“It’s more than just a personal matter. It’s your son.”
She took a moment to find her voice. With a soft smile she said, “Administrator Hu is just the first of many, and I know your hands are full. Now go and show the rest of the Constellation what the future looks like.”
77
Out on the clearcut hillsides once covered by goldenwood groves, Territorial Governor Goler found Tasmine on her knees in the dirt. Recent rains had left the sandy soil soft and muddy, but the old woman didn’t seem to care. With a swollen sack draped across her shoulder, she knelt where the topsoil had washed away to expose the stumps. Fronds of regrowth already poked up from the root systems.
Tasmine reached into her sack, pulled out seedlings she grew in her garden house, and planted them; her movements were as diligent and purposeful as a prayer. Since the seedlings had such deep meaning for her, she was here after the storm, planting the tiny trees to create another grove. The old woman glanced up at him with a weary and resigned expression. “I have to do this to honor the people who died here. Nobody else remembers them.”
Goler looked around. “Does this hillside have special significance?” The secret mass grave of the murdered settlers was in an entirely different valley.
“The loggers think the goldenwood just naturally grows the way it does, but my family planted these trees generations ago. We needed them in order to survive. Goldenwood was a vital resource, back when we couldn’t rely on outside supplies.”
“Back when Ridgetop didn’t have to send off a tribute to Sonjeera.”
“We still don’t have to,” Tasmine retorted. “And yet we do it anyway, because it is easier than resisting the Constellation.”
“If I don’t do as the Diadem commands, she’ll just replace me with somebody else.” Goler dropped down next to her. “Here, let me help. I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty.”
He took one of the seedlings from the sack and copied her motions, scooping out dirt and packing it around the delicate plant. A new grove of fast-growing goldenwood trees would soon reclaim this hillside, only to be harvested once more whenever the Diadem demanded her due.
Tasmine’s expression was wistful but troubled as she worked. “It was an old tradition for us – we planted a goldenwood tree in remembrance of our lost loved ones. But I don’t have enough seedlings for all the people the Constellation killed here.”
No matter how terrible he felt about the “Ridgetop Recovery,” Goler could not think of a way to make it right. Yes, he could expose the truth of the massacre, cause a scandal . . . but that would certainly mean the end of his political career. He was under no illusions about how Michella would respond to the betrayal.
The air was heavy with a rich, loamy fragrance. He and his friend fell into an equable silence as they worked together. She could have spoken names of her lost loved ones aloud as she planted seedlings in their honor, but Tasmine remained silent, keeping that part to herself. He didn’t press her.
As the Territorial Governor, Goler was never left undisturbed for long. The codecall receiver buzzed at his side – someone tracking him down, using the high-security frequency. The local deputy administrator was supposed to deal with matters that did not absolutely require Goler’s intervention, but now he demanded a response. “A ship has arrived, Governor. The pilot says – he says he flew all the way from Hallholme!”
“Hallholme? There’s no stringline ship due from Sonjeera for another four days.”
“Not via the Sonjeera hub, sir!” The deputy’s voice was almost a squawk. “He says he came direct – by a new stringline path! He delivered a new terminus ring in orbit.”
The sheer audacity of the idea set off possibilities like fireworks in Goler’s mind. “Have security check the man and bring him to my residence.” In an abrupt motion he stood, brushing dirt from his hands and trousers. Tasmine regarded him curiously, and he said to her, “Obviously, it can’t be true.”
“Really?” She bent back to her planting work. “How else could he have gotten here?”
Goler rushed to his residence, where he barely had time to clean up before a gaunt, sickly-looking man was ushered in. Having made such an outrageous claim, the pilot was not at all what Goler had expected. He looked exhausted and obviously unwell; nevertheless, he had taken the time to slick back his hair and put on an impeccable formal suit, as if he meant to attend a grand ball at the Diadem’s palace.
The stranger’s voice was hoarse and raspy. “Territorial Governor Goler, my name is Ernst Packard – Captain Ernst Packard. I’ve just piloted a trailblazer ship from the new stringline hub above planet Hallholme, and on the way I’ve laid down an iperion path. Congratulations – your two worlds are now connected by a direct line that bypasses Sonjeera entirely.” Pride radiated from him. “What do you have to say about that?”
Goler took the time to draw several quick breaths before he responded. “I say you have my undivided attention. You’d best explain yourself.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“All of the DZ planets are being connected, and there’s nothing you can do about it. General Tiber Adolphus launched an entire fleet of trailblazer ships, and within the next week or so, the whole Deep Zone is going to be one big network – a network separate from the Crown Jewels.”
“That’s . . . not possible,” Goler said, deadly quiet.
“Now that’s a rather rash statement, Governor, since it already exists. I stand before you as proof.” Packard remained unfazed and matter-of-fact.
Goler sank heavily into his chair. “Where did you get the iperion? The Vielinger quarries are nearly tapped out. Even black-market supplies could never build such an extensive network.”
“You didn’t think anybody would find another source of iperion in all the worlds of the Deep Zone?”
“But Diadem Michella—”
“You of all people should understand that the Diadem doesn’t know everything.”
Goler wrestled with the seismic implications of this news. Verifying the claim wouldn’t be difficult. Either the terminus ring was there, or it wasn’t. If Packard’s report proved to be true, he was shocked . . . but pleased. Only a rebel like Adolphus would attempt to orchestrate something so audacious. Now that he considered it further, it all seemed plausible. The exiled General would rub this in the noses of all the Crown Jewel governments.
Ernst Packard swayed, nearly on the point of collapse. “May I have some water, please, Governor?” He fell into a spasm of coughing, and Goler called for food and drink. Though Tasmine was still out in the groves, other household staff rushed to bring refreshments. Packard looked nearly dead.
Goler was well aware of the ill effects of long-term exposure to iperion. Would the General really send his trailblazer captains on such a mission without adequate protection? Goler had never entirely believed the Diadem’s horror stories about the man. “Didn’t Administrator Adolphus provide you with shielding on the ship?”
“Oh, don’t blame the General, sir. I did this to myself, as a way to treat an unrelated terminal condition. It worked for a while, but gradually it overcame me. I made it to Ridgetop – that’s what counts. I even got here early . . . I hope that doesn’t mess up the General’s plans.”
Packard sank into a chair he accepted some tea, although he didn’t touch the offered food. “Governor, we know you’re the Diadem’s man out in this sector, but our DZ stringline network is already in place.” Packard seemed to dissolve into his seat. He looked done.
Knowing the truth about the Ridgetop Recovery, Goler could guess what Michella would do if she felt her rule threatened. The massacre on this one small colony would pale by comparison.
Packard turned a heavy gaze toward him. “Take my trailblazer ship – it’s equipped to run back along the new line. Once you run a full decontamination, it’ll be a suitable stringline vessel for you to travel in. Go to Hallholme as fast as you can and make arrangements with General Adolphus. You’ll have to choose sides.”
“I’m assuming you’re an intelligent man, Governor.” Packard began coughing again.
Goler considered his situation. For much of his life, he had been a mediocre bureaucrat who never made waves, but in his years as Territorial Governor, at arm’s length from the fossilized old ways of Sonjeera, he had begun to blossom. Now, a new future had fallen into his lap, whether he wanted it or not. An independent set of united Deep Zone colonies had much more commercial potential than the antiquated thorn-in-the-side system of tributes demanded by the Constellation.
“Don’t forget, Governor,” Packard pointed out, “the DZ planets outnumber the old Crown Jewels by almost three to one.”
“Not in population, political influence, or military strength.”
Packard shrugged, wearing an enigmatic expression. “Just watch what happens.”
Goler had been willing to turn a blind eye to the efforts of Ian Walfor and his clunky FTL ships. Those black-market vessels filled a need and demonstrated a small independent streak, a way to blow off steam. But if General Adolphus had truly laid down a new transportation network – a project that dwarfed the Constellation’s original plan, with secondary hubs radiating from other key planets as well – Goler knew there could be no going back. Given the untapped wealth of the Deep Zone, not to mention all the colonists who resented paying unreasonable tributes to the Diadem, he could tell which way the wind was blowing.
The sick pilot was right. Carlson Goler was not a stupid man. But Adolphus needed to understand what he was up against. Goler would tell the General the truth about the Ridgetop Recovery.
The governor knew Tasmine would be pleased with him. “Once we refit your ship, I’ll travel on the new stringline to Hallholme for a formal meeting with Administrator Adolphus. I’d be honored if you would escort me, sir. You’re a brave man.”
Packard held his teacup in a hand that trembled so violently that he spilled much of the liquid before he could bring it to his mouth. He shook his head with a wry, fatalistic smile. His skin had gone pale and clammy. “That’s not in the cards, Governor. It was all I could do to hold on until I arrived here at Ridgetop and put the terminus in place. I wanted to see the look on your face.” He degenerated into another spasm of coughing.
Goler issued orders to give their unexpected guest any medical treatment he might need, then sent teams up to decontaminate the trailblazer ship so it could be used as a diplomatic transport. He could have dispatched a message packet along the line to inform General Adolphus that he was coming, but it would be safer to have no tangible communication between the two of them.
Instead he would go unannounced and deliver his answer in person.
78
Keana was not impressed with her first glimpse of Slickwater Springs, a patchwork camp slapped together out of spare parts: tents of all sizes, prefab shelters, sturdy cabins, a main lodge house and administration building, as well as additional shelters under construction. It was a surprisingly busy place.
As the passengers disembarked from the overland jitney, practically running toward the strange ponds in their excitement to see them, she lugged her valise over to the packed path and waited. After the long trip, Keana felt even dirtier than she had in Michella Town.
During the rough drive, her fellow travelers jabbered constantly about slickwater pools, alien memories, and incomprehensible wonders they thought they were going to find. Keana had seen the mocking reports her mother released and her conclusion that it was all just cultish nonsense.
The tourist attraction held little interest for her, whether or not it was a trick. Finding Cristoph was all that mattered. As she looked around at the bleak Hallholme landscape, she considered how hard his life must be. For the sake of Louis’s memory, and to assuage her own guilt, she had to make amends.
Staff members greeted the newcomers and showed them around the site; Keana took a careful look at each person, hoping that Cristoph worked here, but she saw no sign of him. While everyone else hurried to see the slickwater pools, she trudged towards the rustic lodge, looking for the woman named Sophie Vence.
The lodge’s lobby was clean and basic, with no wasted artistic flourishes. A young man barely out of his teens looked up at her from the main desk; his eyes had an unsettling sheen. “Welcome. If you would like to be introduced to the slickwater pools, Fernando-Zairic is already there, acting as a guide today. We hope you will want to join us.”
“I need to see Sophie Vence. I have business with her.” She set her valise on the floor.
The young man’s expression changed, as if he had suddenly become a different person. “I’m her son Devon, and I am also Birzh, returned from long ago. May we help you?”
Keana dumped what remained of her pouch of jewelry onto the counter. “I came from Sonjeera to find a man named Cristoph de Carre.” Her soiled clothes did not make her feel very regal, but he drew herself up. “I am Princess Keana Duchenet, daughter of Diadem Michella.”
The young man took the news in stride. “In that case, my mother will want to see you.” He left, moving with a gliding gait. Something about him seemed . . . off.
Ten minutes later he returned with a careworn but confident woman, who gave Keana a cool assessment. “You do resemble the Diadem’s daughter.”
“Because I am Keana Duchenet.”
“Well, that won’t buy you any favors on Hellhole. After what your mother did to General Adolphus, we’re not overly fond of the Duchenets here. We get enough harassment from Sonjeera. Did the Diadem send you here?”
Keana stood her ground. “My mother has caused me grief as well. She drove the man I loved to suicide, destroyed his family, and his son was exiled here – Cristoph de Carre. I need to find him.”
Sophie’s expression remained hard. “And you expect that to change my opinion of you, just like that?” Keana could see that the other woman considered her nothing more than a poor little rich girl. Wasn’t it obvious that they had a common complaint?
She nudged the jewels closer to Sophie. “I’m not here on my mother’s behalf, or anything to do with the Constellation. Please, do you know where I might find Cristoph?”
“I can pass along your request.”
Keana’s heart skipped a beat. “So you do know him?”
Sophie straightened, taking on a stiff businesslike demeanor. “What is the nature of your visit? Why do you want to see him so badly?”
“I have . . . some things of his father’s. And I need to make sure he’s all right.”
“He’s doing just fine.”
“I still want to see him. Please.”
Sophie swept the valuables into her hand and tucked them under the counter. “I’ll accept your money, but I can’t force a man to see you if he doesn’t want to.” She sized up Keana. “I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
Keana squared her shoulders, at last nearing the end of a long and difficult ordeal. “As long as it takes.”
Sophie looked down at a ledger screen, then glanced at her son, who stood several steps away. “Devon, do we have any rooms fit for a Sonjeeran princess?”
“We have a small tent outside that was vacated by a customer yesterday. She may need a groundpad to cover the rocks under the sleeping surface.”
Sophie smiled sweetly. “For a princess, we can provide two ground-pads. All the comforts of Hellhole.”
Though the woman seemed to be goading her, Keana refused to complain. She made up her mind to endure whatever she had to, even a tent out here in the wilderness. “I shall accept whatever you have for me, so long as you pass my message on to Cristoph.”
Sophie turned to her son. “Devon, show our honored guest to her tent. She can wait there until we have further news for her.”
In the intervening hours, Keana walked around the camp, looking at the slickwater pools and listening to cult members talk about their alien m
emories. Her reaction alternated between amusement towards the gullible listeners and a visceral discomfort upon seeing their absolute conviction. Could it be real?
Her tent was cramped, but she convinced herself to endure. Another hour passed, and another. Other visitors moved into tents near hers, and settlement workers found constant busy work nearby; Keana was sure she was being watched closely.
Near nightfall, Sophie Vence finally parted the fabric door and stood framed in the tent opening. “I was tempted to let General Adolphus know that you’re here, so he could come deal with you himself.”
Keana was surprised. “But I’m not here for him. I only came to find Louis’s son. It has nothing to do with politics.”
Sophie raised her eyebrows. “You’re the Diadem’s daughter, so everything you do has political ramifications.” She sighed. “The General has more pressing matters anyway, so I took it upon myself to contact Cristoph.”
Keana was ready to scramble out of the tent and go anywhere to meet him. “Is he here?”
Sophie groaned, unable to believe the princess’s stupidity. “With settlements and facilities all across the continent, did you expect him just to be in the neighborhood? Cristoph has an important job in a high-security area, and he’s hours away, but I spoke to him over a military codecall line. I let him know you’re here.”
Keana prepared herself for disappointment. “When can I see him?”
“He could be here as soon as tomorrow morning, if he decides to come.”
“Thank you. That’s wonderful news!”
Sophie turned to go. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Cristoph, on the off chance you can be helpful. But in case you’re here for other reasons, Princess, I’ve got my people keeping an eye on you.” With that, she left the tent and walked off into the night.
79
The new stringline network was a symbol of commerce, liberty, financial control, and independence from the repressive government. D-Day would be upon them within a week; some of the trailblazer ships should already be arriving at their destinations. If everything went according to plan, the sudden activation of the new network would deal a crippling blow to the Constellation government. And Diadem Michella Duchenet was not likely to react well.
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