Hellhole

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The other woman didn’t miss a beat. “This way, please.”

  With her heart pounding, she followed the captain to an office whose window-wall gave a view of the shuttle launchers and landing pads on the sprawling Sonjeera spaceport. Kouvet leaned over a control deck, activated a set of images. “This message arrived via mail drone. Many of the lords have already viewed it.”

  She adjusted controls, and the window-wall images washed away to be replaced by an aerial view of the sumptuous de Carre estate on Vielinger, with its rock-walled manor house, its famous ornamental gardens and hedge maze. On a grassy expanse where family weddings had taken place over the centuries, a number of chairs faced a wide bench where three dark-robed magistrates sat. Soldiers, all dressed in black Riomini uniforms, ringed the area.

  Keana caught her breath. On the image, her beloved Louis stood before the bench in the clothing of a commoner, looking defeated. She saw a young man on the sidelines, in his mid-twenties with brown hair lighter than Louis’s but similar facial features and mannerisms. She recognized Cristoph from the images Louis so often and so proudly showed her.

  Keana had a sick feeling. “I demand to speak on his behalf!” With all of those Riomini soldiers present and Louis dressed as he was, she already feared the result.

  Captain Kouvet spoke behind her. “I believe the events took place yesterday.” She wore a grave expression. “He was found guilty of crimes against the people of Vielinger and the Constellation.”

  So, her mother had succeeded in blocking her efforts until it was too late. “What crimes?” Keana heard her own voice cracking.

  “Something about mistreating iperion workers, my Lady, and ignoring the mines to such a degree that it put the strategic resources of the Constellation in jeopardy. Gross negligence and abrogation of noble responsibility. If you need more information, my Lady, you’ll need to . . .”

  She already knew the answer. “I’ll have to ask my mother.”

  Keana left the office and crossed the terminal building. The Diadem had the power to grant Louis clemency. Perhaps if she begged and promised to bear a legitimate Duchenet heir, the old woman would surely relent. As part of the agreement, Keana would relinquish the child, leaving Louis and her free to go somewhere together and live simple lives, far from twisted politics, maybe even in the Deep Zone. A sacrifice, no matter how Keana looked at it – but it was the only solution she could see.

  26

  Antonia was surprised when Sophie asked her to accompany Devon out into the wilderness. For the past week, his mother had been preoccupied, even worried, as she paced outside her main warehouse. Obviously, something was troubling her.

  Looking decisive, Sophie spoke abruptly as if the two had already listened to the debate going on inside her head. “Seems to me we should have heard something from the Children of Amadin by now. You two, pack up a Trakmaster with supplies and med equipment and use their vehicle beacons to locate their settlement. Make sure they’re all right.”

  Antonia understood that Sophie was like a mother to them all, and she worried about groups of settlers even when they declined outside help. Jako would never have shown such compassion for strangers.

  Devon, though, was hesitant. “They wanted to be left alone, Mom. Are you sure we shouldn’t give them more time?”

  “Try to be discreet, but after a month of reality here, they could be ready to change their minds. The Children of Amadin didn’t look any more prepared than the last dozen or so stubborn groups we had to rescue. Cults like to show that they can face whatever tribulations their gods fling at them.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “No harm checking on them. Consider it an errand of mercy. And if they do need extra supplies, provide them at no charge. I’ve made enough profit from those people already.” She smiled at the young woman. “Antonia, you keep my son out of trouble.”

  Antonia was surprised. “Just the two of us? Out there?”

  “Devon knows what he’s doing, and Lujah’s people already know you from the outbound passage. Who better to go?”

  The rationale seemed thin to Antonia. “But I barely spoke to them during the entire trip. They kept to themselves.”

  “At least they’ll recognize you. If they don’t need help, just turn around and come home.” Sophie flashed a smile.

  “You’re not afraid to go with me, are you?” Devon teased. Antonia could see he was looking forward to spending more time with her.

  Antonia liked Devon, but she felt uneasy at the thought of being alone with him. She could not risk becoming trapped, as she had with Jako. If she had to flee Hellhole, where else could she run? “It’ll be fine,” she forced herself to say.

  After loading one of the company vehicles with supplies, they headed away from town on the last known bearing taken by Lujah Carey and his followers. Devon certainly knew plenty about the planet and its hazards. As he guided the Trakmaster around the rugged terrain, he was full of nervous conversation. He kept the vehicle uplinked to the weather satellites, always wary for hazards, but the road caused him no concern.

  Antonia was content to sit in silence and look out upon the scarred world, comparing it to Aeroc. She knew that Devon wasn’t overly needy, didn’t require company every minute, but when they were together in the vehicle’s cab, he seemed to find the silent spaces uncomfortable and tried to fill them with whatever he could think of.

  “The landscape is always interesting, if you know how to look at it. Because of the impact, all the strata are scrambled. There’s no telling what type of rock you’d find next to another type. We’ve got cassiterite for tin, bauxite for aluminum, iron ore, copper ore. Then there’s slate, diorite, granite, marble – all for construction stone. Hellhole may be a mess, but it’s rich in resources.”

  Though she had vowed to keep herself closed off, she found Devon endearing; he was trying so hard, and he was so obviously smitten with her. The young man, though knowledgeable about Hellhole, was refreshingly naïve about the ways people could hurt one another. She hoped he never found out just how harsh life really could be.

  Antonia got the impression that because she came from the Crown Jewel planets, he felt she was too sophisticated for him. His nervous demeanor only heightened that impression. Maybe she could convince him – and she wanted to – that she preferred an honest man to a “sophisticated” one.

  But could she trust her own judgment? Too many images were flash-burned into her mind: her murdered parents in their home, running away with Jako, believing his elaborate lies. She felt so stupid. Why had it taken her so long to notice the blood on his hands, the darkness in his heart?

  But Devon Vence was not like Jako. By contrast, the young man was entirely transparent – not shallow, but open and straightforward. Too much so, perhaps.

  “My mother’s trying to be a matchmaker,” Devon admitted, then looked away in embarrassment. “It’s just that she always wants the best for me, and there aren’t many colonists for me to choose from. So when you came, it just made sense to her . . . she thinks that . . .” Devon stumbled on his words again, then lapsed into a haven of silence and concentrated on driving. Finally, he blurted, “I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. In fact, there isn’t a prettier or nicer girl on this whole planet, and that’s the truth. I . . . I’m glad you stayed with us.” His face flushed.

  “It was the best offer I had.” Antonia laid a hand on his arm. “Relax, Devon. I expect to be here for a long time. But we don’t know each other very well. Let’s just see how it goes? Try being friends first. That’s what I need most.” She had made the timeless mistake of assuming that because Jako was her lover, he was also her friend.

  “That would be great.” Devon smiled gratefully.

  Following a faint beacon from the locater IDs on the religious group’s vehicles, Devon drove toward the great shatter-canyons, impact spokes, and vast central crater that Antonia had seen from orbit.

  They had no way of knowing exactly which path the group had ta
ken, but it was clear where they were going. “It’s no surprise,” Devon said. “At least half of the cults that come here think the impact zero-point is some kind of holy site, touched by the Hand of God. It’s some of the roughest terrain on the continent. Sooner or later, we’ll probably have to pave a road out there. My mother would like to make it a tollway. No shortage of crazy people believing crazy things.” Devon shrugged as he drove. “One batch after another comes here, announcing that they’ve got the only version of the truth. Then they either mock or hate everyone who believes differently, not recognizing their own tunnel vision. Then, when they try to convert you . . .” He muttered something under his breath.

  He guided the overland vehicle up a steep crumbling hillside then roared down into a ravine, and she knew he was trying to show off for her, testing the limits of the Trakmaster’s shock absorbers.

  “What if the Children of Amadin are angry when we find them?” Antonia asked.

  Devon shifted the wide tracks to avoid a particularly large boulder. “I’d rather have them angry with us than find them all dying of a plague.”

  “Has that happened before?”

  He told her about a burgeoning native mold that had grown in one independent settlement, consuming all artificial fabrics, leaving the baffled group to rush naked back to Helltown in embarrassed desperation. Then he described an infestation of small ant-like insects that crawled out of cracks in the ground two years previously, getting into everything. “Oh, they didn’t cause actual harm,” he added when he saw Antonia’s alarmed expression. “They didn’t bite or eat our food. They were just – crawly. It was awfully hard to get rid of them.”

  “Does that sort of thing happen often?” Antonia asked.

  “There’s always something,” Devon laughed.

  They descended a steep grade down one of the impact crater’s ripple ridges, switchbacking down a rough rocky slope toward a basin ahead. Noting a smear on the weathersat images, Devon said, “Whoa, that came up fast! Static storm, heading our way.” He looked around for shelter.

  “Can we outrun it?”

  “Not at this speed, not on this terrain.” He scanned ahead, narrowing his gaze, no longer a shy young man struggling to make conversation with her, but intent on his work now. “There – see that dark crack in the cliff wall ahead, just to the left? That’ll be a narrow box canyon. It looks big enough to fit the Trakmaster.”

  Without waiting for Antonia’s response – what would she say? Of course she’d agree with him – Devon urged the vehicle forward over rough boulders and loose stones until he reached the opening, spun the Trakmaster around in a small clear patch, then backed in. “That’ll do just fine,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  The static storm came upon them with surprising intensity. The winds whipped up and bolts of static electricity capered from boulder to boulder, then struck the Trakmaster like scorpion stings.

  The air inside the vehicle felt charged and smelled like ozone; every breath crackled when Antonia inhaled. When he saw how edgy she was, Devon gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll be okay here. It’s just a typical local storm.” The winds howled, and dust scoured the hull. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said.

  Devon fixed them something to eat from the small galley. Antonia stared out through the dust-streaked window, blinking each time a flash of static crossed her field of vision. “Just a typical local storm,” she whispered to herself.

  She remembered sitting with her parents in their home on Aeroc, listening to the rain run down the windows and patter on the pavement outside. She had loved the rain. On quiet evenings like that, her mother had played the piano, and Antonia sat on the bench beside her, picking out harmonies.

  A static flash crackled through the canyon, and a roar of wind swept pebbles down the slope ahead of them. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she reminded herself, trying to quell her fears.

  27

  As a war hero and savior of the Constellation, Commodore Percival Hallholme lived on a pedestal that was not of his own making. With that lofty perch came a number of problems, especially the embarrassment of the hellish planet that had been named after him. Diadem Michella had granted him an honor, but he wished the decision could be reversed. Unfortunately, that propaganda battle was already lost. Hellhole would forever be linked to the great heritage of the Hallholmes.

  After his victory in the last battle of the rebellion, the Commodore was not allowed to retire without attending a naming ceremony on the planet. He had been there (presumably smug) when General Adolphus arrived in disgrace, stripped of everything.

  Hallholme should have despised his enemy, the man who had single-handedly led the most destructive campaign in the history of the Constellation. But he didn’t. The old man’s feelings were quite complicated. After all, he knew what had really happened. Diadem Michella could say all she wanted about honor and bravery, but for Hallholme, the words did not ring true.

  In the former Adolphus manor house, he awoke before dawn, as usual. Thanks to his advancing age, he slept only five hours per night, which left him with even more waking hours each day to reminisce and regret. Today, he had something special to do.

  Dressed in one of his old Constellation military uniforms, with epaulets and a braided officer’s cap, he rode in the back of a military staff car. As dawn brightened, the driver took him along a little-used roadway to a ridge above the Lubis Plain. The sun was just clearing the horizon beyond the shipyards.

  The driver stopped the car at a gate. “Are you sure this is the place you want, sir?” Duff Adkins had served as a sergeant under the Commodore during the rebellion and had chosen to retire into the old man’s service.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Hallholme stepped out of the car before Adkins could hurry around to get the door for him.

  Ivy, tall grass, and wild thistles choked the rusted fence and gate, and the pavement on the other side was cracked and weed-infested. The Commodore fumbled in his jacket pocket, brought out a large key, and limped forward. Aided by the driver, he cleared plants away and pushed open the gate. “Wait for me here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With halting steps, Hallholme made slow but steady progress along the overgrown path to the top of the hill. Looking back, he saw that the driver had followed him anyway, lagging behind at a respectful distance. He smiled to himself. Duff worried about him too much.

  Now the retired officer had a view of the decaying military cemetery. Little automatons tended the gravesites, cutting weeds and grass, trying to straighten headstones, climbing the exterior walls of outbuildings to repair them.

  Hallholme worked his way past the graves of the rebel soldiers who had joined the ill-fated cause of General Adolphus. He passed beneath an archway on which he noted that the engraved names of the dead were chipped and moss-filled; the brave men who had fallen in battle deserved better, even if they had fought on the opposite side. The antique gardener automatons didn’t seem to be functioning properly. Even after the machines passed, weeds, tangles of vines, and tall grass remained; the headstones looked no better after being adjusted.

  He shook his head in dismay. The cemetery’s disrepair was but a small dishonor compared with the appalling compromises he had made during that last battle. No honorable soldier would have placed thousands of innocent civilian hostages on the battle lines as insurance against attack. It was no more noble than throwing babies out of airlocks. Percival Hallholme had made Adolphus believe that all those innocents would be sacrificed if they opened fire, and the General had flinched at the crucial moment, allowing Constellation forces to slaughter them.

  From history’s perspective, it didn’t matter. Hallholme had won the battle, saved Sonjeera, and defeated the bloodthirsty rebels, so all was forgiven. The Diadem even cheered his innovative approach, gave him a medal, named a planet after him.

  Michella had ordered him to win the engagement using any and all means necessary, with no idea too extreme.
But even then, Hallholme was willing to go only so far. Yes, after months of preparing for the inevitable showdown at Sonjeera, the Commodore had undertaken an extensive program to detain rebel sympathizers. Yes, he had crowded them into armored cells and had even commanded his guards to inflict pain using shock prods. General Adolphus had no doubt in his mind just how far his nemesis would go.

  And the deception had worked.

  Hallholme had not, in truth, placed any of the hostages aboard his warships, where they could be sliced to ribbons in a space combat. They were kept in security chambers down on Sonjeera, safe and far from the battle, with the video images relayed through the Constellation warships. The guards’ shock prods had no lethal settings.

  But General Adolphus and his rebels did not know that, nor would the Diadem ever make that fact public. She had been deeply skeptical about Hallholme’s suggestion of restraint in the first place, certain that Adolphus’s barbarians would pillage all of Sonjeera. “If the General does not believe your bluff, I’ll order all the hostages executed anyway,” Michella had warned Hallholme. “Defeat him by any means. That is my command.”

  So he had.

  Behind him, Duff Adkins watched from the top of the rise. When it came to the other veteran, Hallholme didn’t feel in charge any more. Adkins had a tendency toward stubbornness that the Commodore found aggravating. The man no longer followed orders . . . but then, he was no longer a soldier under Hallholme’s command, so he could be forgiven. The retired non-com had repeatedly shown that he cared more about the Commodore than about himself, and Hallholme could not remain angry with Adkins for long. Such loyalty could not be purchased for any price.

  One day both of them would rest in a cemetery like this, though one for Constellation veterans, not rebels. Hallholme hoped their gravestones would be tended with more care. This place was a disgrace, but he could do nothing about it. The Riomini managers of Qiorfu had blocked public access to the rebel graveyard for “security purposes,” citing fears of vandalism. But Hallholme knew better. In reality, it was to show utter contempt for the defeated enemy.