The shadow-Xayans cast a web with their thoughts, searching the area with swift efficiency. Though they had paid little attention to the old woman at the time, many of the converts had still seen her. A female shadow-Xayan responded to Sophie. “According to our memory records, Michella Duchenet slipped across the compound, masquerading as a potential convert. Someone saw her enter the main lodge house. She is still there.”
Another convert stepped up. “Yes, she is inside the building. We can no longer sense Peter-Arnex, though. He was inside the lodge’s comm-center.”
Sophie called upon the shadow-Xayans to help, and a group responded to her summons. “To the main lodge.”
Alarms sounded, primarily to keep the normal humans alert, but now that the shadow-Xayans had focused their attentions, they were better than any alarm system.
Sophie knew that Adolphus would not want his hostage harmed, but what good was the old deposed woman as a bargaining chip anyway? The Commodore’s son would have been more useful … but Escobar Hallholme was still lost out in the Hellhole wilderness, due to his own stupidity. Cristoph de Carre had spent days searching for him and the other missing prisoners, but with the desperate evacuation under way, the search was being called off. Sophie believed those four fools were dead anyway.
Accompanied by five others, Sophie rushed into the main lodge house and hurried down the corridors to the sealed comm-center. She guessed that Michella would try to call for help, but Commodore Hallholme was already assisting the General in the evacuation; she doubted he would be amenable to mounting a rescue.
Sophie pounded on the locked comm-center door, shouted for the old woman to surrender, but heard no response. She turned to the shadow-Xayans. “Break it down. We need to place her back under control.”
Instead of smashing the door with a burst of telemancy, they manipulated the locks and opened the door. Inside, to her dismay, Sophie saw Peter Herald lying dead, his eyes glassy, his garments singed from the kill setting on the stolen energy weapon.
A small window on the far side of the room was open, leading out into the compound.
The shadow-Xayans mentally communicated to their fellows, rallying them to search the crowds for Michella. The converts were a different sort of security—with their combined observation, they easily found Michella and began to box her in, moving her toward the boardwalk and the slickwater pools.
Sophie raced outside the main lodge house, with the shadow-Xayans behind her. Seeing the terrified old woman, Sophie pushed through the shadow-Xayans to reach her. “The General wants us to take her alive!”
“Perhaps she wishes to join us in the slickwater,” said one of the converts. “All are welcome. All are needed—now, more than ever.”
Her eyes wild, Michella tried to flee, but the shadow-Xayans kept pressing her toward the boardwalks until she had nowhere else to go. Her face was drawn back in an expression of terror, and she was bleeding from dozens of small cuts and bites. Sophie thought Michella Duchenet looked broken and battered, at the end of her rope.
“Stop!” Sophie called to the shadow-Xayans, and they remained where they were. “Take her alive if possible.”
Cornered, Michella drew two stun pistols. In unison, the shadow-Xayans flinched, then concentrated—and the weapons began to smolder in Michella’s hands. With a yelp of pain, she flung them away, useless.
Sophie stepped forward, knowing she was in control. More converts had climbed out of the pools to stand on the well-traveled boardwalks. The mirrorlike quicksilver ponds shimmered under the cloud-streaked sky.
Michella stood there, isolated and alone.
Sophie said, “You killed three good people today, added to the hundreds of thousands whose lives you cost since the beginning of this rebellion.” Including my own son!
“Millions,” the Diadem admitted with an arrogant smile. “It’s the cost of ruling an empire full of cowards and scofflaws.”
Sophie stepped closer. “I don’t know what sort of pardons or hostage exchanges you think you’ll be part of, but if the asteroids don’t kill us all, you’ll stand trial and pay for the murders you committed today.”
The old woman was poised, tense. When the converts pressed closer, she launched herself into Sophie with enough force to propel both of them off the edge of the boardwalk toward the slickwater.
Sophie cried out in midair. She had avoided conversion for so long, refusing to join the shadow-Xayans, and now she would be changed forever. She would lose Tiber Adolphus!
Then she realized that not only had time frozen, but her body hung suspended in the air, cradled in the palm of an invisible hand.
Michella clawed at Sophie’s arms, her sleeves, but she couldn’t hold on. With a despairing cry that was abruptly cut short, the old Diadem dropped into the slickwater pool and sank with barely a ripple.
Astonished, Sophie found herself still suspended in the air, barely a meter above the quicksilver surface. She felt sure the shadow-Xayans would lose their grip on her, because they longed to have Sophie join them … but then she was pulled back through the air and gently deposited on the boardwalk.
The shadow-Xayans came toward her. “Are you unharmed?” asked one man.
“Ruffled … embarrassed.” Sophie brushed herself off. She was breathing hard, caught her breath. “Thank you. That was unexpected, and very much appreciated.” She turned to look at the pool, but saw no sign of Michella.
A shadow-Xayan said, “We don’t want you with us by force or by accident.”
Then Michella Duchenet rose from the glistening ooze and floated on top, face up. The alien liquid drained from her matted gray hair. Her skin, which had been covered with cuts and scabs, now looked healed, intact. Even the wrinkles seemed smoother than before.
Sophie had a sudden fearful thought. The old Diadem was evil enough on her own—what would happen if she gained telemancy powers? What if she bonded with a weaker Xayan personality? What if this accident had just created something far worse?
But Michella did not move. Other shadow-Xayans went into the pool to lift her out. Her expression remained blank, but her eyes flickered, just a little. Her arms didn’t twitch or offer any assistance as the converts lifted her out and laid her on the boardwalk. The last trails of slickwater dripped off her body and returned to the pool.
Michella lay there like a vegetable, moving just barely enough to show she was still alive, but lost to the world. One of the shadow-Xayans said, “Her memories and personality were erased … and replaced by nothing else.”
The crowded converts looked with dismay from the old woman to Sophie. “She is not one of us,” said a man. “No Xayan personality would accept her.”
Sophie tried to understand. “But she is still alive.”
The shadow-Xayans remained silent, until an older man said in an emotionless tone, “She is nothing.”
68
The Ro-Xayan asteroid habitat was marvelous, an alien wonderland filled with mind-boggling sights—but Keana knew it was all doomed.
Overhead, swirls of telemancy-inspired breezes caught droplets of condensed moisture in the center of the hollow asteroid, forming meteorological patterns and sending sparkles of multicolored rain that caught prismatic light. Flying creatures drifted around like predators, hunting the raindrops. Keana saw wafting bladders of the lush red weed break off and float apart to seed other sections of the asteroid interior, while larger animals moved along grassy sections of the curvature to graze.
The poignantly preserved ecosystem was a gluttony of colors, smells, and sensations, all bizarre and wondrous to her. Inside Keana’s mind, Uroa identified the sights from memories of his original life. He longed to have a pristine Xaya back, and mourned at how it had been lost in the first place.
“All of Xaya was once like this, before they destroyed it,” said his voice inside her head. “We had a beautiful, peaceful world, a superior civilization … until these murderers took it all away. And now they mean to do so again.”
Keana was strong enough now to maintain control. “You gave me strength and made me a powerful person I never imagined I could be, Uroa—but you also lied to me, concealing the truth so that I would cooperate with you, so that I wouldn’t warn the other shadow-Xayans. You knew how dangerous ala’ru would be!”
“I knew about our destiny,” Uroa said. “And you and thousands of other human converts would acompany us as our partners, a select group who will ascend.” He seemed to be searching in her mind. “Let me draw from your own references: Does a caterpillar mourn the loss when it sheds its clumsy old husk and emerges from a chrysalis to become a butterfly?”
“A hatching chrysalis doesn’t destroy the universe,” Keana said. “Ala’ru will.”
“The Ro-Xayans do not know that for certain,” Uroa countered. “They are unnecessarily fearful.”
She pressed him, dug into his thoughts, experienced his feelings. Once the old memories opened, he could not prevent her from delving into all aspects of his past. And she was astonished by what she learned.
The old Xayan leaders—Zairic, Encix, Uroa—had told their own people only part of the story: that they would be transformed into gods as part of their destiny. But the inner-circle members knew that the ascension would unravel the tapestry of the cosmos, rewriting physical laws and universal constants. And still they considered the cost worthwhile. As far as they were concerned, the Xayan race would ascend, no matter what harm it did to the universe.
Now, Ian Walfor stepped toward the gathered Ro-Xayans. “You seized our ship with your telemancy, drew us in here—to what purpose? Are we your prisoners, or are we free to leave?”
“We were curious about you,” Zhaday said. “We could not understand how the other faction survived, how they were growing powerful again. Now we do.” The alien leader swiveled his eerie gaze back and forth, encompassing the visitors. “It all ends within days—for every one of us. If we let you depart this asteroid, where would you go?”
“Back to our own people,” Tanja said, “to help evacuate the planet! Just because you wish to annihilate your own race doesn’t mean that all humans on the planet have to die in the bombardment, too.”
Zhaday said, “The shadow-Xayans must remain behind. They are forfeit.”
Lodo had been silent, as if reticent, perhaps even feeling guilty for what he had hidden from everyone. Keana sensed waves of uncertainty emanating from him. “Encix and I are the only two Originals still alive from centuries ago, and I remember the initial debates and leadership decisions. Zhaday, you look at this from a perspective of centuries after the disaster. You Ro-Xayans can feel smug in your accomplishments, but you don’t understand what it was like for us.”
“You are Lodo,” Zhaday said. “My people remember you in the stories from those days. You were an outspoken voice at the time. You raised concerns about ala’ru, yet you still joined that faction.”
“Zairic could be very persuasive,” Lodo said, with what sounded like a trace of resigned amusement. “I had doubts, and I hesitated before choosing one faction or the other. But the Ro-Xayans’ merciless demand to eliminate everything pushed me to side with Zairic. By joining them, I hoped that I could guide ala’ru to a better destiny than your faction envisioned.” He bent his stalk neck, and emotional turmoil boiled off him in waves. “Perhaps I should have made a different decision and let the Ro-Xayans kill us all and wipe out our civilization in the first place.”
“You can’t mean that!” Keana said, and realized she was being influenced by Uroa, who was offended within her.
Lodo turned to stare at her. “It is true. If I had prevented Zairic from preserving so many of us in slickwater, our faction would have been wiped out, and now the Ro-Xayans could be returning to seed the planet with all the life-forms they saved. They could resettle the world, rebuild Xayan civilization. But because I made the wrong decision, it will all be gone.” He turned toward Zhaday, drew himself up, and opened his arms as if to embrace the lost memories of a pristine world. “You all should know and understand the last moments of Xaya. Let me give my substance to you, all my memories, all that I am. You deserve to have that before the end.”
The Ro-Xayans had emerged from their oddly shaped dwelling structures, and all were connected by telemancy, participating in the discussion. The nearest ones backed away from Lodo as he stood, his head tilted upward. Thrumming came from his facial membrane. “Take my memories. Understand more deeply. Be a part of me, and I will join you.”
Zhaday asked, “You wish to become a Ro-Xayan now?”
“No, it is too late for that. But I wish to share with you. A memory lasts only as long as it is preserved and transmitted from one mind to another. Though you only have a few days left, it is better for you to understand before it all goes.”
Keana couldn’t comprehend what Lodo intended to do, but Uroa did. He was horrified, and spoke through Keana’s voice. “You must stop! Do not give the enemy faction information they can use against us.”
Lodo turned to Keana-Uroa. “Use against us? The four of us came here on a mission in hopes that we could make the Ro-Xayans understand. Instead, they made us understand. Our faction was wrong.”
“You can’t change anything by this,” Uroa said.
“Change can be, in itself, an accomplishment.” Lodo moved forward on his caterpillar body toward the Ro-Xayans. “In those last days, as the asteroid came toward Xaya, I chose not to go into the slickwater, but to remain in my physical body. Now I relinquish my essence, my memories, my life. Take them … use them as you will.”
Zhaday and dozens of Ro-Xayans crowded forward, their soft bodies undulating, antenna-feelers extended, soft arms reaching out, probing with flexible fingertips, touching Lodo’s skin. He squirmed but did not recoil. The Ro-Xayans pressed closer, covering him.
And then Keana saw the Original alien begin to slump, soften … and dissolve. Lodo didn’t struggle or make any outcry, and the Ro-Xayans drained him, pulling away his essence and absorbing it into themselves. He diminished, became shapeless, and more Ro-Xayans came forward to partake, touching what remained of him, gathering his cells, memories, and energy. When they finally drew back, no visible speck remained of Lodo, no mark, stain, or residue. They had taken everything of him, even his husk.
Now Zhaday drew himself up, and his eyes had a different sparkling sheen. Uroa was sickened and angry inside Keana, and she understood what her mental companion feared.
Zhaday said, “Encix and the shadow-Xayans are much closer to ascension than we expected. She intends to force the conversion of thousands more shadow-Xayans in order to attain the numbers she needs. We will not have time to stop it.”
Inside her mind, Keana felt Uroa’s surge of triumph. She said in a thought, “But the humans who enter the slickwater have to be volunteers!” Now, however, she understood that was merely a weak fiction. In desperation, Encix would break the agreement.
Uroa responded, “It is our only chance. We must achieve ala’ru before the asteroids strike!”
Keana felt a strange resignation from Uroa’s presence, as if he, too, had doubts about the ascension because he now understood something of human civilization. Sharing her mind, he had experienced memories of other planets and people, which was only the barest hint of what the Galaxy had to offer. There were countless other galaxies, clusters, and superclusters of them … all of which would be eradicated if ala’ru reset the structure of universal physics.
She asserted control of her body. “Listen to me, Zhaday. The shadow-Xayans don’t understand what they’re trying to do. Encix lied to them. Even I didn’t know until just now. Our ship is fast—let us go back there, so I can speak to all the converts and convince them not to proceed. They will listen to me, and maybe I can delay them long enough. The shadow-Xayans deserve a chance. Let me talk with them.”
Uroa’s voice spoke, in an odd counterpoint out her own throat. “You aren’t strong enough to defeat Encix. You can’t drive her back.”<
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“I’ve fought her before,” Keana said. “My telemancy is great, and it’s been growing stronger. I can fight Encix—and I can prevent you from intervening. It might just be enough to stop this disaster.”
Walfor spoke up. “My ship can fly a lot faster than these asteroids. We will get back to Hellhole in a few hours. It might work.”
The Ro-Xayans pondered with a telepathic hum, and Zhaday finally said, “We must grasp at any possibility. We can increase your chances, Keana-Uroa. With the knowledge and power Lodo just gave us, we know ways that you may be able to fight against a powerful Xayan opponent … and our faction has knowledge and powers to share. It may be enough for you to defeat Encix and convince the other converts to delay ala’ru … long enough for the asteroids to strike.”
Tanja scowled. “That’s an odd way to define victory.”
Keana froze. She could no longer move, held in the telemancy grasp. Zhaday came forward, as did other Ro-Xayans, reaching out, touching her face, neck, arms, shoulders … it was a flurry of strange alien limbs, contact points that were each like an electrode. She feared they were going to drain her, absorb Uroa, as they had done with Lodo. Inside her mind, she could sense that he was frightened and intimidated.
But the flow went in the opposite direction. She felt a surge like lightning enter through every pore. Her mind filled with other lives and ideas, with a much more comprehensive understanding of telemancy and all of its applications, a grasp of tiny, subatomic nuances. She felt supercharged and in control of the shared body. Her eyes opened wide; she could barely breathe. Zhaday and the others drew back and left her to encompass more telemancy than she ever dreamed possible.
“We transferred what we could,” Zhaday said. “Now you must use it.”
Keana turned, feeling an urgency as tremendous as the power she now held. But she was deeply troubled. “If I can stop ala’ru, will you divert the asteroids so they don’t hit the planet?”
Hellhole Inferno Page 39