The shadow-Xayans had used their power to deflect the catastrophe from Slickwater Springs and the alien pools. When it passed over the valley and tumbled away beyond the far line of hills, it unleashed its outburst with renewed fury, as if frustrated.
The shadow-Xayans relaxed. A grinning Fernando rushed over to embrace Vincent, bubbling with excitement. “Did you see that? I told you we could take care of it.”
Vincent’s knees shook. “A little forewarning would have been nice.”
“That would have spoiled the surprise.” Fernando squatted down and scooped up some dust in his hands once more. “Now, let us show you our sand-sculptures again.”
Though he still understood little of Zairic’s alien, sermon-like recollections, Vincent sat with his friend every evening as he addressed his gathered converts. The ever-growing group of shadow-Xayans remained at the slickwater pools, where they sat around sharing recalled experiences. Although the converts always welcomed Vincent, he felt increasingly separated from them as the weeks passed. They did not mean to slight him, but he didn’t share their set of second-hand experiences.
Though Fernando had not asked again, Vincent continued to feel the subtle pressure to accept a reawakened Xayan memory of his own. But the more he observed their fraternity and listened to their exotic reminiscences, the more reluctant he was to join them.
Vincent realized that it might be time for him to find some other job, ask Sophie or the General to reassign him.
As the shadow-Xayans gathered under the dark, open skies at the fringe of the settlement lights, Fernando-Zairic sat crosslegged and awkwardly bent over, as if he expected his body and bones to be more flexible than they actually were. Looking up with faintly opalescent eyes, Zairic watched the frequent sprays of shooting stars across the starry sky – bright orange bolides caused by disintegrating debris hitting the atmosphere.
“Our race was so close to achieving ala’ru before the asteroid came – within one generation of reaching the . . . quorum, the critical mass, necessary to transform our entire race and fundamentally change the universe.” He spread his hands. “Now, we must try again . . . if we find enough people to join us.”
Many of the shadow-Xayans flexed their fingers and arms as if fascinated by the rigid structure of their human bodies. “But we’re so far from the critical point,” one pointed out.
“Far . . . but not hopelessly distant,” Zairic replied. “You can feel it yourselves. Combined with human minds, we are much stronger. Hybrid vigor. Fewer of us will be required to initiate the evolutionary shift. Recall your other lives. You all trusted me when you surrendered your bodies and minds to the slickwater. With the asteroid coming, we knew what we had to do.”
The shadow-Xayans nodded, muttering amongst themselves. Some wept with remembered fear.
Fernando-Zairic turned toward Vincent. “It was a horrific time for us, my friend. Once we realized that even our telemancers could not prevent the annihilation, slickwater was our only hope of preserving who we were. We entered the pools, one after another, by the hundreds, then thousands, then millions, all across the planet. We dissolved ourselves into the storage liquid, hoping that some spark of our selves would survive the celestial bombardment.”
Vincent tried to picture so many Xayans simply dissolving to store their lives in the liquid-crystal medium. But was the memory record actually them, or merely a copy of who they once were? What about their souls? It was a question he wasn’t sure how to ask.
Zairic’s voice built in power as he addressed the converts. “I promised you that we could survive, and we have survived. Now trust me again. We will awaken, and we will achieve ala’ru.”
Vincent spoke up. “But the four Originals survived intact, too. Wouldn’t it have been better to save more actual Xayans? That vault could have held more, and you could have created more vaults. This . . . slickwater plan was awfully risky. How did you know any outside race would ever come to this planet? And that our bodies and minds would be compatible with Xayans?”
“Both plans were risky, Vincent.” Fernando smiled, and spoke in his own voice, excited. “What other choice did they have? When the world is going to end, why not gamble?”
Vincent couldn’t believe an entire race would bet their existence on the idea that someday an unknown race might stumble upon their damaged planet and accidentally figure out how to resurrect them from the slickwater. The Xayans must have had some other reason to hope they would be found and restored. “I would have chosen something with a little higher chance of success,” he said. “The odds against it seem incredible. It makes me shudder to think how unlikely it was.”
“And yet it came true. Can’t argue with results.” Fernando kept smiling, then his expression became bland again as Zairic spoke. “Encix and her people wanted to save the civilization, but we did not have the time or resources to preserve more than a handful of Xayans in museum bunkers. My group wanted to use slickwater to save as many individual lives and memories as possible – millions.” He shrugged. “Truthfully, Vincent, neither alternative had much chance of success, but thanks to humans we did succeed.” He spoke louder to the gathered shadow-Xayans. “Now we will reawaken enough Xayans to reach our mental tipping point and achieve what our race must achieve. Ala’ru is our destiny.”
With yet another abrupt change, he spoke in the cheerful voice of Fernando. “You see how important it is, Vincent. If you joined us, we’d be closer to our goal.”
“It’s not for me, Fernando. I don’t even understand this . . . ala’ru business.” Vincent’s dreams had been for a normal life, a fulfilling job, a kind wife, a good home. He had never imagined pushing so far beyond his personal boundaries that he wouldn’t even be human anymore.
“I know it’s hard to understand the concept of ala’ru. It’s to accelerate our potential, to evolve right through the glass ceiling of what we are – both human and Xayan.” Fernando-Zairic looked ready to explode with yearning to testify about what drove him. His mouth opened and closed, but the right words wouldn’t come out; alien sounds and grunts came from his throat, as if he were trying to bend and shape his larynx in ways it could not accommodate.
Fernando’s eyes widened, even bulged with the strain, and Vincent was alarmed. The alien noises were unnatural, frightening, and his friend looked like a man with a severe speech impediment trying to call out a fire alarm. His face contorted, but his mouth wouldn’t make the right sounds.
Finally, Fernando shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t communicate it to you, Vincent. Humans don’t have the concepts, the points of reference, the vocabulary. But . . . it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever had in my head.”
As the others murmured their agreement, Vincent felt even more uncomfortable. Yes, he wanted to understand what had so inspired his friend and all these followers, but he didn’t feel a need to be anything other than himself. He knew all too well that Fernando had always searched for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Now it was alien gold . . . or fool’s gold.
That was when Vincent decided to leave Slickwater Springs.
63
As expected, once Turlo and Sunitha Urvancik had been whisked away to their new duties, the stringline center on Sonjeera sent an urgent inquiry about the missing linerunner vessel. General Adolphus innocently responded via message drone, “I’m sorry, but the HDS Kerris never arrived on Hallholme. Is it possible they were lost en route?”
The two linerunners were safely out of sight at Ankor, and the Kerris had already been installed on the new hub. Soon the pair would begin patrolling the independent DZ network, making sure everything was ready for D-Day.
The General was troubled, though, by a secret warning that one of his remaining loyalists had embedded within the formal transmission: Diadem Michella sends her personal watchdog on next passenger pod to investigate new religious cult on Hallholme.
So, Ishop Heer would arrive soon. At least now Adolphus knew to be ready for him.
<
br /> From previous experience, he knew the Diadem’s inspector was hard-edged, brilliant, and humorless; unlike the incompetent Luke Pritikin, Ishop Heer would not be distracted by glittering crystals on a cliff wall. Adolphus would have to show the man something – but not everything. Under no circumstances did he want the Diadem to learn about the Original Xayans or their treasure vault of alien artifacts and technology.
He summoned Cristoph de Carre from his secret investigations in the museum vault. They didn’t have much time.
Cristoph arrived at Elba long after dark, accompanied by Encix – a surprise. The alien rode discreetly hidden in the back of the Trakmaster, aware of the need to keep from being seen. When she emerged after Cristoph gave her the all-clear, the female alien stood under the stars. Her skin had a pale, iridescent glow that seemed to reflect that night’s turbulent auroras.
Cristoph bowed to the General in a gesture of formality, and Encix imitated him. Adolphus motioned them quickly inside, always worried about unexpected observers, then told them both about Ishop Heer’s imminent arrival.
Cristoph immediately grasped the implications. “It’s not unexpected, General. Somebody was bound to notice odd things going on at the slickwater pools. I understand there’ve already been more than a hundred converts from the Crown Jewels. You can’t keep that secret.”
“None of the outside converts have left Hallholme, but word is spreading.” Adolphus pursed his lips. “Even so, Michella can’t have much concrete information, just a few strange stories to pique her curiosity. And if any of the rumors tell the true story, she’d never believe it anyway. However, I’ve met with this Ishop Heer before, and he tends to clamp onto a task.” He flashed a hard smile. “It’ll be much tougher to fool him. Best if I make sure he stays wary of me.”
Encix looked at the two men, not comprehending their tension. “But there is an obvious solution. If this visitor immerses himself in our slickwater pools, he can help us enlist Diadem Michella in our cause. Once we Xayans spread word of our need throughout your Constellation, additional volunteers will come here and awaken more of us. His arrival could be good news.”
“You don’t understand humans well enough, Encix,” Cristoph said sadly.
“That is the reason why I want to keep your existence secret – for your sake and ours.” The General was more blunt. “The Diadem is not a person who likes to share. Once she learns about the four Originals, she will seize you and take you to Sonjeera for interrogation and analysis. She will send her troops to overrun the museum vault and confiscate every one of your artifacts, and she will likely mark the slickwater pools as dangerous and quarantine them.”
Cristoph’s voice was bitter. “He’s not exaggerating, Encix. The Diadem will take everything. It’s what she does.”
Her soft flesh throbbing, Encix swayed her upper body, and went rigid again as she came to a realization. “Ah . . . now I understand. There are factions in the human race.”
“We have plenty of them,” Cristoph commented.
“Politically, I am required to let Ishop Heer look at Slickwater Springs, but I’ll let him draw his own conclusions.” Adolphus paced the room with a grim smile. “I will have a word with Fernando-Zairic first. The original Fernando will understand exactly what we should do. If I get a little help from the shadow-Xayans, Mr Heer will have no reason to doubt that this is just some sort of mass delusion.”
“All the more reason for him not to see any proof of the Originals,” Cristoph cautioned.
“Or any real Xayan artifacts. We need to keep them out of the equation.” Adolphus turned to Encix, not sure whether she understood what was at stake.
The female alien said, “We will return to the museum bunker. We four survivors have a task to complete in honor of our lost comrade Allyf. We will continue to remain out of sight.”
“I’ll seal up the outside station until the Diadem’s inspector is gone, sir. Post sentries and guards disguised as mine workers. The records show this is just another exploratory mining operation. Ishop Heer will never know the difference.”
“Exactly what I was thinking, Mr de Carre. Once the Diadem’s man hears the converts talking about alien memories and lost civilizations, he won’t believe a word of it. This planet has seen one crazy cult after another. With a little nudging, he’ll conclude that these are nothing more than brainwashed religious converts.”
Encix turned her strange face toward him. “Is that how you see our shadow-Xayans, General Adolphus? As brainwashed cult members?”
“I thought they might be misled at first, but not any more. That’s why we have to keep you four safe until we understand more about you.”
“And we Xayans need to understand more about these quarrelsome factions among humans.” Encix bowed fluidly again.
“Keep looking around in the vault, Mr de Carre. See if you can find any artifacts that might prove . . . useful.”
“Yes, General.”
The two departed, and Adolphus sent word out to Ankor to increase security there, too. He shook his head. Why did the Diadem have to turn her attention here now, with Destination Day only a month away?
64
As the General’s utilitarian staff car arrived at Slickwater Springs after a long journey, Ishop Heer caught his first glimpse of the three circular ponds. He had never been impressed with this filthy and lackluster world, and the sight did not change his opinion. The reservoirs looked like deep mercurial pits with obsidian boulders scattered around them. The Diadem had sent him all the way out here to see this?
Seated beside him in the rear of the staff car, Administrator Adolphus acted indifferent to Ishop’s presence. The disgraced General’s face was a well-disciplined mask, but Ishop knew how to look for subtle signs: facial tics, unconscious gestures, nervous mannerisms. He concluded that Adolphus was less anxious than annoyed.
“Visitors come and go all the time, Mr Heer. I’ve stifled no reports about the slickwater pools, nor about the numerous religious groups that come to my planet – not now, not at any time over the past decade. It seems everyone is searching for something, and they hope to find it here.”
At such close quarters, Ishop could not forget the man’s previous threat to cast him out into the static storm. When doing the Diadem’s business, Ishop was accustomed to having everyone be afraid of him; they would snap to attention and offer their fullest cooperation. But not Tiber Adolphus. He didn’t show any fear of Ishop, or of the Diadem, whatsoever. It was entirely unnerving.
What if Ishop were to discover something vital about these strange pools? Would the General prevent him from reporting back to Sonjeera? He adjusted his facemask, tugged his gloves, and tried not to think about alien germs as the driver halted the vehicle outside the rugged camp. “Diadem Michella expects me to return on the next stringline hauler with my full report.”
The General remained gruff. “And I intend to see that you leave with all due haste. I resent having to tolerate these repeated and unnecessary inspections. The Diadem’s paranoia gets tiresome.”
Ishop snorted. “Sadly, not all of her inspectors are entirely reliable. While this planet was abuzz with news about aliens, you duped Mr Pritikin with images of pretty quartz crystals so that you could carry out your own underhanded schemes.”
“Oh? Maybe the man is just that stupid on his own.” Adolphus actually smiled. “I informed Mr Pritikin about an interesting anomaly we’d discovered, as I am required to do. I can’t help that he went chasing after it.”
“And so our local inspector was one of the last to know what was going on here.” Ishop coughed to cover an unwilling chuckle. In a way, he had to admire how easily Adolphus had manipulated the man. “The Diadem has recalled Pritikin from Hallholme. She will find a more appropriate assignment for him.”
The General marveled aloud. “It boggles the mind. A man whose performance is so poor that he’s been removed from Hellhole! That can’t look good on his resume.”
The two men eme
rged from the staff car, and Ishop made a face when he smelled the dusty, alkaline air. And that was only the odor that his facemask did not manage to filter out. Ishop would ask Laderna to find him a better breathing filter if he ever had to come back. This place was even more dirty and rustic than Michella Town.
He tugged his gloves tighter. While Adolphus ignored him, Ishop surveyed the settlement, the boardwalks and fences around the pools, the people standing in separate groups. Using an imager, he documented what he saw; the Diadem would want to know everything. “Tell me what goes on here, Administrator. What are these pools, and what do they do to people? Provide me with a list of individuals I should talk to.”
The General shook his head. “Not in the bargain, Mr Heer. I’m required to grant you full access, but not hold your hand and explain every little detail. Feel free to gather your own intelligence. Get your hands dirty.”
“My hands are already dirty just from setting foot on this planet.” Ishop gritted his teeth, but refused to play the childish game of passive resistance. He drew a deep breath through the mask and changed the subject. “I’ve heard reports that some of the original aliens are still alive, and you have been seen with them. Apparently they perform parlor tricks for your dinner parties.”
Adolphus let out a boisterous laugh. “Aliens at dinner parties? You inspectors will believe any sort of nonsense, Mr Heer! Perhaps I can direct you to those quartz crystals that your colleague Mr Pritikin enjoyed so much? You are welcome to look around for any sign of aliens – keep an eye out for ghosts and goblins, too, while you’re at it.”
Irritated, Ishop stalked away from the unhelpful General and approached the people working around the site, taking care where he stepped. A gust swirled grainy dirt around his legs. He found this place very unsettling and definitely cultish.
Hellhole Page 36