“That is not possible, even if we wanted to. With the mass and momentum of the twenty asteroids, even all of our combined telemancy would not be sufficient. The impacts will occur. You cannot save the planet. But you can save the universe—if you move quickly enough.”
Keana couldn’t believe there was no hope, but she didn’t argue with Zhaday. But if she could indeed stop Encix and ala’ru, she did not intend to stand idly by.
“To the ship,” Keana said.
Tanja and Walfor were already running back to the landing grotto in the strange hollow enclosure.
69
Cristoph de Carre’s search craft returned from the wilderness in the early morning just as another static storm was building over the line of hills. The sturdy craft had skirted the storm all night. Cristoph had transmitted several urgent messages, announcing that he had a severely wounded passenger, but his transmissions were garbled with static before he could give details. The weather continued to be capricious and uncooperative, as if to further hinder the evacuation efforts.
When the craft landed outside of Slickwater Springs just after the debacle with Michella Duchenet, Sophie Vence went out in a roller to meet him. The storm sent crackles and pops through the comm line, and Sophie was practically within shouting distance before she could understand what Cristoph was saying. “We found the escaped prisoners—only two survivors. I have Escobar Hallholme, but he’s barely alive.”
Sophie knew about General Adolphus’s standoff and uneasy cooperation with the Commodore. If the man’s son died, that shaky alliance might fall apart.
“Bolton Crais is with us, too. He says the Redcom’s only hope is the slickwater.”
Sophie’s heart sank, not sure whether Commodore Hallholme would prefer his son dead or possessed by alien memories. And after what had just happened to Michella …
Her roller reached the landed craft as Cristoph and his team were climbing out. Major Crais also emerged, looking drawn and stunned. His clothes were tattered. He watched with deep concern as two of Cristoph’s men carried a prone figure wrapped in a cocoon of red weed; it looked like a body. Escobar Hallholme?
Sophie gestured to the roller. “Put him in the cargo bed, and I’ll take him to the pools. If you’re sure the slickwater is the only way.”
Bolton swallowed. “I’ve had days to think of other possibilities. He’ll be dead soon if we don’t take extraordinary measures.”
Escobar’s face remained exposed, and she despised the arrogant and impetuous Constellation commander who had gotten his fleet into so much trouble. He looked older and haggard now, resembling his legendary father more than before. “What happened to him?”
Bolton helped carry the wrapped body. “This planet happened to him.”
They placed the dying man on the back of the all-terrain roller; as soon as Bolton joined her in front, she raced the vehicle toward the boardwalks and the slickwater pools. Cristoph and his team secured the aircraft as the static storm dissipated, skirting Slickwater Springs.
As she drove, Bolton reached back and fussed over Escobar in the back of the vehicle. “He’s still alive—just barely. The tiniest sign of a pulse. I doubt he’ll last long after we remove the red weed. It has only just managed to keep him alive.”
Sophie made no comment, racing along. She had no particular incentive to save him. She resented what Escobar was responsible for. Devon … Sophie’s heart ached for her son. It seemed wrong that she was now rushing to save Escobar Hallholme’s life. But he was a valuable prisoner, and Adolphus needed him alive.
The shadow-Xayans parted to allow the roller to the edge of the pools, and then they gathered close again. The distant static storm sent strobe flares into the atmosphere, and as the sky darkened, the building lights in Slickwater Springs went on.
Quiet converts used telemancy to carry the body toward the edge of the enticing pools. “The red weed slowed his metabolism,” said a young shadow-Xayan woman who had a very old and wise Xayan presence in her mind. “The slickwater will heal him.”
Bolton hurried alongside his companion. “This is our best chance. We’ve lost so much, but maybe we can save him.”
“One person.” Sophie knew that tens of thousands would surely die, those who couldn’t escape the planet swiftly enough, thanks to the evacuation delays.
“One person,” he agreed. “My friend.”
The converts rushed the weed-wrapped body along the boardwalks and waded into the silvery lake, settling the reddish cocoon into the water and immersing the motionless human form. Holding him up, they peeled away the hardened fronds to let the memory-charged liquid seep through and begin its work. They immersed Escobar’s entire body beneath the surface.
Bolton stood next to Sophie, concerned as he scanned the faces of the converts. “Is Keana here?”
“No, she’s gone on a liaison mission to find the Ro-Xayans. She hopes she can make them change the asteroids’ trajectories.”
His eyes widened with fear for her. “Keana! Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Everything is dangerous, Major Crais.”
He looked up at the crowd of shadow-Xayans gathered on the boardwalk and watching the pool. He gasped when he spotted an old woman sitting silent and motionless nearby—Michella Duchenet, blank-eyed. She paid no attention to the others moving around her. “The Diadem! What happened—”
Sophie told him, “She’s been drained of her thoughts and soul.”
At the pool, the shadow-Xayans pulled the Redcom’s form out of the silvery slickwater, suddenly demanding Bolton’s attention. Escobar Hallholme looked intact, refreshed, and alive. His eyes had the peculiar starry sheen of the shadow-Xayans, yet he was alert, drinking in details. Sophie let Bolton go forward as they guided him up onto the boardwalk. The Redcom stood, catching his balance as the last drops fell away and ran back into the pool. He drew a deep breath, extended his arms, flexed them.
Bolton stared. “Escobar, are you all right?”
“I am Escobar,” he said, but his voice had a deep, thrumming timbre. “And I am also Tarcov. We are both aware now. We are both strong.”
Sophie felt relieved that he was alive at least, although she couldn’t guess how the Commodore would react. “Come, we have to let your father know. We don’t have much time.”
When they entered the main lodge building, Sophie hurried them to the comm chamber. She had much to tell General Adolphus—not just the rescue of the two escaped prisoners, but also how Michella Duchenet had killed three people, including Peter Herald, before losing her mind in the slickwater.
After securing his search craft, Cristoph had already gone into the comm chamber. He looked up at her, “Now we can devote the ships to shuttling people to the spaceports. I’m checking with Ankor. They must be more overwhelmed than ever, and I doubt if Rendo Theris can handle it.”
When Cristoph hailed the spaceport, Theris looked even more harried than usual. Inside the Ankor headquarters building, the background noise was a clamor. Hundreds of people were crowded inside. “Mr. Theris, please give us an update.”
“Update? Even I don’t know what’s going on! The General and the Commodore are cooperating now, and we’ve been given the go-ahead to resume evacuation launches, but I’ve got thousands of people crowded around the spaceport. I can’t launch ships fast enough to make a dent in all these refugees. And when do I get to depart?”
Cristoph looked at Sophie, then back to the screen. “That’s a question many of us are asking. Launch as many shuttles as you can, and I’ll be there within hours to assist.”
Theris seemed relieved to know he would have help. “I don’t know how to set priorities, can’t fit all these people in the vessels here, and we’re still waiting for shuttles to come down from orbit, where they’ve been stalled for half a day. We don’t have the fuel supplies we’re going to need, and … and what about the hundreds of shadow-Xayans? They’re gathered by the slickwater seeps, which are now encroaching on our landing areas. W
e’re already crowded past maximum, and the people are ready to riot.”
Cristoph looked at Sophie. “I have to go, right away.”
On the screen, the spaceport headquarters suddenly became an even louder and more clamorous uproar. People rushed into the control room, scrambling toward the administrator. “The ground is cracking outside. A gantry just collapsed—and there’s slickwater everywhere. We’re flooding!”
On-screen, the launch headquarters began to shake. Debris fell from the ceiling. Rendo Theris yelled—and then all contact broke off.
Though Cristoph tried to raise them several more times, he got nothing more than a dead signal.
“Go,” Sophie said to him. “Now. Without Ankor we lose half of our evacuation facilities.”
Ignoring remnants of the static storm, Cristoph ran back out to his scout flyer.
70
Though the soldiers aboard the Constellation ships were trained to follow their Commodore’s orders without question, they were confused and uneasy to be helping the rebel vessels in the evacuation.
The redcom of a large battleship transmitted over an open channel, angry at Percival. “Sir, our orders are to level the colony on planet Hallholme—not rescue them! Diadem Riomini’s instructions were explicit: each spaceport, colony city, and settlement is to be left a smoking ruin. I was with the Black Lord at his victory on Theser, so I know that he intended this to be a punitive strike. Why are you trying to save these criminals?”
Percival was furious at the defiant tone of the officer’s voice, but knew this needed to be said. “I was not at Theser, Redcom. If I had been, the results might have been different. Our civilization is built on a foundation of laws that are not to be discarded because of temper tantrums.”
“But sir! Diadem Riomini explicitly—”
Percival interrupted. “The Constellation Charter was in place long before Lord Riomini took the Star Throne, and it will be there long after he is gone.”
The old Commodore knew how dangerous his words were, but his fleet was far from Sonjeera and in the midst of a crisis. He was in charge of the operations here. “The law is clear, and I am ashamed that General Adolphus had to remind me of it: We must provide humanitarian aid in the face of a natural disaster. If you choose to open fire on civilian refugees, or their military leader who has already given me his de facto surrender, then I will relieve you of command and arrest you on charges of war crimes, barratry at the very least, and deal with you appropriately.”
Percival made sure his broadcast was heard across the entire fleet. That quieted the objections—for now.
He looked at the estimated arrival time of the accelerated planet-killer asteroids. Only two days. Because the people of Hellhole were even more independent than the colonists on most DZ worlds, they weren’t confined in neat cities, nor were they traceable by a census. The evacuation effort would simply have to lift off as many as possible, shuttle load after shuttle load. They would do what they could, focusing on the numbers they rescued rather than the ones they lost.
As the operations continued, he received a surprise message. “Commodore, there’s a diplomatic drone coming in on the stringline from Umber. Someone’s in a hurry to get a message to you.”
“Intercept the drone and bring the message to me. I’ll view it privately.” He wasn’t sure he even wanted Duff Adkins to accompany him. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head as he rose from the command chair. “Mr. Adkins, take the bridge.”
In less than fifteen minutes, the drone had been brought aboard the flagship and its message transmitted along a secure channel to the private screen in the Commodore’s ready room. Diadem Riomini’s face filled the screen. The man looked both angry and immensely pleased, as if the anger itself brought him joy.
“Commodore, by now you will have secured the rebel stringline hub and control access to the entire Deep Zone. Time to consider the next phase. I don’t have to tell you this is a tumultuous time for the Constellation. Dissidents are like hyenas, sensing weakness, and they attack everywhere. We have no choice but to react sternly for the stability of the Crown Jewels as well as the Deep Zone. That is the only way we’ll stop the turmoil.
“For far too long, the Constellation festered at its core and crumbled on the outer edges. History will remember me as the Diadem who rebuilt our empire and saved us from the brink of disaster.” He smiled. “I send you these inspirational images to show justice being meted out against rebel saboteurs, for you may find them useful if you encounter intractable Deezees.”
Percival’s eyes widened as shocking images filled the screen. The Diadem’s voice continued. “You delivered the Buktu prisoners to Vielinger, but they committed sabotage, destroyed part of my iperion mines. Thus, as enemy combatants, they were punished accordingly.”
Percival wanted to shield his eyes but couldn’t tear his gaze away. He had taken those captives under the accepted rules of war, given his word that they would be treated accordingly and would be released once hostilities ended.
Now he watched the new Diadem and his guards gunning down scores of them. They screamed and tried to flee, but had no chance. After every single one was slaughtered, Riomini and his guards turned to face the imagers with grins on their faces, not noticing the blood spatters on their skin and clothing.
Percival felt sickened. He had promised them safety—and they had trusted him.
“Obviously, killing a few prisoners won’t be enough,” the new Diadem continued. “Capturing General Adolphus will not be enough. Even eradicating the population of his planet will not be enough—it is just a start.
“The rot goes deeper, Commodore. It has tainted all those colonists who think they can thumb their noses at us. We can’t take time to sort out the few innocent ones. Once you’ve sterilized planet Hallholme, I’m afraid your mission will be long and hard, but I can trust no one but you. In order for the Constellation to flourish again, we need a clean slate. It’ll be like the Ridgetop Recovery slaughter, but across the entire Deep Zone. I command you to take your fleet and lead a purge from world to world. I doubt any of the populations will give you much trouble. Afterward, the pristine planets will be ripe for repopulation, and with the crowded conditions in the Crown Jewels, we will be able to find plenty of loyal volunteers to repopulate them.”
Riomini gave a hard smile as he leaned closer to the imager. “I know I can count on you, Commodore Hallholme. I look forward to regular progress reports.”
The message ended. Percival stared in dismay at the blank screen. Life meant nothing to that man, just as life had meant nothing to Diadem Michella Duchenet. The more Percival thought about it, the more he realized that General Tiber Adolphus, his sworn enemy, was the only man who seemed to think correctly, who mapped out a respectable course and stuck to it, considering his people first, his career and political power second.
Shaking with rage and disgust from the orders, Percival considered simply ignoring Diadem Riomini’s hateful commands. Sooner or later, however, someone else would receive duplicate orders and relieve him of command—someone who would not hesitate to do as the Black Lord instructed. He could not stomach this abomination.
Before Percival could decide what to do, the comm officer contacted him. “Commodore, there’s a message from the surface! You’ll want to hear it.”
After what he had just experienced, Percival thought of few messages he actually wanted to hear. “Send it to my screen.”
Then he stared in amazement, overwhelmed with relief to see a direct call from Major Bolton Crais—and Escobar! “Commodore, the General asked us to communicate with you,” Bolton said.
“Escobar! You are alive after all.”
His son looked somewhat thin but uninjured—though he seemed to have a wan and distant expression on his face, and he averted his eyes. Strangely, he let Crais do the talking.
“We survived an ordeal on the planet’s surface, Commodore, but it was of our own making. Thousands of us were kept in a
large holding camp, where conditions are as good as can be expected. But we are stuck on the surface, and we need to be evacuated as soon as possible. The General says that since you are cooperating, he’ll let you send your ships to retrieve the POWs. We will give you coordinates for the camp near Slickwater Springs.”
Although Major Crais kept speaking, Percival could only stare at his son. “Escobar, are you all right?”
Escobar turned to face the imager. “Yes, Father. I have survived an ordeal, and I am … more than I was before.”
“What do you mean?”
Bolton Crais seemed uneasy. “Let me explain, Commodore—” He hesitated, cleared his throat.
Escobar looked into the screen, and now Percival could see that his eyes were changed, with a faint spiral around the irises.
“This is for me to tell, Father. I have made mistakes, poor leadership choices that led to many deaths. I got two of my comrades killed who escaped with me and Major Crais from the camp. I was injured, near death … but the Xayans saved me. Their slickwater pools prevented me from dying.”
Bolton broke in. “We tried to escape, Commodore, but didn’t have a workable plan, and soon were lost in a dangerous landscape. When we were attacked by native predators, Escobar fought to save me—and he was mortally wounded in the process. Slickwater brought him back from the brink of death. It was the only way to save him.”
Percival tried to absorb the information, remembered how much Diadem Michella had feared something like this. Alien contamination? Possession by another strange personality?
Escobar said, “I have an alien companion inside my mind, Father. I am still your son, but I am also more than that. I am Escobar-Tarcov … and I tell you this is not just a planetary evacuation. We have to preserve this precious alien race and not let it be obliterated by the asteroids.”
Percival felt a lump in his throat. “I’ll send ships down to evacuate you.”
Hellhole Inferno Page 40