Bolton checked the travel log. “It got only as far as Substation Three.” He swallowed hard. “The stringline was cut from that end as well.”
“Both ends of the segment are severed?” Escobar said. “We’re cut off? How did the General do that?”
“With careful planning. Now we can’t go forward or back.”
Escobar’s throat was dry. “General Adolphus has stranded us.”
22
The underground museum vault on Hellhole remained a mysterious, terrifying place for Keana, even though she shared her mind with the Xayan leader Uroa. His alien memories were elusive, explaining little to her; the chamber was filled with secrets and haunted by ancient alien spirits.
Working alongside the Original alien Lodo, the team of human investigators had spent several months combing through the countless stockpiled treasures—relics, bits of technology, stored knowledge, and cultural landmarks. The General had placed Cristoph de Carre in charge of the effort, to guide the engineers and experts.
Carvings and designs adorned the rock walls, and teams of xeno-archaeologists and scholars studied them, with Lodo’s assistance. It was the work of years, probably decades, to compile even a perfunctory inventory of the miracles stored here, much less catalog and understand them. She saw the artifacts around her, small containers and decorative items as well as exquisite little jeweled creatures made of shaped stone and silver and gold. The alien designs meant nothing to Keana as she viewed them with her own eyes, but Uroa’s presence identified the patterns.
“One day we will be able to share the lost Xayan history,” Cristoph said, “but at the moment we have more pragmatic concerns. Our priority is to identify some scrap that might be converted into a weapon or defensive technology.”
Lodo swayed his humanoid torso from side to side. “Most of the Xayan race was focused on cooperation with a common goal, striving to achieve ala’ru. Why would we need weapons?” His caterpillar body moved in a wet whisper of motion.
Keana detected a hint of avoidance in Lodo’s answer, and words surfaced in her consciousness from Uroa’s personality. He spoke through her voice: “This vault holds secrets to be unlocked, Cristoph de Carre—and some of them may be dangerous.”
Though they had worked closely together for weeks, ever since Keana had awakened from her coma, Cristoph remained awkward around her because of the unwitting part she’d played in the downfall of his family. She had fundamentally changed after her immersion in the slickwater, and was no longer the flighty, self-centered woman who had drifted through a privileged life. Fortunately, there was a war to distract them while they cobbled together a relationship.
Now, though, he perked up at her comment. “Dangerous? Could they be useful as weapons?”
“The answer is the same,” Uroa said. Though Keana strained to see deeper into her mental companion’s thoughts, she could find no clearer answers.
Lodo cautioned Uroa, “We discussed the possibilities in Xayan convocation. Encix advised against the use of inappropriate power.”
“I sided with Zairic,” Uroa said, “and Encix did not lead my faction. She always was difficult.”
“And you always were careless,” Lodo replied. A hint of humor? Or a stinging rebuke? Keana could not tell.
Each time they arrived in the vault, strange lights and shapes accompanied them like spectral escorts, wavering and crackling in the air, vanishing and reappearing like wisps of colored smoke. Several dropped from the tunnel ceiling in front of Keana’s face, as if recognizing the presence of Uroa within her. As always, she felt a tingling sensation on her face and arms when the luminous afterimages touched her skin, but she knew the manifestations were harmless.
In the vault’s large central chamber, five sarcophagus chambers had held the preserved Originals while they waited for centuries, clinging to the vanishingly small chance that someone would eventually discover them. Only five Xayans had survived the asteroid impact, but Allyf had died during the centuries of stasis, Cippiq had been murdered by the Diadem, and Tryn had departed along with a hundred shadow-Xayans to form a seed colony on Candela. Now only Lodo and Encix remained on Hellhole. Xaya.
Back at the height of their former civilization, the Xayans had never ventured beyond their own planet. How could they rely on such infinitesimal hopes? Though previously Uroa had shared his memories and thoughts with her, now she heard only silence.
* * *
After hours of intriguing but ultimately fruitless searching, Keana and Cristoph followed Lodo back out of the tunnel to the guarded opening in the side of the mountain. The other engineers and archaeologists continued their cataloging work, but Keana was losing hope that they would find any miraculous solution before her mother sent a massive retaliation—and she knew her mother would strike as soon as she was able.
Fortunately, Devon-Birzh and Antonia-Jhera worked with the thousands of shadow-Xayans to practice their telemancy as a defensive measure. And General Adolphus had his own traditional military plans.
From her interactions with the Originals, Keana knew that Encix was willing to save the planet, but only in order for the Xayans to achieve their racial ascension. Encix did not seem overly concerned with the safety of humans for their own sake. Were the Originals just using the hybrid vigor exhibited by the shadow-Xayans to achieve what they wanted? Although she was merged with Uroa, and felt his longing for ala’ru as well, Keana vowed not to abandon the human colonists on Hellhole.
Guards and observers remained outside the entrance to the museum vault, ready to use lethal force to prevent any Constellation spies from discovering the existence of the Xayan chamber. As Keana and her companions stepped out into the open air, one of the sentries whistled to draw their attention, but not in alarm.
“Over there!” The sentry pointed to a rolling cloud along the ground in the valley below.
Keana heard a distant thunder of noise, and she and Cristoph climbed to the lookout shack on top of a knoll. “A storm?” she asked.
“A herd,” said the voice of Uroa inside her head.
The sentry handed Keana a set of distance lenses. When she adjusted the focus, she could see a charging line of four-legged animals, like bison, moving across the valley floor, stirring up dust, razing the native vegetation in their path. She caught her breath. “So many of them! But where did they come from?”
“They are native to Xaya.” Lodo gazed out at the moving mass of animals and spoke the name of the creatures, a strange, incomprehensible word that vibrated through his face membrane.
Uroa provided Keana with his own memories of large herds of these creatures on the verdant plains of old Xaya, majestic beasts that moved together.
Beside her, Cristoph and the sentry were both awed into quiet reverence. The large animals plunged on, like a wave sweeping across the prairie. “They’re magnificent!” Cristoph said. “But those creatures should be extinct. The asteroid killed all large animals How could they come back?”
“There have been previous sightings of individual animals,” Keana pointed out. “Recently. Why now?”
“Many signs are apparent,” Lodo said in a mysterious, distant voice. “This planet is awakening.”
23
Once she learned the Constellation fleet was stranded and helpless, Sophie could finally catch her breath and get down to the real work. Surviving on a frontier world required austerity and careful planning, but she was convinced that the Deep Zone no longer needed anything from the Crown Jewels.
As Hellhole’s emergency quartermaster, she made a point of inspecting foundries, mines, even an explosives factory out in the bleak mountains. She had started construction on two new greenhouse domes, and assisted the farmers in providing fertilizers and hardy seed stock. At times, she felt like a watchful mother to the planet.…
Handing Adolphus sheets of account records, she said, “Even without enemy battleships breathing down our necks, our hardest challenge will be surviving the next few months. We’re la
ying in harvests and stockpiling preserved food, receiving deliveries from other DZ planets to fill in the gaps. We’ll have to scrape by on what we have, but we’re in good shape … under the circumstances. We can do it.” She lounged against his desk. “Want to come with me? I’ve got a delivery for Armand Tillman.”
Adolphus had spent two days in his offices at Elba reviewing the images of Escobar Hallholme’s fleet, sending the victorious announcement to other planetary administrators. He ordered the sixty ships in orbit to remain on alert and perform constant drills, and he test fired the weapons platforms in place.
Now he looked up at her and smiled. “Good idea. I need to thank him for the steaks he sent over—and for the meat that’ll feed our soldiers during the crisis.”
Armand Tillman was a prominent, resourceful businessman who had expanded grazing lands and provided insulated shelters so that his herd thrived even in the rigorous environment. Recently, he devoted his ranch output to the Deep Zone Defense Force.
Heading out to the open range on the fringe of Michella Town, their aerocopter traveled through the milky-gray sky of a dissipating smoke storm. Sophie saw the pasturelands and agricultural fields that Tillman nurtured with automated irrigation and fertilizer systems. On Hellhole, where a new agricultural matrix had to be laid down on the scoured landscape, cattle manure proved almost as valuable as the meat itself. Sophie’s greenhouse domes in Helltown produced large amounts of fruits and vegetables, but once open-field farming was established, the crop yield would increase by orders of magnitude, provided the plants survived the frequent storms, electrical discharges, and dust clouds.
The aerocopter landed near the livestock nursery building, and the noise of the aircraft brought Tillman to the doorway. He waved, and Sophie shouted through the dying engine noise as she stepped to the ground. “The stork has a delivery today. You’re the proud papa of some kids—goat kids. We brought two hundred embryos.”
Grinning, Tillman pointed out to his pastures where his cattle were grazing. “Beef isn’t enough?”
“Goats might not produce the best-tasting meat, but they’re hardy animals for a tough environment, providing good milk and cheese,” Adolphus said as he opened the back of the aerocopter to remove the sealed cases. “More food for the troops.”
Before Hellhole cut itself off from the Crown Jewels, Sophie had been using backdoor contacts to obtain shipments of equipment, supplies, and special items, including a case of goat embryos, ready for incubation. Tillman was a cattleman, but he would diversify his herd if called on to do so.
“I paid for these embryos myself,” Sophie said. “No charge to you, so long as you keep supplying the military at cost.”
Tillman helped them carry the embryos into a temperature-controlled room. “Doesn’t do me much good to make a profit if the Constellation fleet levels our settlements and arrests the survivors.”
“We may have taken care of that problem,” Adolphus said with a smile, then explained how he had circumvented the attack.
They passed glassed-in enclosures where cattle embryos were grown and nurtured in successively larger tanks. In small pens, Tillman’s handlers tended newborn animals that were so young that they were uncertain on their feet. “Once we have a large enough artificial herd with sufficient genetic diversity, we can let nature take its course,” he said.
They strolled outside, where Tillman pointed to fields of hardy alfalfa and grasses. “When they’re ready we’ll release the animals into the pastures to fend for themselves, breed, increase their numbers.” He scratched his sideburns. “They can be happy until they’re called to serve—or should I say, be served.”
Several of Tillman’s ranch hands began shouting and pointed to the south. On the horizon, Sophie spotted an ominous cloud coming toward them over the dry hills, looking like black static. “What the hell is that?”
Tillman squinted through a distance lens, then handed it to her. “Nothing good. Looks like millions of locusts. Never seen anything like that around here before.”
The General frowned. “Hellhole infestations don’t tend to be pleasant.”
The ranch staff began running. Tillman hurried toward a gate as alarm bells sounded. Workers streamed out of the facilities, powering up all-terrain rollers to start driving the cattle to shelters.
A blond, bearded foreman shouted orders. A strong gust of wind slammed the nearest gate shut, and Sophie pulled it open, her hair blowing. After the all-terrain roller had passed through the gate, she and the General climbed aboard as Tillman raced out into the grazing lands.
Tillman and his crew chased as many of his cattle as possible, driving them into runways that led to large barns. Sophie kept watch, saw a few outlier insects whipping in the air overhead. She had heard Devon’s stories of the cannibal beetles that had shredded an entire settlement of religious isolationists.
As the buzzing, blurry swarm swept toward them, the General shouted, “That’s enough, Tillman! We’ve got to get to shelter ourselves.”
“Half of my herd is still outside!”
“And you can rebuild it with the other half—but not if the bugs eat you.”
The locust cloud descended upon the buildings, and Tillman roared the vehicle inside one of the barns; Sophie leaped out before it had come to a stop and ran to the door controls as a few last cattle ran into the shelter. The thick doors rolled down and sealed in place as the buzzing outside grew louder. Inside the enclosure, the panicky cattle lowed and milled about, bumping against gates and walls.
Sophie and Adolphus joined Tillman near the sealed windows, wiping sweat and dust from their faces. “We don’t even know if those insects are a threat,” she said, hardly convincing herself. The tension grew as the insect swarm fluttered over and around the ranch, and they could hear the bellows and squeals of the remaining cattle stranded outside the shelters.
Sophie watched the swarm of colorful and delicate insects flitting about like butterflies. The bugs landed everywhere, settling on the cattle and crops, covering everything like a blizzard with brown and yellow wings.
As the nervous ranch hands whispered, Adolphus said, “They remind me of mayflies on Qiorfu.”
Tillman shook his head. “A swarm like that, hatching all at once, moving across the landscape. They look innocuous—maybe we got lucky.”
“Any creatures that survived the aftermath of the asteroid impact aren’t generally innocuous,” Sophie said. “We still need to be careful.”
The ranch foreman came up to Tillman, “Should I go collect a few specimens for the xeno-biologists back in Helltown?”
“Stay inside until they’re gone,” Adolphus said. “I wouldn’t be quite so optimistic yet.”
The straggler animals outside clumped together for protection on the far end of the pastures. The butterfly creatures continued to alight on them, but apparently without biting or stinging, since the cattle seemed unperturbed. They watched the slow, hypnotic tableau for more than an hour, and Sophie began to relax, her concern replaced by a sense of wonder.
When the butterfly creatures finally flitted into the air, they rose in a graceful swoop, like a migrating flock, and moved on. The colorful cloud was gone as quickly as it had arrived, flying off toward the hills in the distance. Adolphus suggested waiting another fifteen minutes, just to be sure, and then they ventured outside.
A few straggler insects swirled around the barn buildings before following the rest of the swarm toward the horizon. Ranch hands wore gloves and scooped up some of the sluggish bugs, sealing them in specimen containers.
As Tillman walked around the main buildings, he examined the structures and grounds with a dawning grin on his face. “I don’t see any damage.”
“Maybe we did get lucky,” Sophie said.
When they were finished with the inspection, Tillman went to his roller and swung himself inside. “Better round up the loose cattle and check them out,” he shouted over the engine noise. “You two want to come along?”
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br /> She and Adolphus climbed into the spare seats. Out in the pastures, the stranded cattle were becoming anxious, as if in pain. Sophie saw no reason for the animals to be skittish, but as the vehicle pulled up, she realized that the cattle hides were covered with blisters that grew visibly larger. The cattle lowed in pain and fear.
The General held up his hand. “Don’t get any closer, Tillman.”
With a lurch, the rancher halted the vehicle at a safe distance and stared. “What’s happening to my herd?”
He’d barely spoken the question before the cattle hides erupted, the festering sores bubbling and boiling. The blisters burst open to reveal millions of grublike larvae crawling over the agonized animals.
He prepared to swing out, but the General held him back. “No, those butterfly things laid eggs everywhere.” The swarming grubs began devouring the cattle, tunneling inside the bovine bodies, releasing a hideous stench. The animals staggered and collapsed, rotting where they fell.
“It’s so fast!” Sophie said.
Adolphus got on the roller’s codecall to contact the other ranch hands. “We need to get flame guns, burn the carcasses, torch the whole pasture before it spreads!”
Looking ill, Tillman swung the roller around, keeping his distance from the collapsing cattle. “Retreat to the barns!”
Before they could round up the fuel and flame guns and rush back out to the infestation, the larvae had devoured the carcasses and completed an astonishingly swift metamorphosis. While Tillman’s ranch hands approached the pasture with their equipment, another flock of the colorful butterfly insects rose from the shreds of dead cattle, testing their wings. The new swarm flew off, following the breezes to other feeding grounds.…
Sophie swallowed hard and stared out at the dead cattle, the battered grazing lands. “It’s hard enough to prepare for war against the Constellation. But the planet is fighting against us, too.”
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