Hellhole

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Adolphus narrowed his eyes. “We have enough straightforward problems on this planet. Regardless of the cause of the accidents, it sounds like you couldn’t protect your workers and keep the operations running.”

  Cristoph’s throat was dry, but he nodded. “You’re right, sir. In that, I failed.”

  “I failed, too, during the last battle at Sonjeera,” Adolphus said. “But I accepted defeat in order to save as many lives as I could.”

  Cristoph wasn’t sure what the General wanted to hear, so he gave a blunt, honest response. “I know you must be suspicious of my intentions, sir, but the Constellation has turned against me, disgraced my father, stripped me of my inheritance.”

  “And you think I will save you?”

  “No, sir. I intend to save myself.”

  “Out of all the Deep Zone planets, why would you choose Hallholme?”

  With a humorless smile, Cristoph shrugged. “Isn’t this the place to go when you have nowhere else to go?”

  “That it is. Come inside, young man. I’ll find you a work assignment.” Adolphus considered for a moment. “But the work I have in mind is considered demeaning. You’re going to be a dust-system maintenance technician at the spaceport. You’ll get filthy crawling around inside tight spaces changing filters. Not quite the same as living on a Crown Jewel estate.”

  “Nothing is the same. I’ll do it anyway, sir.”

  “Yes,” Adolphus said with a firm nod. “Yes, you will.”

  44

  It was not a sport for old people, yet Diadem Michella played just as hard as the much younger lords and ladies. On the mown field, riders wearing their family colors were each mounted on a spirited Sonjeeran horp.

  The long-necked steeds known for their racing speed and vitality looked like a cross between a horse and a giraffe, and riders sat well above the ground. Because horps could manage tremendous speeds even across the short distances of the sonic ballfield, many riders strapped themselves to the saddles with harnesses. Michella, however, believed that harnesses projected a cowardly image. She regularly selected the most spirited animal in her stable and never used a safety harness. She was a daredevil, full of life, flamboyant for the adoring public. She was the Diadem.

  Keana met her mother near the stable before Michella could ride out onto the field. Since she could not publicly mourn for Louis, Keana wore a simple but elegant white outfit graced with an embroidered design influenced by the Vielinger sigil. If Michella had known of her daughter’s plans to go there, she would have stopped her – it was embarrassing – but perhaps the silly girl had finally learned a valuable lesson.

  Michella had thought that eliminating her lover would rein Keana in, teach her not to wander from the well-defined course of her life, but her daughter was proving more intractable than she had ever been before. It was annoying.

  When Keana arrived, the Diadem was about to climb an adjustable stirrup to mount her horp, while two men held the lively gray stallion for her. After mounting, the Diadem shooed away her two helpers so she could have a moment of privacy.

  Interpreting the sigil on her daughter’s ensemble as a small protest, the old woman scowled deeply. “What’s done is done. Move on with your life! You should be at your own husband’s side. Why do you continue to push the limits of my patience?”

  “Perhaps I got the trait from you, Mother. I’m not the only one in this family who pushes the limits.” Keana regarded the restless animal. “That beast could easily take you on your last ride, you know. What would happen to all your schemes if you fell and broke your neck?”

  Michella raised her eyebrows at the venom in her daughter’s voice. “I’ll decide when I’m ready to die, and it won’t be at the whim of this simple-minded animal.” She looked at Keana’s face, saw the pain written there, and softened her tone. “I wish it had gone otherwise for you and Lord de Carre, my dear, but that relationship was doomed from the start. You were born to certain expectations, and your husband is a member of a very wealthy and powerful family. Do you know how hard I had to work to arrange your marriage with Bolton in the first place? Accept your life and start living it.”

  Standing beside the animal, looking up at her, Keana said, “There’s something I have to do first. The Riominis have Vielinger, and Louis is dead, but there’s no need to punish his son. He did nothing to embarrass you, and his father accepted all the blame. Tell me where Cristoph is – I know you gave the order to send him away after he was evicted from the estate.” She fought back her emotions. “I want to make sure he’s all right.”

  The horp jostled, anxious to be out on the playing field, but Michella savagely yanked the bit and slapped the creature into submission. Her voice was shrill. “How many times must I tell you? Stop obsessing over that family! It’s none of your concern. Cristoph was turned out of his estate and stripped of his fortunes. I’ve no idea where he went.” She no longer bothered to sound compassionate. “I’ll hear no more of your stories of dewy-eyed romance and living happily ever after. Even as Diadem, do I get everything I want? Hardly! I didn’t want the Riominis to overrun Vielinger, but it was unavoidable, a price of doing business with them – for the good of the Constellation.”

  Michella gave an unregal snort. “In Council, dear, they speak openly of my successor, as if I’m not there. But I remain fit and healthy and vivacious to spite them!” She waved dismissively. “Now go watch my match. I’ve arranged an excellent seat for you. Time to get back to your normal life.” With that, the Diadem rode the beast through a gate in a white fence, and out onto the field.

  Stung, Keana made her way to the spectator stands. All her life, her concerns had been brushed aside. At every turn, she tried to help, but no one took her seriously. The fact that her mother refused to let her find Cristoph only made her more determined to do it. She would have to gather her own allies and do it her own way. Sometimes, it was useful to be underestimated . . .

  She sat in the stands with well-dressed members of the nobility. Keana did not want to draw attention to herself; she would have preferred to disappear to a place where she could find some peace. The decay and ennui of Sonjeeran society, demonstrated in these spectacles, was painfully obvious to her now.

  As the sonic ball match took place and her mother galloped like a barbarian warrior in the midst of the other horps and riders, Keana mulled over Cristoph’s disappearance. She worried that something horrible had happened to him – perhaps the young man had been murdered and his body hidden. Or maybe he had just been sent far away.

  She looked out on the field and watched Michella galloping high on the gray stallion, with her sonic stick extended to ground level, blasting the white game ball. Riominis, Hirdans, Craises, Tazaars and other competing nobles chased her mother with waving sticks to take the ball from her. The audience cheered for the Diadem, but Keana held her silence. She wished the animal would throw the old woman down on the field, where she could be trampled. Keana knew that her mother was responsible for what had happened to Louis, either directly or through intermediaries. The Diadem had ruined her life, squashed her dreams, and refused to help when Keana needed her the most.

  Bouncing on her saddle without the safety restraint, Michella seemed in danger of flying off, but she held on nonetheless. In his characteristic black uniform, Lord Selik Riomini charged up beside her, extended his sonic stick and tried to hammer at the ball, but with a swift, expert motion, Michella fired a loud sonic rejoinder that knocked the stick out of his hands.

  The old Diadem guided the ball around, then struck it high into the air. Moving in a graceful arc, it dropped straight through the basket. In celebration, a cannon shot fireworks into the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

  But Keana merely sat in the stands, worried about Cristoph.

  45

  Since Fernando and his symbiotic alien presence showed no interest in driving the Trakmaster, Vincent took the controls and guided them across the rugged terrain back to Michella Town. Despite his an
xiety to get back, to share what had happened to his friend, Vincent took no risks as he drove overland.

  During the long trip, he observed the dramatic and irrefutable change in the other man’s personality. Once frenetic and needing to talk all the time, Fernando-Zairic now seemed placid, as if he neither wanted nor needed anything. Filled with his Xayan memories and mission, he no longer looked for opportunities to make a profit. He had a certain aura of holiness about him, which was vastly different from the Fernando Neron that Vincent had known. There was no doubt in his mind that this was real.

  Still, he worried about how to reveal the astonishing story to others – who would probably react with skepticism and even ridicule. Upon hearing such a fantastic yarn, listeners would look at Fernando’s history as a scam artist and draw their own conclusions. Vincent would be painted with the same brush. Why would anyone believe them? The other man did not seem concerned, though, assuming that the truth would be sufficient.

  Their best chance was to have General Adolphus listen to what Fernando (and Zairic) had to say. Vincent noted his companion’s blurred eyes once more and shook his head. Just spending a few minutes with the altered Fernando should be convincing enough.

  When they finally reached Michella Town, Vincent pulled the dusty Trakmaster up to the survey office, where he was required to turn over hardcopy logs of their explorations. Fernando remained in the vehicle. “I will wait here. Please arrange for us to talk to General Tiber Adolphus.”

  Vincent didn’t know if he would ever get used to the detached voice coming out of his friend’s lips. “Easier said than done.” But he had come up with something that might intrigue the General.

  Inside the survey office, the prune-faced manager scolded Vincent for returning early. “Given up already? Lots of ground to cover out there. Most explorers stay out longer than scheduled.”

  Vincent looked away, but did not argue. “Sorry, sir.” He remembered times at the machine shop when Mr. Engermann upbraided him about a mediocre customer satisfaction response; he had always found it best to be stoic and sincere, which prevented any escalation in the lecture. He fidgeted but tried to stay calm.

  It was obvious the manager liked to scowl. “And where’s your companion? Did something happen to him?”

  “He’s in the vehicle, sir.” Vincent chose not to go into further detail. “We came back early because of the magnitude of our discovery. We encountered something that will interest the General.”

  The man perked up. “What did you find? Show it to me.”

  “It’s best if we speak to the General directly.”

  The office manager gave an officious sniff. “We do have a chain of command here.” He called up a blank screen to fill out a form.

  Vincent remained firm. “We made a significant find regarding the original alien race on this planet.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “A significant find, sir, and it’s imperative that we present it to the General in person.”

  The manager seemed flustered. “I’ll contact him, but I make no promises.”

  The news enticed Adolphus, as they had hoped, and Vincent was instructed to drive immediately to Elba. An aide admitted them as soon as they arrived. “The General is expecting you.”

  Combing his hair and straightening his shirt, Vincent tried to make himself presentable, but Fernando-Zairic left his rumpled clothes and mussed wavy hair as they were, as if the alien part of his personality didn’t know how humans were supposed to look in the first place.

  General Adolphus met them in the foyer with an unexpected expression of boyish optimism on his face. “Gentlemen, I understand you found something about the original race? A significant artifact?” His voice took on a warning tone. “I am not fond of hyperbole.”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Much more significant than any artifact, sir. It’s the piece of the puzzle you were looking for.”

  “You have my attention. Show me this alien object.”

  Fernando stepped forward. “Sir, I am the alien object.”

  The General looked at Vincent guardedly. “I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

  “It may be hard to believe, sir, but this is not a joke. I witnessed it myself.” Vincent explained what had happened to his companion at the slickwater pool. Fernando-Zairic stood too close to Adolphus, which made the other man watch him warily. Since his immersion, Fernando had a different perception of boundaries and personal space.

  Zairic’s voice came from Fernando’s lips. “I understand your skepticism, General Tiber Adolphus. From your records, you will conclude that the man Fernando Neron is neither reliable nor believable. Therefore, I must offer proof. I can answer questions and give vivid descriptions of Xayan culture, technology, and history, but those are mere words. In order to demonstrate my sincerity, therefore, I will lead you to a knowledge reservoir of the Xayan civilization – a vault of artifacts that I believe is still intact.”

  Vincent was as surprised as Adolphus. He turned to his friend. “But you told me everything was obliterated in the asteroid impact.”

  “Not everything – or so I hope. When we knew that the asteroid would destroy our civilization and virtually all life on Xaya, we tried to preserve our race within the slickwater. However, some Xayans offered an alternative. As a secondary measure, a small group of our people created a shielded museum bunker deep in the most secure mountain range. They hoped the protected vault would survive the impact.”

  Though dubious, the General sounded cautiously interested. “That’s an interesting claim, Mr Neron.”

  “I am Zairic, at the moment. And I am confident that I can locate the vault. It will require a significant excavation effort, but once you find the museum bunker, you will have all the proof you need.” Fernando-Zairic perused the objects that Adolphus kept in his transparent display cases. “And a treasure trove of answers.”

  Adolphus wrestled with skepticism and hope. He searched Fernando’s face for some kind of deceit, but the expression remained impenetrable. He turned to Vincent. “What is your opinion of all this, Mr Jenet?”

  Vincent drew a deep breath, gave his honest response. “I believe something amazing happened to him, General. Beyond that . . . I can’t say. Will it be worth the expense and effort to dig into the heart of a mountain? That’s something you’ll have to decide.”

  46

  The General had always been good at reading people, but these two were different. Unquestionably, when he arrived on this planet, Fernando Neron was a fast talker, a charmer . . . but this person who claimed to be an alien messiah was not at all the man Adolphus remembered. “Zairic” was eager to show the slickwater discovery, and Vincent Jenet did not seem to have an agenda or a get-rich scheme; he appeared to want a normal life – Hellhole style, anyway.

  Maybe they had stumbled onto something interesting.

  Whenever the General sent topographical prospectors out on the wide-open landscape, he hoped they would make significant discoveries. It was their job. Though this report sounded more incredible than most, he was obligated to investigate.

  Over the next several days, Adolphus assembled a team of geologists and xenobiologists to study the slickwater springs. And he decided to go with them.

  They flew in aerocopters out to the nearest settlement – a bauxite mining complex with rounded aluminum-walled shelters – where they set down on the small landing pad, then took overland vehicles into the wilderness. Arriving in the sheltered valley after the extensive journey, the General immediately sensed the pools’ eerie, otherworldly nature. In that aspect, at least, Vincent and Fernando had not exaggerated.

  Adolphus walked ahead to the grainy shore of one smooth pond, which exuded a mysterious aura. The clouds gathering overhead had a resonant effect on the pearlescent water, yet the murky reflection seemed to be of a different time and a different sky. A shiver went down his spine. Despite his skepticism, he began to accept that this might be a real breakthrough about Hallholme’s original inhabitants.r />
  Three scientists trudged up behind him, carrying satchels of equipment. “Don’t let the substance contact your skin,” Adolphus warned. “Keep your distance. I don’t want anyone else infected.”

  “There is nothing to fear.” Fernando-Zairic made a welcoming gesture toward the slickwater. “It benefits both of our races. If you were to immerse yourself, General Tiber Adolphus, you might obtain the memories and experiences of a great Xayan leader. Together, you could become quite formidable.”

  “I’m formidable enough on my own.” A frown furrowed his brow. “I’m not permanently saying no . . . just exercising appropriate caution. What happened to you was an accident, Mr Neron. Before I allow anyone else to be intentionally exposed, I want more information.”

  If Zairic’s claim was to be believed, these pools of liquid organic database had recently bubbled back to the surface, waiting to be noticed. Adolphus could not forget how he had seen Renny Clovis swallowed up by a similar liquid at the bottom of the Ankor sinkhole.

  The biochemists donned gloves and used telescoping rods to scoop up samples of the viscous liquid. Geologists took careful measurements, scraped packets of the dirt from the shore, studied the obsidian chunks all around.

  The setting was beautiful and serene; the hillsides around the sheltered valley were carpeted with alien vegetation. “Exquisite Xayan cities once covered this area,” Fernando-Zairic said in a distant, wistful tone, as if he could still see them in his mind’s eye. “Lovely, delicate structures filled with people joined together in one belief and one goal: to evolve into something better.”

  The General said, “None of our excavations have uncovered remnants of alien cities. Why haven’t we discovered any wreckage?”