As he turned to run, the converts reached out to him, and he felt an unseen force spin him around and propel him back out onto the field. He could not break free of their telemancy.
Helpless, he was flung forward, borne on a psychic wave toward the slickwater. Victims were being hurled into the liquid, the whole crowd converted at once. Hundreds of new shadow-Xayans climbed back out of the fissures as they began to assimilate their new alien lives and powers.
Cristoph could already hear the screams diminishing as more people were replaced with the strange alien voices, a wave of mass conversions.
And then the telemancy plunged him into the flowing slickwater.
73
The orbiting fleet lost contact with not only the Ankor spaceport, but with Michella Town as well. General Adolphus felt as if he had gone into freefall. Critical evacuation sites were offline.
He had been prepared for the unruly disorganization of people trying to escape a planet before Armageddon. Chaotic crowds would rush to the two spaceports by any means possible, frantic to get to the dubious safety of orbit. Neither spaceport had the capacity to hold so many people. It was a disaster that was no longer waiting to happen.
After battling one setback after another, with the delays caused by the fool George Komun and then the arrival of Commodore Hallholme, Adolphus already faced an impossible challenge. Now, with the compressed timescale as the asteroids accelerated, he realized that it was simply not possible to succeed, even if he had the complete cooperation of everyone, even if every step went precisely according to plan.
He had begun something the number of lives that would be lost—not by his own failures, but because the universe had thrown so many sucker punches at him. Yet he was General Tiber Adolphus, and he refused to admit defeat. He would keep striving and fighting, saving as many people as he could.
On the bridge of the Jacob, he sent transmission after transmission down to the spaceports and to Michella Town. Looking at his comm officer, he asked, “What happened down there? Was there an explosion, some kind of sabotage? At both spaceports? Why can’t they communicate with us?” He couldn’t conceive how every single transmitter in the main colony town and the two spaceports might have been shut off.
Long-range observations began to report quakes and building collapses, as if the planet itself had begun to convulse, as if cringing from the twenty asteroids that were due to impact very soon. But he knew the gravitational pull of the asteroids could not be causing such titanic upheavals.
The comm officer shook her head. “Our outgoing communication signal is strong, sir, but … they just don’t respond.”
Adolphus pursed his lips and felt as if an asteroid were weighing down his chest. “Keep trying. Someone has to answer.” He knotted his hands, then changed the comm channel. “Get me Commodore Hallholme.”
True to his word, his old nemesis was cooperating, throwing his not-insignificant forces into rescuing people rather than killing them. Adolphus had gambled, hoping that the Commodore’s sense of honor would define his actions. The requirements of the Constellation Charter were clear enough to give him a plausible reason to do what he knew was right, but even that hadn’t been sufficient to drive the man to outright mutiny against the Diadem. When the old officer revealed the appalling new orders he had received from Diadem Riomini, however, Adolphus saw a sea change. That unconscionable, bloodthirsty demand had finally broken the Commodore. Adolphus was surprised and pleased to discover that he and his former mortal enemy were actually on the same side.
For years, Percival Hallholme had been conflicted by the reprehensible orders he was forced to follow, and had clearly regretted some of his unacceptable compromises. He’d even admitted that, plagued with guilt, he was the secret benefactor who had slipped desperately needed supplies to the fledgling Hellhole colony in its first years.
After so long, though, Adolphus couldn’t accept the man’s sudden conversion without some skepticism. “Commodore, I’ve lost contact with my main city as well as both spaceports. We’re in the midst of the evacuation.” He hardened his voice. “I hope you’ll be honest with me—do you have another operation under way? Is this some sort of secret attack to keep me from evacuating my people?”
On the screen, the old Commodore’s fallen expression gave Adolphus all the answer he needed. Hallholme was clearly surprised by the suggestion, a reaction that was followed by a rippling flush of anger and indignation. “General, I give you my word. I have done nothing to betray you. My fleet is focused on rescuing as many inhabitants of your planet as possible. By now, per our agreement, the bulk of my troop carriers are en route to the POW camp to retrieve all of the Constellation soldiers held there, and then to Slickwater Springs. That is my priority.” He paused, then added, “We are closely monitoring the incoming asteroids—your planet doesn’t have much more than a day left. I am not so foolish and single-minded as to assume that any political disagreements or orders from Diadem Riomini have relevance here. I just want to get the people to safety. We’ll do what we can, working together.”
After the Commodore ended the transmission, Adolphus turned to his second in command. “Mr. Sendell, dispatch a fast scout for a recon flight over Michella Town. I need to know what’s happening there.”
Seconds and minutes ticked away, and still no more evacuees were launched from the surface. No matter how effective he was, no matter how hard he worked, Adolphus knew that for the rest of his life he would keep counting the ones lost, not the ones he saved.
Startled, the comm officer turned to him. “General, the communication line is open again. I have a message from Ankor.”
Adolphus felt a wash of relief. “Finally. Let’s get back on track again. Is it Theris?”
“No, sir, it’s Cristoph de Carre.”
“Good enough,” Adolphus said. “Put him on.”
On the screen behind the young man, the Ankor headquarters appeared damaged, many of the stations abandoned. Portions of walls had fallen in, and ceiling panels hung down. Sparks showered from a smashed control panel. Oddest of all, though, was that Cristoph de Carre looked absolutely calm, at peace. He had a bland smile and a distant expression. Something in the eyes? “General Tiber Adolphus, I am pleased to report good news. There is no longer cause for concern.”
With no way of deflecting the fusillade of asteroids hurtling toward the planet, Adolphus knew there damn well was cause for concern. He felt a heavy dread in his chest. He knew this brash, ambitious young man, who had chosen self-exile to escape Constellation politics. When he’d come to Hellhole, de Carre had insisted on proving himself to the General, willing to do the worst jobs before Adolphus would give him important responsibilities.
Now, however, Cristoph looked changed. His eyes, voice, and expression—Adolphus was dismayed to recognize the signs of alien conversion.
“The slickwater has risen up at Ankor, General. Many thousands of evacuees were already here, and they have now been successfully immersed. The same thing is happening in Michella Town and at Slickwater Springs.” Cristoph’s lips curved in a strange smile. “Evacuation of the planet is no longer necessary. We almost have the numbers we require, and we will reach ala’ru in time. It is assured.”
74
In its final hours, the entire planet seemed to have gone insane, convulsing in death spasms.
Sophie and forty-six nonconverts still needed to be evacuated from Slickwater Springs, but around her, thousands of shadow-Xayans refused to leave their sacred planet. They spoke of ala’ru, which she considered an act of desperation … or delusion.
Even if the aliens did achieve their ascension, Sophie was not convinced the transformed Xayans would have the power to deflect the asteroids and save Hellhole. By now, having heard nothing for too long, she had given up on the hope that Lodo and Keana-Uroa would meet the enemy faction and somehow convince them to stand down. The Ro-Xayan way of solving disagreements was to smash planets with immense rocks.
Ther
e was simply no way to evacuate everybody. Not enough ships or time. Tens of thousands of inhabitants—maybe more than that—would be stranded when the asteroids struck. Commodore Hallholme was supposedly sending ships down to retrieve all of the soldiers at the POW camp. And if so many were going to die, did those Constellation soldiers who’d come here to slaughter every settler deserve to live more than the hardy colonists who had worked so hard just to eke out a living here?
Sophie had never wanted the prisoners there, and they certainly didn’t want to be in the camp—but they were human beings and she couldn’t abandon them. She was not a judge or an executioner. She would get as many away as possible and not think about who was worthy or not.
Slickwater Springs had enough overland shuttles to get the human inhabitants to Michella Town; two of those ships were even capable of achieving orbit in a worst-case scenario. She knew Adolphus would be worried about her, and he did not need the extra stress or distraction. She wanted to be inside the main lodge house, talking with him, but she decided just to load the forty-six people and get them away, including herself, and leave everything behind.
Deep in her heart, unreasonable as it may seem, she still expected the General to find some miraculous way to save them all.
Arlen Carter entered the lodge house. He managed her warehouse operations in Michella Town while she administered Slickwater Springs, but he’d come out here in the last days, away from the madness in town. He had a look of deep concern on his face now. “The shadow-Xayans are doing something out there, Sophie. They’ve asked you to join them but … I don’t know. It gives me the creeps.” Carter was a workhorse, loyal and reliable; it wasn’t like him to get panicky.
Leaving the lodge house, she saw the shadow-Xayans gathered at the slickwater pools. The handful of remaining humans also emerged from their temporary housing. Sophie sensed that something had changed.
The air smelled of bitter ozone and crackled with energy, as if the converts were pooling their telemancy. As soon as she emerged from the lodge, the large crowd turned toward her as if choreographed, staring at her with an eerie unified expression.
One of them spoke, “Sophie Vence and all fellow human visitors to Slickwater Springs, we need you now to help save our race.”
As if a trigger had been pulled, the placid, mirrorlike pools of slickwater began to churn. The turbulence rose from beneath the surface like an awakening maelstrom. Telemancy crackled from one shadow-Xayan to another, accompanied by occasional sparks of visible electricity. The alien ponds shimmered and glowed, and the liquid rose up, swelling from beneath the ground as if replenished by infinite aquifers. The pools flooded their banks and overflowed the boardwalks, spilling across the ground.
The shadow-Xayans stood there, unaffected.
Carter bellowed, “What the hell?” Sophie backed toward the lodge house, though she doubted it would provide much shelter. The human workers and visitors retreated, some murmuring, others yelling in panic.
The shadow-Xayans began to move toward them in concert. Outnumbering the humans by hundreds to one, they grabbed unwilling people and dragged them toward the swelling slickwater.
Like an uncontrollable flash flood, the alien fluid rushed across the compound. Some people tried to outrun it but were swept up in the flow. Waves reached up like pseudopods to engulf other humans. Crackles of lighting inside the pools showed the sheer energy it contained.
Sophie saw what remained of Michella Duchenet standing among the shadow-Xayans, not moving, her eyes glassy and face blank. Slickwater flowed around her ankles and calves like a churning stream, but she didn’t try to avoid it. Silvery blue geysers spewed up from the pools like gushing oil wells.
Sophie darted inside the lodge house, calling for Carter to follow—but as he reached the door, slickwater drenched him, and he froze, then collapsed. He grimaced and writhed as he tried to fight off the substance, then gave up and rolled back into the rising water.
All around the compound, unwilling converts joined the others as they absorbed and incorporated their dominant new alien personalities, the memories and lives—and the obsessive drive toward ala’ru. As more of the last humans were swept up and became shadow-Xayans, the number of converts grew, as did their strength and telemancy. They converged on the handful of stragglers.
Sophie locked the main doors of the lodge, but it was a large building with many windows and entrances, certainly not secure if hundreds of shadow-Xayans tried to break in. She reached the comm-center, activated a channel, and shouted, “Tiber, it’s the slickwater, the shadow-Xayans—they’ve gone berserk, swallowing up everyone who isn’t already converted! Don’t know how much longer I can last.”
She looked around, saw the silvery flow burst in through the lodge’s door and pour along the main corridor like a living, searching thing.
“Wish I had a better chance to say a proper good-bye. I—”
Before he could answer her, sparks flew from the comm-set, and the screens went dark. Knowing she couldn’t wait any longer, Sophie dashed out of the comm-center, racing ahead of the flood, and climbed the stairs. She reached the upper level of the large building, but had nowhere else to go.
The gurgling slickwater was like a living amoeba that quested after her.
With a chair she hammered at one of the upper-story mesh windows until it finally broke out of its frame, and she managed to climb outside. Reaching up, she grabbed an overhang and hauled herself onto the roof, almost slipping in the process.
All around the lodge house, slickwater pooled like a prowling watchdog. Shadow-Xayans massed together, unaffected, as the liquid flowed around them.
Panting and terrified, now completely cut off, Sophie huddled on the edge of the roof, looking down at all those people. In unison, they turned their gazes toward her, focused on her. Collectively wanting her to join them. Previously, the converts had been complacent and nonaggressive—but not any longer.
Diadem Michella stood there as well, but off balance. She didn’t struggle as the currents knocked her over and swept her away. Nothing more than the husk of an evil old woman, she submerged in the slickwater.
Maybe she was the lucky one.
Around Sophie, the water levels kept rising, and the crackling static of telemancy built up—all directed toward her.
* * *
Success.
At the prisoner camp, Encix guided the surging slickwater as it bubbled up from beneath the ground and sought out the last of the POWs. They were trapped inside the fences. All of the General’s guards had been immersed, joining the converts. The female Original had targeted them specifically so they would cooperate. With each new convert, the level of telemancy grew. The reservoir of mental potential increased across the planet, by orders of magnitude.
Encix needed numbers, a massive number of converts, and she had very little time left. Now, though, the transformation was inevitable, the telemancy power gain exponential. With a collective mind of its own, the slickwater flooded the temporary tents and shelters, hunting anyone who tried to avoid it. Once the unwilling converts had been touched by the slickwater, the newly awakened shadow-Xayans assisted in the conversion of others.
The deep slickwater aquifers were surging through the pools at Slickwater Springs as well as Ankor, but Encix had enough for her purposes here. Thousands were now converted. The pearlescent liquid glided along, questing like insubstantial tendrils. Whenever the slickwater touched a frightened prisoner, they always succumbed. The stored Xayan memories and lives were coming back to life like a hurricane surge of resurrection.
Yes, even though the Ro-Xayan asteroids were coming, Encix would trigger ala’ru before it was too late. It would be their greatest achievement as a race, the greatest event—and the last event—in the history of the current universe. Nothing else was more important.
Looking confused and bedraggled, still struggling with the new presence inside him, Major Bolton Crais stood beside Escobar Hallholme. The two men wore their
uniforms, as if clinging to original parts of themselves, despite their alien change. Encix sensed that they were wholly dedicated to completing their destiny. It would only be a few more hours.
Encix thrummed through her facial membrane. “So close.”
The slickwater began to recede. There could not possibly be anyone left in the POW camp who had not been touched and blessed by their new reality, with very few mistakes or casualties. Those didn’t matter.
In the skies above, they saw ships swooping down, descending at steep angles. Troop transports.
Escobar-Tarcov stared up, identifying the configurations. “Those are from my father’s fleet. Constellation rescue ships to take us away.”
“But we no longer wish to go away,” said Bolton.
Yet Encix understood something more when she saw the vessels coming in to land. “No. But they contain many more potential converts.”
75
Tanja didn’t complain about Ian Walfor’s erratic flying. He guided the ship out of the hidden crater in the hollow asteroid, then accelerated away toward Hellhole. Now that the alien faction had released his ship, Walfor could maneuver freely without being hindered by telemancy.
Behind them, the yawning mouth of the crater held all the Ro-Xayan scout ships permanently docked there. Those strange, swift craft would not be flying again; their original mission to distribute resurrected native embryos was no longer relevant or necessary. Nor would the Ro-Xayans be observing the curious human settlers who had established a foothold on their devastated ancestral home.
The last of the rebel aliens were holed up inside their asteroid habitats as they hurtled toward their fateful impact. They would annihilate an entire race and an entire planet—and that was the preferred scenario. The choice was between letting a world … or a universe … be destroyed.
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