of the canvas.


“Therefore, the Klikiss Torch opens up many new opportunities for the Hansa to create habitats that meet the needs of our
growing human population.”


Basil wondered how many swallowed that explanation. It was part of the answer, of course, but he also noted the huge, gaudy
Ildiran warliners standing watch, reminding him of the real reasons for this extravagant demonstration.


The Klikiss Torch must be tested not because there was a desperate need for extra living space—there were many more acceptable
colony worlds than humans could ever settle. No, this was a move of political hubris. The Hansa needed to prove that humans
could actually do this thing, a grand and extravagant gesture.


One hundred and eighty-three years ago, the Ildiran Empire had rescued the first Terran generation ships from their aimless
journeys through space. The Ildirans had offered humans their fast stardrive and adopted Earth into the sprawling galactic
community. Humans viewed the Ildiran Empire as a benevolent ally, but Basil had been watching the aliens for some time.


The ancient civilization was stagnant, full of ritual and history but very few fresh ideas. Humans had been the ones to innovate
the Ildiran stardrive technology. Eager colonists and entrepreneurs—even the space gypsy riffraff of the Roamer clans—had
rapidly filled the old Ildiran social and commercial niches, so that humans gained a substantial foothold in just a few generations.


The Hansa was growing by leaps and bounds, while their stodgy alien benefactors were fading. Basil was confident humans would
soon subsume the ailing Empire. After the Klikiss Torch demonstration, the Ildirans would remain impressed by Terran abilities—and
deterred from any temptation to test human mettle. Thus far, the alien empire had shown no sign of aggression, but Basil didn’t
entirely believe the altruistic motives of the cozy Ildiran neighbors. It was best to maintain a prominent reminder of human
technological abilities, and better still to be subtle about it.


While the test countdown proceeded toward zero, Basil went to get another glass of champagne.

3ADAR KORI’ NH

From the command nucleus of his prime warliner, Adar Kori’nh, supreme admiral of the Ildiran Solar Navy, contemplated the humans’
folly.


Though the outcome of this preposterous test would have a significant bearing on future relations between the Ildiran Empire
and the Terran Hanseatic League, the Adar had brought only a septa, a group of seven warliners. The Mage-Imperator had instructed
him not to display too much interest in the event. No Ildiran should be too impressed by any action from these upstarts.


Even so, Kori’nh had refitted his battleships as a matter of pride, painting sigils on their hulls and adding dazzling illumination
strips as primary markings. His warliners looked like ornate deep-sea creatures preparing for an outrageous mating display.
The Solar Navy understood pageantry and military spectacles far better than the humans did.


The Hansa Chairman had invited Kori’nh to come aboard the observation platform where he could watch the artificial ignition
of the gas giant. Instead, the Adar had chosen to remain here, aloof, inside the command nucleus. For now. Once the actual
test began, he would arrive with politically acceptable tardiness.


Kori’nh was a lean-faced half-breed between noble and soldier kith, like all important officers in the Solar Navy. His face
was smooth, with humanlike features, because the higher kiths resembled the single breed of human. Despite their physical
similarities, though, Ildirans were fundamentally different from Terrans, especially in their hearts and minds.


Kori’nh’s skin had a grayish tone; his head was smooth except for the lush topknot folded back across his crown, a symbol
of his rank. The Adar’s single-piece uniform was a long tunic made from layered gray-and-blue scales, belted about his waist.


To emphasize the low importance of this mission, he had refused to pin on his numerous military decorations, but the humans
would never notice the subtlety when he met them face-to-face. He watched the bustling scientific activities with a mixture
of condescending amusement and concern.


Though the Ildirans had assisted the fledgling race many times in the past two centuries, they still considered humans to
be impatient and ill-behaved. Cultural children, adoptive wards. Perhaps their race needed a godlike, all-powerful leader
such as the Mage-Imperator. The golden age of the Ildiran Empire had already lasted for millennia. Humans could learn much
from the elder race if they bothered to pay attention, rather than insisting on making their own mistakes.


Kori’nh could not comprehend why the brash and overly ambitious race was so eager to create more worlds to terraform and settle.
Why go to all the trouble of creating a new sun out of a gas planet? Why make a few rugged moons habitable when there were
so many acceptable worlds that were, by any civilized standard, nowhere near crowded enough? Humans seemed intent on spreading
everywhere.


The Adar sighed as he stared out the front viewing screen of his lead warliner. Disposable planets and disposable suns… how
very Terran.


But he would not have missed this event for all the commendations the Mage-Imperator had left to give. In ancient times the
Solar Navy had fought against the terrible and mysterious Shana Rei, and the military force had been required to fight against
other deluded Ildirans in a heart-rending civil war two thousand years ago, but since that time, the fleet had been mainly
for show, used for occasional rescue or civil missions.


With no enemies and no interplanetary strife in the Ildiran Empire, Kori’nh had spent his career in the Solar Navy managing
ornate ceremony-driven groupings. He had little experience in the area of battle or tactics, except to read about them in
the Saga. But it wasn’t the same.


The Mage-Imperator had dispatched him to Oncier as the Empire’s official representative, and he had obeyed his god and leader’s
commands. Through his faint telepathic link with all of his subjects, the Mage-Imperator would watch through Kori’nh’s eyes.


No matter what he thought of it, though, this bold human attempt would make an interesting addition to the Ildiran historical
epic, The Saga of Seven Suns. This day, and probably even Kori’nh’s name, would become part of both history and legend. No Ildiran could aspire to more
than that.


4OLD KING FREDERICK

Surrounded by the opulence of the Whisper Palace on Earth, Old King Frederick played his part. Basil Wenceslas had given him
orders, and the great monarch of the Hansa knew his place. Frederick did exactly as he was told.


Around him, court functionaries kept busy writing documents, recording decrees, distributing royal orders and benevolences.
The Whisper Palace must be seen as a constant flurry of important matters, conducted in a professional and orderly fashion.


Wearing heavy formal robes and a lightweight crown adorned with holographic prisms, Frederick awaited word from Oncier in
the Throne Hall. He was bathed and perfumed, the many rings on his fingers polished to a dazzle. His skin had been massaged
with lotions and oils. His hair was perfect; not a single strand could be seen out of place.


Though he had originally been chosen for his looks, charisma, and public-speaking abilities, Frederick knew the foundation
of his monarchy better than the most attentive student of civics. Because any real-time political hold over such a vast galactic
territory would be tenuous at best, the Hansa depended on a visible figurehead to speak decrees and issue laws. The populace
needed a concrete person in whom to invest their loyalty, since no one would fight to the death or swear blood oaths for a
vague corporate ideal. Long ago, a royal court and a well-groomed King had been manufactured to give the commercial government
a face and a heart.


As with his five predecessors, King Frederick existed to be seen and revered. His court was filled with gorgeous clothing,
polished stone, rich fabrics, tapestries, artworks, jewels, and sculptures. He awarded medals, threw celebrations, and kept
the people happy with a benevolent sharing of the Hansa’s wealth. Frederick had everything he could ever need or want… except
independence and freedom.


Basil had once told him, “Humans have a tendency to abdicate their decision-making to charismatic figures. That way they force
others to take responsibility, and they can blame their problems upward in a hierarchy.” He had pointed to the King, who was
so weighed down with finery that he could barely walk. “If you follow that to its logical conclusion, any society will end
up with a monarchy, given enough time and choice.”


After forty-six years on the throne, Frederick could barely remember his younger life or his original name. He had seen significant
changes in the Hanseatic League during his reign, but little of it had been his own doing. Now he felt the burden of his years.


The King could hear the rush of fountains, the hum of dirigibles, the roar of the ever-swelling crowds in the royal plaza
below waiting for him to address them from his favorite speaking balcony. The Archfather of Unison was already leading them
in familiar scripted prayers, but even as the crowds followed along, eager citizens pressed forward, hoping for a glimpse
of their splendid monarch. Frederick wanted to remain inside as long as possible.


After its construction in the early days of Terran expansion, the gigantic ceremonial residence had rendered visitors speechless
with awe—hence, its name: the Whisper Palace. Always-lit cupolas and domes were made of glass panels crisscrossed with gilded
titanium support braces. The site had been chosen in the sunny, perfect weather of the North American west coast, in what
had once been southern California. The Palace was larger than any other building on Earth, vast enough to swallow ten cities
the size of Versailles. Later, after the Hansa had encountered the jaw-dropping architecture in the Ildiran Empire, the Whisper
Palace had been expanded further, just to keep up.


At the moment, though, the beauty around him could not keep Frederick’s mind occupied as he impatiently waited to hear from
Basil at distant Oncier. “Momentous events do not happen in an instant,” he said, as if convincing himself. “Today we mean
to set the course of history.”


A court chamberlain rang an Ildiran crystal-alloy gong. Instantly, in response to the sound, the King donned an eager but
paternal smile, a practiced kindly expression that exuded warm confidence.


With the fading musical vibrations, he strode down the royal promenade toward his expansive speaking balcony. Out of habit,
the King looked at an ultraclear crystalline mirror mounted in an alcove. He caught his expression, the not-quite-hidden weariness
in his eyes, a few new wrinkles that only he could see. How much longer would Basil let him play this role, before he passed
beyond “paternal” and into “doddering”? Maybe the Hansa would let him retire soon.


The great solar doors spread open, and the King paused to take a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

Ambassador Otema, the ancient green priest from the forested planet of Theroc, stood beside her shoulder-high worldtree sapling
in its ornate planter. Through the sentient worldforest network, Otema could establish an instant communication link with
the far-off technical observation platform.


He gave one brisk clap of his hands. “It is time. We must transmit a message that I, King Frederick, grant my permission for
this wondrous test to begin. Tell them to proceed with my blessing.”


Otema gave a formal bow. The stern ambassador had so many status tattoos on her face and her skin was such a weathered green
that she looked like a gnarled piece of vegetation herself. She and Basil Wenceslas had butted heads many times, but King
Frederick had kept out of the disputes.


Otema wrapped her callused fingers around the scaly bark of the worldtree and closed her eyes so that she could send her thoughts
via telink through the trees to her counterpart at Oncier.


5BENTO THERON

At Oncier, a hush fell over the observers and guests as Beneto released his grip on the small worldtree. He stroked the treeling,
both giving and drawing comfort.


“King Frederick sends his blessing. We may proceed,” he announced to the crowd.

Applause pattered like raindrops. Media troops turned imagers down to the gas giant, as if expecting something to happen immediately
on the King’s command.


Dr. Serizawa hurried over to his technician. At his signal, the terminus anchors were launched from orbit. Bright lights shot
into the planetary body, tunneling deep to where they would paint a wormhole target far below. The torpedo probes, developed
from ancient Klikiss designs, vanished into the cloud decks, leaving not even a ripple.


Beneto watched, marking every detail, which he would pass on through prayer to the eager and curious worldforest. Though he
was the second son of the Theron ruling family, he served little purpose here at Oncier other than to send instantaneous news
of the ambitious test via the worldtrees, much faster than any standard electromagnetic communication, which even at the speed
of light would have taken months or perhaps years to reach the nearest Hansa outpost.


Using the interconnected trees, any green priest could communicate with any of his counterparts, regardless of location. Any
single tree was a manifestation of the whole worldforest, identical quantum images of each other. What one treeling knew,
they all knew, and green priests could tap into that information reservoir whenever they chose. They could use it to send
messages.


Now, while the spectators watched the wormhole anchors disappearing into the Oncier clouds, Beneto touched the treeling again.
He let his mind melt through the trunk until his thoughts emerged in other parts of the worldforest back home. When his eyes
focused and he returned to the observation platform, he looked up to see Chairman Wenceslas looking at him expectantly.


Beneto kept his face calm and dignified. His tattooed features were handsome and noble. His eyes had the vestiges of epicanthic
folds, giving them a rounded almond appearance. “My Father Idriss and Mother Alexa offer the prayers of all the Theron people
for the success of this test.”


“I always appreciate kind words from your parents,” Basil said, “though I would prefer Theroc had more formalized business
dealings with the Hansa.”


Beneto kept his voice neutral. “The worldforest’s plans and wishes do not always match the needs of the Hansa, Chairman. However,
you would do better to discuss such matters with my elder brother Reynald, or my sister Sarein. They are both more inclined
to business than I.” He touched the feathery leaves of the treeling, as if to emphasize his priestly status. “As the second
son, my destiny has always been to serve the worldforest.”


“And you do your job admirably. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“With the support and the benevolence of the worldtrees, I am rarely uncomfortable.”

The young man could imagine no other calling. Because of his high-born position, Beneto was expected to participate in showy
events, such as this spectacle. He did not want to perform his priestly duties merely for show, however. Given the choice, he would rather have helped to spread the worldforest across the Spiral Arm, so the treelings
could thrive on other planets.


Green priests were few, and their vital telink skills were in such demand that some missionary priests lived in opulent mansions,
subsidized by the Hansa or colony governments, well paid to send and receive instantaneous messages. Other priests, however,
lived a more austere life and spent their time simply planting and tending treelings. That was what Beneto would have preferred
to do.


The Hansa had begged to hire as many green priests as Theroc would provide, but the merchants and politicians were constantly
frustrated. Although Hanseatic envoys insisted that priests must serve the needs of humanity, Father Idriss and Mother Alexa
had no interest in expanding their personal power. Instead, they allowed the priests to choose their postings for themselves.


Carefully selecting healthy specimens from the sentient forest on Theroc, the priests distributed treelings on scattered colony
worlds or carried them aboard mercantile ships. More than sunlight and fertilization, the worldforest hungered for