Long ago there had been divisions in the Xayan race, political and spiritual disagreements as their combined mental power approached the critical ala’ru point, rifts that grew more acute in the last months before the asteroid struck.
With their world’s imminent destruction, the factions had argued over the best way to survive, and those wounds remained five hundred years later. Now, as the numbers of converts increased, adding human abilities to Xayan telemancy, their race had a very real likelihood of being able to ascend after all.
“We can feel the growing telemancy that will enable us to make the evolutionary leap,” Uroa said inside her mind. “The shadow-Xayans have a greater potential than the Xayans ever did.”
“Let’s see what they’ve discovered today,” Cristoph said aloud, unaware of the silent conversation in her mind. “By stranding the fleet, the General bought us time, and I don’t plan to waste it. We’ve got to make this planet secure.”
Following him and Lodo, Keana-Uroa dodged one of the illusory, glowing shapes that floated in the air. A crackle of energy snapped past her ear. Uroa continued in her mind, “Encix and I have different philosophies, but we both agree on our ultimate goal—ala’ru.”
Over the next hour, as Keana continued to study the relics in the chamber, pondering the items already cataloged as “unknown” by the archaeologists, she spotted a black artifact composed of smooth nested curves resting in a high alcove. Uroa flinched at the sight of it and tried to drive her attention elsewhere, but Keana forced her eyes back and stepped toward the black artifact. “What is this?”
“An archaeological object of great importance,” Uroa said in her mind, and his voice also came from her throat, as if Keana had asked and answered her own question.
Lodo glided up to her, “It was discovered outside by a group of human colonists, who subsequently perished. We store it here, but it remains unidentified.”
“What is it for?” Cristoph asked. “What does it do?”
“Unknown,” Lodo said. “It survived the asteroid impact—or it arrived on this planet afterward.”
Cristoph retrieved the artifact from the alcove. It was half a meter long, lightweight and smooth, and seemed to swallow light while reflecting random sparkles, like the escaping images of lost stars. “Devon Vence and Antonia Anqui brought this back from a ruined camp of settlers.”
In her mind, Uroa said in a silent, internal thought, “Even Encix and Lodo do not understand that artifact. They are afraid of it, and so am I. It may be an important key to the past and to the future.”
Lodo spoke up, “Encix, Tryn, and I came to the vault together in an attempt to unlock the object’s secrets, without success. We should not disturb it further.”
Lodo took the artifact from Cristoph and returned it to the high alcove.
The other objects in the museum vault were fascinating as well, but not so enigmatic. Keana had spent days identifying the preserved relics from Xaya’s glorious past, using her Uroa half to explain to the archaeologists the exquisite miniature figurines of exotic alien animals, original species that had been made extinct after the impact. She examined a favorite little figurine, a goatlike, winged animal with webbed feet. The species had been erased, unless something brought it back in the planet’s reawakening … like the vast and mysterious herd of grazing creatures. In her mind, Uroa shared images of the living animals from his memories.
Beside her, Lodo used two crystalline cubes in his fingerlike protrusions to create and display numerous images from Xayan history—great crowds of sluglike aliens squirming, swaying, practicing their collective and individual powers under the leadership of Zairic and Uroa. Keana saw lovely and graceful buildings the Xayans manifested and maintained by telemancy, which were constantly shifting in subtle ways, as if evolving.
Suddenly the stone floor of the vault shook and vibrated as tremors built from deep beneath the surface. She felt Uroa’s alarm and pain inside her mind as the shock wave shifted and stabbed deeper, like a spasm in Hellhole itself.
In the high alcove, the black object vibrated, and emitted a humming sound. The ancient images vanished like a historical record gone offline, and as the tremor increased, the black artifact hummed louder, and began to glow a deep purple.
Keana felt a strong psychic connection with Uroa and Lodo, a sharp agony piercing their thoughts. Cristoph was startled as the seismic upheaval cracked the walls and ceiling, but the telemancers joined their efforts to hold the vault stable and prevent the cracks from spreading.
Gradually the upheaval subsided, and the mountain stopped shaking. Cristoph climbed back to his feet, brushing dust from his shirt and his hair. He looked around to make sure the quake was over. “We need to check the seismic reading. That was a major shock.”
“A very ominous sign,” Lodo said, agitated. “The planet is restless.” His translucent skin had an odd, sickly sheen.
“It continues to awaken,” Uroa said, through Keana.
Even after the tremors faded, the black artifact hummed louder, growing to such an intense noise that bolts of pain rippled through Keana’s mind, deafening Uroa’s presence. Before she could cry out, the obsidian object fell silent and clattered to the ground.
“Did that artifact trigger the quake?” she asked, hoping for an answer either from Lodo or from Uroa. “Did it cause the tremors somehow?”
“Or did the quake awaken it?” Cristoph added.
Neither of the aliens replied, and Keana sensed that Uroa simply did not know the answer. But she also felt a blank silence in his presence, as if he were withholding something from her.
34
When General Adolphus returned from his trip to Ridgetop, he felt energized, already victorious—and it was time to deliver his ultimatum to the stranded Constellation fleet.
Sophie met him in their quarters at Elba and gave him a coy smile. “Before we depart, I have something you’ll need.”
“We?”
She lifted her chin. “You’re not leaving me out of history. I intend to be at your side when we capture the Constellation fleet.” She went back to the bedroom closet she had claimed as her own. “I’ve been waiting for the right time.” She brought out a wrapped hanging garment and held it in front of him.
Sitting on the bed, the General raised his eyebrows. “A new ball gown to dazzle me? You don’t need that, Sophie.”
She snorted. “I’m not a woman made for fine gowns. This is for you.” She unsealed the covering and pulled away the wrappings to reveal his dress uniform from the rebellion, which she had cleaned and meticulously restored. “This was the actual jacket you wore during the surrender ceremony. Time to use it for a better purpose now.”
Adolphus touched the deep-blue jacket sleeve, the coppery buttons. “I was stripped of everything.” He peeled the jacket off its hanger and held it up. The garment had a slight chemical odor, from insect repellants that had been used. “Amazing—how did you find this?”
“After your trial, your personal possessions were sealed in a vault, but not forever.” She smiled. “It took my agents the better part of three years to track it down. Did you know there’s quite a market for collectibles from your rebellion?”
“I thought the Diadem had outlawed the sale of rebellion memorabilia.”
“She did. This was one of the last items the government sold—officially.”
“I see.” He shook out the jacket, beamed with pleasure.
“You should wear this when you capture Escobar Hallholme’s fleet. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
“You make me feel stronger, Sophie.” His voice was thick with emotion—uncharacteristic of him even when they were in private. “You’ve always been a bulwark of competence and common sense. I depend on you to keep things organized—you’re as much a commander of Hellhole as I am.”
She stood behind him as he slipped his arms into the jacket and pulled it on over his broad shoulders. Kissing him on the cheek, she said,
“And I’ll always be here.” She stepped in front of him to inspect the garment, straightened the lapel and collar. “It still fits.”
He tugged down at the front, fastened the buttons across his waist. “Perfectly.”
* * *
To build a significant force that would intimidate the crumbling Constellation fleet, Adolphus recalled ten more battleships from Deep Zone planets, in addition to his sixty armed vessels guarding Hellhole. One of those was his old flagship, the Jacob.
Yes, the flagship seemed a fitting place to accept the surrender of the Constellation fleet.
Turlo and Sunitha Urvancik had verified that the five stringline haulers were indeed stranded, and all those warships had been cut off for weeks now. According to the intelligence report his spy had provided, the fleet carried fifteen thousand people and only enough supplies for a few weeks without reprovisioning. Soldiers could survive on reduced rations, but by now they would be hungry and anxious. He didn’t expect Escobar Hallholme to surrender immediately, but Adolphus would arrive with an impressive fleet of his own, issue his demands … and wait.
Adolphus wore the restored uniform as he stood on the Jacob’s bridge. His ships would ride the iperion path out to the severed end of the stringline at Substation 4. Long ago, Percival Hallholme had stripped the rank insignia from his shoulders, but now they had been meticulously restored. His original general’s stars had been handmade anyway, just like his army and his rebellion.
More than a decade ago, he had lost only because Commodore Hallholme threatened to slaughter thousands of innocent family members. But winning the war had erased all stigma of the cowardly act from his old nemesis. Official records now called Percival Hallholme’s gambit an acceptable trick.
Victors were able to write history as they chose. As soon as he captured the stranded Constellation fleet and took all the soldiers prisoner, General Adolphus would write his own history. In preparation for seizing the Constellation fleet, he had reviewed the historic records of his own surrender, just for the turnabout. He hoped the junior Hallholme had done the same, so the younger man would know the proper formalities.
During that last face-off over Sonjeera, Adolphus had been so certain of his impending triumph. This time, he would not make the mistake of underestimating his opponent, would not be surprised if Escobar attempted treachery as his father had done before him. Another Hallholme, cast from the same mold.
Adolphus’s ships streaked down the stringline away from Hellhole. Sophie paced the bridge of the flagship, the only person not in uniform. Security Chief Craig Jordan served as the Jacob’s first officer, and most of the crew came from the pool of veterans who had voluntarily followed him into exile after the end of the rebellion.
“Are you planning a firefight, Tiber?” Sophie asked. “Or is this just going to be a dull trip like the last time I went to Sonjeera?”
“Depends on how hungry they are. We have seventy ships, fully armed and fueled, with a skilled crew at the peak of their abilities. I’m confident we’re a match for the Constellation fleet anyway, but I plan to stay out of range. I’d rather not damage our ships or theirs—I plan to use all of them.” Feeling some pride, Adolphus considered himself a master of details, a watchmaker on a military scale. “Mr. Jordan, keep our commanders on high alert. Be prepared for anything as soon as we arrive at the end of the stringline. This needs to be a flawless operation.”
“Yes, General.” Jordan was pleased to be in a position of authority aboard the flagship, and he had been performing his duties well. The man had served for years at Elba, monitoring household security, keeping the General safe, always alert for any assassination attempts staged by Diadem Michella. Adolphus had a habit of recognizing talent, and of rewarding good, loyal people.
“Another hundred warships and five military haulers added to the Deep Zone Defense Force.” He leaned back in the command chair. “We’ll be secure at last, Sophie.”
She laughed. “We already feel secure with you in charge, Tiber.”
An hour before they were scheduled to reach the cutoff point, which the Urvanciks had marked with silent buoys, Adolphus ordered his fleet to decelerate. He experienced an awkward sense of déjà vu aboard the Jacob as he recalled that last intense clash above Sonjeera, eye to eye with Commodore Hallholme on a transmission screen, waiting for the other man to blink, but blinking himself.
This time it would be different.
Sophie adjusted his collar. “You need to look perfect for history, Tiber. Not a single hair out of place.”
After they had dropped below lightspeed, they disengaged from the stringline and headed into the large volume of space near where Substation 4 had been destroyed. When they wanted to find the stringline again, Adolphus would activate the line of marker buoys.
The General sat forward to study the starry field as they cruised ahead. “All weapons active. Prepare to open fire, but only on my command … and only warning shots. Let them see how many ships and weapons we have. By now they should be weak and starving.”
“They’ll also be desperate and unpredictable, like cornered rats,” Sophie pointed out.
“Make sure we keep our distance, Mr. Jordan.”
“We have to find them first, sir.”
Adolphus had prepared a speech, wording his ultimatum carefully. He would take Redcom Hallholme and all his commanding officers into custody, and neutralize the Army of the Constellation. It had to be a historic address.
Jordan extended a sensor net, searching for the five stranded stringline haulers. “We should be able to locate them in a few minutes, sir.”
“They’ll be there,” the General said. “Worst case, we may have to follow the stringline segment back to the other end where it was cut off at Substation Three. His anticipation built, and Sophie squeezed his shoulder.
But when they arrived at the cutoff point, they found no Constellation warships, nor stringline haulers, nor any sign of the fleet.
“Send a scout down the stringline segment,” Adolphus said, trying not to show his concern. “We’ll wait here. Continue the search.” His voice was rough, but he knew better than to let any doubt enter into his tone.
But the scout ship raced down the severed stringline segment and came back, finding nothing. No emergency log cylinders, no SOS markers, no indication of the Constellation fleet.
“Where the hell did they go?” Adolphus said. “Where could they go?”
35
Candela had no more than a few hundred thousand inhabitants, most of whom lived in and around Saporo. The rest of the planet was sparsely populated, with only a few villages and mountain mining towns within aerocopter range of the harbor city. The landscape was a vibrant frontier, full of possibilities.
Due to steady rainfall year round, the hills were lushly forested, with mudslides and miserable conditions during the monsoon season. Even so, compared with more rugged DZ worlds, Candela was a paradise, and Tanja Hu did her best to manage the populace, considering them her responsibility.
Candela’s future looked much brighter now that the people were no longer forced to pay oppressive tribute to the Diadem. Tanja would much rather pay Sia Frankov’s engineers exorbitant prices for the six recommissioned warships, which had just arrived from Theser via her new direct stringline. Those six armed vessels should be sufficient to stave off any Constellation harassment, if the Diadem poked around for other weak points.
Tanja relished the prospect of telling Governor Undine about the new guardian ships, though she doubted the Diadem’s lackey would accept that the Deep Zone had won—and deserved—their independence. She accompanied Bebe Nax in an aerocopter out to the Puhau mudflat. All that remained of the once-thriving village was a bug-infested, soggy swamp—the Constellation’s fault. It was the perfect site for a squalid makeshift prison complex, and a tiny measure of the suffering Diadem Michella had caused. It would be good for Governor Undine’s soul.
Bebe had asked to bring along ten-year-old Jacq
ue, so that he could better understand the fight for independence and why the harsh treatment of enemies was necessary. The boy needed to see the price of their freedom, she said, and Tanja agreed.
Jacque wrinkled his nose as they entered the main building. “It stinks in here.”
“A prison isn’t supposed to smell like blossoms,” Bebe said.
Tanja could not conceal her own distaste for the squalid conditions, but she was more sickened by what Undine represented. “What stinks most is how the territorial governor sided against us.”
They had attempted to interrogate the prisoner, but Undine refused to speak. Tanja doubted the former governor possessed any useful information, anyway. Marla Undine had spent most of her time in fancy offices at the Bureau of DZ Affairs on Sonjeera. A bureaucrat. It had been her misfortune to be on Theser for a regular but unnecessary inspection when the General cut off the Deep Zone.
A burly guard led them down masonry steps to a dank cell, where the foul odor was even stronger. While the corridor remained dry, brown water covered the cell floor.
“The water pools here in the low part of the prison,” the guard said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Leeches slip in with the contaminated water. Nothing we can do to keep them out.”
Undine lay on her bunk, wide-awake and haggard. Tanja looked through the heavy gray mesh around the barred cage and said with false cheer, “Good morning.”
The governor looked at them with an angry expression. Her skin was sallow, her long black hair matted, her clothes filthy. But the woman’s pride, oddly, appeared intact, manifesting itself in cool sarcasm. “Good morning, Administrator. Sorry I’m not more presentable, but you should have told me you were coming. I would have showered and asked the maid to tidy the quarters.”
Tanja had hoped to see her broken and miserable. “I brought good news. Candela just received a new force of defensive ships to protect us against the Constellation. You’ll be much safer now, without having to worry about becoming an unfortunate casualty if the Diadem’s warships should attack here.”
Hellhole: Awakening Page 19