They had developed a game to test and challenge the burgeoning telemancy abilities. From this promontory, she could look out upon the course, seeing the tall pylon on the valley floor that served as a marker. Students had to levitate large objects around the pylon and then return the objects to the shadow-Xayan settlement in the extreme distance. Keana could see curved free-form alien structures poking above a forest of dense, ethereal red weeds. The manipulated objects were not mere stones, but entire buildings.
Raised by the converts’ telemancy, five buildings hung in the air now, cruising slowly toward her. One yellow structure with black ornamentation was a considerable distance ahead of the others, a neatly uprooted shop building. It spun in the air—a waste of energy, she thought, although it was a showy demonstration of skill.
Many of the prisoners inside the camp were watching, some fascinated and some fearful. So far, though, very few had agreed to become converts. Not even Bolton. Keana refused to coerce him, although she knew she could make him change his mind.
Encix looked at all those soldiers from the Constellation as if they were resources to exploit. Though the alien’s features were unreadable, Keana felt uneasy about the Original’s edgy intensity.
“We will reach ala’ru soon, but we need those other humans to join us.” It was a constant refrain. “Our numbers and strength are growing. Those prisoners can see all the wonders we can achieve.” She raised her soft, pale arms. “We will be like gods once we finally ascend.”
Keana had spent far too much time with the powerful delusions of her own mother, and the grandiose comment from Encix disturbed her. But before she could protest, Uroa’s presence surged inside her mind, taking control and thrusting Keana into the background. His vehemence surprised her. “Do not speak of us as gods! We are not destined to become gods. Ala’ru is about our evolution, about reaching our potential—not aggrandizement or glory!”
Keana could do no more than listen, shunted to the back of her own mind as Encix and Uroa sparred verbally in an exchange of unintelligible telepathic transmissions. Keana could sense the growing dislike Uroa felt for the domineering Encix.
Now, the yellow-and-black building rounded the pylon, edging gracefully close, and headed back toward the shadow-Xayan settlement in the alien forest, away from the fenced prisoner compound. The other four buildings were minutes behind the leader, but as they all completed their turns around the pylon, the front-runner began to lose altitude. As the student lost control of the telemancy, the structure dropped to the uneven rocky ground, tumbled, and broke apart.
From the prisoner camp came a burst of loud cheers and catcalls. Encix turned to regard the debacle, exuding disappointment.
In a matter of moments, the broken parts of the crashed building darted back into the air and began to reassemble themselves—controlled by the embarrassed student—but by the time the components were rejoined, the other objects had flown past and were well ahead in the race.
“Our focus is on too many things,” Encix said. “We must have the same goal.”
“We all want to save this planet,” Keana said. “Even if we go about it in different ways.”
The alien just regarded her with an unreadable expression, then turned away as if in further disappointment.
Concentrating on the shadow-Xayan race, Keana reached out with her mind, enhancing distant details with telemancy. While the former leader tried to catch up, the other trainees reached the distant valley and the lush forest of waving red weeds. The students were required to land the structures in their original places on the ground, with no sign that they had been disturbed, not so much as a bent leaf on an alien plant.
Other telemancy exercises resembled something she had once seen in a carnival sideshow, with the shadow-Xayans raising the same object into the air, one at a time, to see who could lift it the highest. Not long after her conversion, Keana had placed second in that competition, behind young Devon Vence.…
After the unusual air race passed them, Keana-Uroa, Encix, and several other observers levitated themselves into the air, and in a group they flew toward the shadow-Xayan settlement. Encix drifted ahead, leading them as if to show that her telemancy was the strongest.
At the settlement, additional competitions were designed to strengthen individual and collective telemancy powers, with the goal of unifying the shadow-Xayans so they could protect the planet against outside attacks, as well as to help them reach their evolutionary ascension.
But to become like gods? Keana remained troubled by Encix’s blithe statement. She hated the thought, as did Uroa. Encix regarded the activities with a harsh judgmentalism.
Once the group arrived at the growing settlement, they all landed gracefully. Keana saw more and more new converts coming from Slickwater Springs, still wonderstruck after having immersed themselves in the alien pools. The site had gotten more and more crowded, but it was not designed to be a permanent colony, merely a temporary place for the converts until they reached ala’ru … however long that might take.
As the threat of Ro-Xayan retaliation loomed over them, Encix kept urging the humans to plunge themselves into the slickwater. Their combined telemancy was growing demonstrably stronger—as was Keana herself. She wondered if they might be strong enough to thwart an incoming asteroid, like the one that had originally destroyed Hellhole. Encix continued to push, but it was doubtful that today’s demonstrations would have convinced large numbers of the Constellation prisoners to join them.
Yes, the existing converts were growing stronger, thanks to Keana’s constant training. But she had no idea whether it would be enough.
11
After managing the iperion mines on Vielinger for years while his father dallied, and then suffering the ruin of his family and his subsequent exile to Hellhole, Cristoph de Carre had felt far too many burdens of responsibility for a young man who was not yet thirty. In fact, his prior life didn’t even seem real to him now. His father, Louis, had brought about the de Carre family’s downfall due to his alarmingly indiscreet affair with Keana Duchenet, and while in a pampered Sonjeera prison after the scandal, Louis had killed himself because he couldn’t handle the shame.
Cristoph was a different sort of man, though. After coming out to the Deep Zone, he had worked hard to convince General Adolphus of his worth. And he had certainly done so.
After being put in charge of excavating the wondrous museum vault of Xayan treasures deep in the core of a mountain, he was now helping the Original alien Lodo catalog the stored remnants, hoping to find some exotic weapons or defensive tools. By this time, most of the valuable relics had been extracted from the vault for further study, and the surviving Original aliens were obsessed with ala’ru to the exclusion of all else. But as the unofficial curator of the vault, Cristoph felt sure that the numerous intriguing artifacts had some value. Lodo occasionally joined him in the vault, and the good-natured alien seemed to have a certain fondness for Cristoph.
The dim illumination in the subterranean chamber revealed thick, interlocking blocks around the walls, covered with bas-relief strips, friezes, and indecipherable writing. Niches and sealed containers held mysterious treasures, and the young man didn’t pretend to understand most of them. Whenever he touched the exotic items, he did so with great care.
While Cristoph slept in the vault on occasion, he preferred to arrive early and spend a day there before returning to his apartment in Michella Town in the evening. Sometimes he went to a local tavern, where he met other people worried about the imminent threats to their planet. Sometimes he even found a female companion, but his work was too intense and the dangers facing Hellhole too all-consuming for him to let himself fall into a serious relationship. He remembered his father’s indiscretions too much to be tempted like that.…
Though the vault was deep underground and there was no natural light, Cristoph’s chronometer told him it was midday. Lodo’s large body glided from niche to niche past the relics of his own race. “Once we
reach ala’ru, none of these objects will be of concern to us, no matter how precious and valuable they seem now. Be sure you enjoy and appreciate them for the rest of us who are too busy to do so.”
Cristoph thought he detected a hint of a joke. “Of all the Originals, I think I like you the best, Lodo.”
The alien thrummed, making a sound of amusement. “That is not a particular triumph, as Encix is the only other one who remains.”
“But I would have said the same when Cippiq and Tryn were still among us.”
Lodo thrummed laughter. “Yes, the best among four is somewhat more impressive.”
Now the Xayan turned to the displays of preserved artifacts, pushing his sluglike lower body along the stone floor with soft brushing noises. Faint shapes wavered and crackled in the air over his head, eerie squiggles of illumination that accompanied him as he squirmed up a stone ramp to a higher level. He seemed reticent today, strangely quiet.
Cristoph always felt a sense of wonder and mystery in the vault. He had cataloged what he knew about the relics and sent regular lists of his findings back to General Adolphus. On some days when he arrived at the deep chamber, he found that an object had been moved, or had vanished, or that a new object had appeared. He suspected that Lodo or Encix were responsible, though he didn’t understand why they would be mysterious about their own relics.
As Lodo puttered about on the upper level, Cristoph examined a small box made of a slippery lightweight material. He especially liked the embedded jewel that glowed crimson whenever he opened the lid. As he stared at the jewel, he sensed Lodo approaching from behind him.
“Ah, I recall that treasure from long ago,” the alien said. “Once, this jewel sat on a pedestal at the center of a chamber where the leaders of our civilization would meet. Zairic, Uroa, Encix, and others. In our last meeting there, we discussed how we might survive the approaching asteroid, how we could preserve our civilization. I was entrusted with bringing the jewel down here for safekeeping, along with many of our finest relics … just in case.”
Cristoph closed the lid and returned the box to a high natural shelf of stone, but Lodo reached out to grasp it. “I will take this with me now, as a special reminder of what we once were. Everything else, though, will remain here in the vault. It is done now. We are all done here.”
Cristoph was puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Lodo’s facial membrane vibrated, but did not form comprehensible words. Then his smooth-faced countenance grew dark. “Encix and I have decided to seal this chamber and leave it. These items only serve to anchor our minds to a physical past. There is no longer any use in studying what remains here.”
“You’re just abandoning all this? Our own scientists still have a great deal to learn here. I haven’t finished cataloging it all, and we’ll still be here after you ascend … or whatever.”
“You must leave, and I must leave. This vault will be sealed. Our entire focus is now to attain ala’ru. With the Ro-Xayans coming, that is our only chance. Nothing else matters.”
Lodo pressed close, edging Cristoph out of the museum vault and toward the powered vehicle that would take them up the tunnel to the surface. “If your telemancy is growing stronger with more converts, can’t you protect us from the enemy?”
“Our entire race wasn’t sufficient to deflect one asteroid from the Ro-Xayans, long ago. Thanks to human vigor, we grow stronger than ever, closer than ever … but our rival faction will not be content to send a single projectile this time, as they proved at Candela. All this”—he raised his arms—“is just a distraction. Right now, we cannot afford distractions. Time is too short.”
“But you promised to help us defend Hellhole against the Constellation, too.”
“We might still do that, if we can. After ala’ru, there will be no more threats to this planet.” The Xayan turned back to the cave opening. “Come outside with me. I’m going to seal the entrance.”
The energy of telemancy crackled loudly over Lodo’s head, making snapping sounds. Cristoph hurried to exit the museum vault, although he felt a heavy disappointment. On his way out, as he passed a small display alcove, he noticed it was empty—and he was certain that earlier in the day a relic had been there, a silvery domed object. He wondered what else Lodo had secreted away before turning from all of the “distractions.”
12
Answering the Diadem’s urgent summons—something was always urgent, it seemed—Ishop Heer was escorted toward the private terrace by a tall, angular butler with a neatly trimmed mustache. Even as he walked through the spacious main rooms of her lavish apartment, Ishop could hear old Michella shouting outside. The butler studiously pretended to be deaf, but slowed his pace so the Diadem could expend her vehemence before he stepped out onto the terrace and interrupted her with the guest.
Ishop pretended to be the dutiful lapdog as always, the useful expediter, the man who could be counted on to do any dirty job for the throne … but apparently a man who could never be considered an equal. Maybe today he would find an opportunity to nudge her off the high terrace. Accidentally.
The butler paused at a discreet distance and turned to Ishop. “My apologies, sir. It’ll be just a moment.”
On the terrace, Michella hurled a plate of food into the face of a servant, bloodying the man’s nose and causing him to cringe back as she roared. “I told you yesterday that my food has too much salt—you were instructed to have the amount reduced by half! How dare you bring me a plate full of brine like this? Perhaps I should have you cut in half. Are you trying to kill me?”
The old woman sat in a loose-fitting exercise outfit at a small terrace table, shaded by a large umbrella. She had just finished her daily vigorous workout, impressive for her advanced age. Ishop knew that her shouting had raised her blood pressure far higher than any amount of salt would have. Her volatility alarmed him. Although ruthless and vindictive, she had not been so mercurial, even childish, until recently. The outrageous crippling actions taken by General Adolphus, the grumbles of the powerful noble families, the betrayal and loss of her own daughter, and the horror of spreading, alien possession—all had made her borderline irrational.
Scattered on the tile terrace lay the mangled remnants of an omelet with spicy peppers and rich marubi sauce. It was normally one of the Diadem’s favorite dishes, but she had discarded it in dramatic fashion. The servant stooped to clean up the mess, holding a napkin to his bloody nose as he stammered an apology. “I gave the chef your explicit instructions, Eminence. He seems to have forgotten.”
In response, she hurled a ceramic teapot at him, striking him on the forehead and leaving a gash. The teapot exploded on the tiles, spraying its hot contents like a bloodstain. The blow stunned the man, causing him to drop the food he had been cleaning up. He looked at the old woman in imploring surrender, desperate to please her but having no idea how to do so. He seemed unable to gather his thoughts or organize his movements. Blood dripped unattended from his forehead and nose.
“Get out, before I order your execution.”
The man fled.
Ishop stepped calmly onto the terrace. “Such a pity. Was that our pot of tea?”
Michella fumed, but his presence always seemed to calm her. “Not everyone is as reliable as you, dear Ishop. I wish I had ten of you.”
“You will have to make do with only me, Eminence.” If there were ten of me, all of them would be plotting your demise … and one of them would have succeeded by now. He turned to command the hesitant butler at the terrace doorway. “Send someone to clean up this mess, and have a pot of afternoon tea brought to us, along with little sandwiches and cookies. We have business to discuss.”
“Yes, sir,” the butler said, then turned to the Diadem. “Shall I instruct the chef to prepare another meal, Eminence?”
“I’m too upset to eat now, but notify him of my extreme displeasure and of the consequences should he ignore my instructions again.”
The butler hurried away, leaving the
two of them alone.
Ishop took a seat across from Michella. He could have picked up one of the sharp fragments of the shattered ceramic teapot and sawed through her leathery neck. But he dismissed the idea. Too gory, and too slow.
Leafy potted ferns and planter boxes full of bright flowers stood around the perimeter of the terrace, and from this height the diners had a pleasant view of the palace gardens. Maybe he could lure her close to the edge and give her a little nudge.
Interrupting his fanciful thoughts, another manservant appeared like a nervous rabbit, hopping from mess to mess, cleaning up the debris in efficient silence. The tea and hors d’oeuvres arrived just as the servant was finishing.
When they finally had privacy again, Michella looked at Ishop. “I need you to search for information. Commodore Hallholme is planning our military operation, but Lord Riomini has been quite remiss about keeping me in the loop. Has there been word from Administrator Reming on Tehila yet? When is he planning his purge so our ships can have unimpeded access to the Deep Zone? I am anxious for this to be over.”
For his own purposes, Ishop had already been spying on communications, using the Diadem’s authority when necessary. “I have monitored stringline traffic and saw no record of any message drones or small ships coming from the Tehila route. The silence is disturbing. What is Reming waiting for?”
Michella sipped her tea. “Before we send our Constellation forces out there, we need to make certain General Adolphus hasn’t spread his filthy alien contamination around the Deep Zone. I would hate to learn that Tehila is infested. Then we’d have to sterilize the whole planet before we could move onward!” She made a disgusted sound. “Another waste.”
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