Hellhole Inferno

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Keana walked to the main lodge house with its reinforced walls and windows that could stand proof against whatever natural threats the planet threw at them. When she met Peter-Arnex, she pushed her human personality to the fore. “You have my mother here. She won’t want to see me, but I need to do it.”

  “She and Ishop Heer are under guard in the outer bungalows,” said Herald. “Follow me.” Unconcerned, he led her around the main lodge and along the boardwalk toward a cluster of small dwellings.

  Most of the small buildings were empty in the bright afternoon. The Spartan interior had only a few articles of furniture, including a chair, a small bed, a table with a light source, and a shelf. Those who came to Slickwater Springs did not stay here for long, and once they became shadow-Xayans, the converts cared little for physical comforts. The Diadem must be miserable without her usual amenities, Keana thought.

  She stopped in front of the bungalow door, and the guards recognized her. “I’ll talk to my mother first. Bring Ishop Heer to join us in a few minutes.”

  Herald went to the other bungalow, while the guards opened the door to let Keana enter.

  Keana was shocked by her mother’s appearance. Michella looked considerably older, her eyes sunken as if constant fury and displeasure had burned the life out of her. She wore drab garments—definitely not the attire her mother normally favored.

  Upon seeing her daughter, Michella rose in indignation. The old woman’s lips curled downward, but she forced away the expression with a visible effort. “So you survived in this awful place, Daughter. I didn’t believe you had it in you. We were so worried we dispatched an entire fleet to recapture this world and rescue you.”

  Keana stood straight and strong. “No, you didn’t, Mother. We know your orders—I’ve talked with Bolton. Rescuing me was nowhere on the list of priorities that Redcom Hallholme received.”

  Michella scowled, like a child annoyed that a birthday party hadn’t gone as planned. “My priority was to save the Constellation from this dangerous rebellion.”

  “But you didn’t even try to understand the Xayans, Mother.” Keana took a step closer. “You murdered the peaceful emissaries who came to Sonjeera to ask for your help. You don’t understand the Xayan race, the slickwater, and the memories … or all the wonders and powers that I now have, which were denied me before.”

  The old Diadem recoiled as her daughter approached. “You’re brainwashed. Contaminated! Don’t touch me.”

  Keana stopped a few feet away. “How familiar, the warmth and love you’ve always shown me. This planet has concerns that far outweigh yours. The petty struggles of the Constellation are like the concerns of ants while a civilization tries to build a great city. And there are more terrible threats coming. The Ro-Xayans hammered this planet once, and they will come back again.”

  “You must release me from this horrid place! You are all barbarians.”

  Keana smiled. “Barbarians? The Xayan civilization is far superior to the Constellation. Maybe we should take you to the slickwater pools and throw you in, so you can see and know for yourself.” She extended a hand toward her mother, but Michella backed away in horror, as expected.

  “I am not the daughter you remember. I know who I used to be—weak, preoccupied, and flighty. The way you wanted me to be. You wanted to strip away my ambitions, keep me docile. But I have another life inside me now, a whole universe.” She extended her fingers again, trying to touch Michella’s face.

  But the old woman retreated until she pressed against the wall. “Get away from me!”

  Keana made a mental link with Uroa, felt the telemancy build within their shared consciousness. She wanted to demonstrate how much she had changed—not in a vengeful way, but just to convince her mother, to get through the irrational barriers Michella had erected.

  Just then the bungalow door opened, and the guards allowed Ishop Heer inside. Though he looked edgy and trapped, he still moved with a prowling grace.

  As he saw Michella cowering before Keana, an impish grin crossed his lips. “Ah, a mother-and-daughter reunion. But I advise against hugging her, Eminence. She’s not the daughter you remember anymore.”

  Keana turned to him, feeling more confident than ever. “I believe you tricked me into coming here, Ishop. You hoped that Hellhole would destroy me, didn’t you? Just as my mother exiled General Adolphus here, thinking he would not survive. Instead this place made both of us stronger. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  He chuckled. “Tricked you? I merely told you what you wished to know. The son of your poor dead lover had gone into exile, and you begged for information. Are you angry with me for telling you exactly what you asked?”

  “No, Ishop. And you may have been right that I wouldn’t have fared well here, but I did survive with the help of the slickwater. Thanks to the Xayans, and Uroa inside me, I’m now more than you ever imagined I would be.” She turned her gaze back to Michella. “In fact, I would make a strong ruler, a perfect Diadem with the right breadth of experience, wisdom, and personal power. From what I understand, you’ve left the Constellation a shambles.”

  “You should have died on this planet and saved us all the trouble,” Michella muttered.

  Keana was impatient with the old woman’s pettiness. She had always allowed her mother to hurt her before, but those days were long gone. Uroa was inside her as a bastion of strength, but she didn’t need his help now. “I came to Hellhole out of love, Mother. I’m sure that’s a concept as foreign to you as these alien presences are. I wanted to make amends to Cristoph for what happened to his father. I wanted to share my grief with him, help him to survive. I did love his father very much. Poor Louis … I know you caused his disgrace and brought about his downfall. I should have been with him in prison to strengthen him, but you kept us apart. He didn’t have me to comfort him, and in despair he killed himself. I blame you, Mother—you drove him to suicide.”

  Ishop made a rude snort. “You can certainly blame her, but you think it was suicide? Comfort yourself with that, girl. Louis de Carre should have taken care of matters himself, but I had to make all the arrangements.” He shook his shaved head. “That man was a disappointment to the end. He might have salvaged something of his noble house if he had fought for his honor as much as he struggled in the last few moments when I killed him.”

  Keana looked at Ishop with widening eyes as horror swelled within her. Uroa surged to greater power. She felt a tingling crackle inside her bloodstream.

  If Ishop noticed, he didn’t seem concerned. He made an oblivious gesture toward Michella. “I was just a tool, though. I acted under your mother’s explicit orders. She commanded me to remove that man because she was impatient with your defiance. That’s all it was to her, a mother slapping the hand of an unruly child.” His chuckle was like broken glass.

  Keana directed her fury toward Michella now, whose lips were curled back in disgust and indignation. “You have only yourself to blame, Daughter! If you had paid attention to your own responsibilities, if you hadn’t been so damned stupid, none of this would have happened.”

  Like a geyser ready to erupt, telemancy rose within Keana, a roiling overload of power that demanded to be released. Keana could barely control it. She remembered what Devon Vence had done in his outrage after his girlfriend Antonia had been shot. With a hammer of telemancy, he had crushed Gail Carrington, leaving only a smear of disassociated cells on a bulkhead.

  Keana knew she could do that to her mother right now. She could pulverize the old woman’s brittle bones, leaving the great Diadem Michella Duchenet nothing more than a heap of squashed, poisonous flesh. She could do that to Ishop, too.

  But that wasn’t what she wanted. She held on to Uroa inside her, tapped into his stability as well as the power he contained. Keana was wiser now, stronger—mature. Trickle by trickle, she felt the telemancy diminish. Uroa was there; the two of them were firm. When Keana had control over herself once more, she drew a deep breath, opened her eyes. She saw both
Ishop and Michella looking worried about what they had almost provoked. They were staring at her eyes, which must have been spiraling wildly.

  Keana decided that she wanted nothing more to do with her mother. The Diadem and the Constellation were irrelevant now. Keana had more important things to do. She needed to save Hellhole from the Ro-Xayans … and more significantly, she had to guide all of her people to ala’ru.

  A flustered Sophie Vence appeared at the bungalow door. She ignored Michella and Ishop, focusing entirely on Keana. “Peter Herald told me you were here. Do you need my assistance, or should I just lock the door and leave you alone with them?”

  “I had things to resolve, but I’m finished now,” Keana said. After the guards escorted Ishop back to his own bungalow, Keana gave the old woman a last glance while speaking to Sophie. “I wash my hands of my mother.”

  Michella flew into a rage. “I don’t want you back. Do you understand? I don’t want you back. You’re contam—”

  Keana and Sophie sealed the door behind them, cutting off the old woman’s vitriol.

  42

  Commodore Hallholme’s tension had simmered into numbness. He was hamstrung here at Tehila.

  By now, according to plan, the Constellation fleet should have taken over the Hellhole stringline hub and arrested General Adolphus. But plans often went awry.…

  If Diadem Michella had just stayed on Sonjeera rather than flouncing her way into a complex military operation as if it were some kind of picnic, Percival would have delivered the whole Deep Zone for her to rule—for good or ill. Without doubt, the Diadem would have exacted severe reprisals upon the rebellious colony worlds, which gave Percival cause to reconsider. Was that really the best possible outcome? Who truly would have benefited from that? The Constellation? The Deep Zone? Anyone? Diadem Michella herself?

  As he waited at Tehila orbit for repairs to be completed, and for new orders to arrive from the Council on Sonjeera, he killed time in his stateroom. It was hard to be enthusiastic when every possible decision was a bad one.

  Though he had spent over an hour crafting it, the letter he had dispatched by emergency courier drone was a weak statement, barely masking his failure, but facts were facts. It did not matter that Michella should never have been part of the Tehila operation in the first place. He had failed to protect the Diadem of the Constellation. Michella Duchenet had been snatched out from under his nose. He could blame no one else for that.

  No matter what, the Council would make him a scapegoat. Some noble would remind them all of Percival’s recent defeat at the hands of General Adolphus. They would blame him for Escobar’s failings as well, pointing out how his son’s blunder had let much of the Constellation fleet fall into enemy hands. Percival had no choice but to accept responsibility for Escobar. The Commodore had trained him, much to his frustration.

  After the Diadem had been kidnapped, Percival realized he should have managed the pursuit better, should have had guardian ships ready to intercept any vessel that tried to escape. In preparation for the mission launch, he had installed traditional patrols, increased security down at the Tehila spaceport, but his focus had been on the imminent departure. Under normal circumstances, any military tribunal would have agreed with his command decisions—until something went wrong. And with Michella Duchenet now held hostage by the General, something had indeed gone terribly wrong.

  In shock, he had watched the Diadem destroy the Sonjeera spaceport without flinching because of some unverified alien threat, and then she had simply flown away with him to the Deep Zone. It seemed a cowardly, or at the very least a tone-deaf and oblivious act. Now Michella had been abducted and whisked away to the heart of enemy territory.

  As a military officer, he knew his choices should be clear-cut. He simply could not allow the Deep Zone rebellion to succeed, but he also found it increasingly difficult to support the Diadem’s repeated inflammatory decisions. He also knew the other Council members—especially her heir-apparent Lord Selik Riomini—and Percival wasn’t certain that her successor would be any better than Michella Duchenet. Commodore Hallholme was no longer sure what he was fighting for.

  He answered the chime at his stateroom door to find Duff Adkins with a report in his hands and a smile on his face. Percival had not seen the man smile much in recent months. “Good news for a change, Commodore.”

  “You have me at a loss for words, Duff. What is it?”

  “Repairs are completed on the sabotaged terminus ring. The integrity of the iperion line is intact, and we’ve been sending test flights out, ships heading to the edge of the solar system and back. The tests are going perfectly and are almost complete, so the fleet should be able to depart soon. If that is what you wish.”

  “As soon as we get new orders from Sonjeera.”

  Percival limped to his wardrobe locker and removed his uniform jacket, which Duff helped him put on. The old Commodore’s muscles ached from the degenerative disease that he barely kept under control. Tension was known to accelerate the symptoms of the disease, and he’d had more than enough tension in recent months.

  How he longed to be back on Qiorfu, experimenting with different blends of wine, playing with his two grandsons. At his age, after all he’d done, he should be telling war stories and exaggerating his bravery, not trying to make more legends about himself.

  Duff carefully straightened the Commodore’s collar, adjusted one of his medals. His aide seemed to know his troubled thoughts and provided his advice, as always. “With or without orders from Sonjeera, there really is no other decision, sir. You know it will be worse for you if you vacillate rather than act.”

  “Yes, Duff. We will proceed with our mission, attempt to rescue Diadem Michella, and defeat our enemy, even though the General now knows we’re coming.” He brushed down his muttonchop sideburns and emerged from his stateroom. “Just an average day at work for us.”

  Upon reaching the bridge, the Commodore was pleased to receive successful reports from all the test flights. The damage to the terminus ring had been repaired and checked, and now all the fully armed military ships were reloaded aboard the two stringline haulers. At last, the fleet was ready. He sent an all-ship signal announcing departure in two hours.

  Percival had monitored activity at the Tehila spaceport and at the old governmental mansion—with the Diadem gone, Administrator Reming had reassumed the role of interim planetary leadership. Percival didn’t care about the local politics. He had established his military base here, but his original orders were to conquer Hellhole. It was not his place to worry about how the Constellation would govern the former rebel worlds once he did his job.

  Reming transmitted an exuberant message to the flagship. “Commodore, I wish you the best of success! I pray that you are able to return Diadem Michella to us safe and sound.” His expression and tone of voice didn’t match the enthusiasm that his words implied.

  Then a speedy courier drone raced in along the stringline from Sonjeera, no doubt bearing the long-awaited message from the Council. Percival learned of this with a mixture of relief and disappointment, knowing that the new orders would surely tangle his carefully laid plans. He sighed at the added complication. If only his fleet had left an hour sooner …

  He ordered the message brought to him immediately. Now, at least, he would know. If they angrily relieved him of command for letting Michella be taken, then so be it.

  He carried the code-locked message file to his ready room just off the bridge, intending to review it in private, but then decided that he wanted Duff Adkins there with him. With the door sealed, he played the message. The two men watched Selik Riomini’s image shimmer before them.

  “Commodore Hallholme, I was alarmed to hear of your recent setback at Tehila, but before I present your revised orders, I must also inform you of changes that have occurred here in the Crown Jewels.” He sounded smug.

  “After the devastating explosion at the Sonjeera spaceport, the Council of Nobles met in emergency session.
By her own admission, Michella Duchenet caused that horrific event, at her direct order. Not only did she destroy a major portion of our spaceport, causing a severe strategic setback in time of war, but she also caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, disrupted our economy, and then turned her back on the Crown Jewels. By unanimous acclamation, the Council removed Michella Duchenet from her position and installed me as the new Diadem.

  “Michella Duchenet has been branded an outlaw. You are not to let her situation affect your mission in any way whatsoever. The fact that she is being held hostage by General Adolphus is of no consequence. Michella is no longer of any value to him as a bargaining chip. Our enemy must be made to understand that.

  “I, Selik Riomini, am the rightful Diadem of the Constellation. These are my orders: If feasible, the criminal Michella Duchenet is to be brought back to Sonjeera for trial and punishment, but you are not to waste any time or expend any effort on rescue.

  “Your original mission stands: Take your fleet, defeat the rebel General, and seize control of his stringline hub. You are ordered to kill Tiber Adolphus. If you had done that the first time, you would have saved us a great deal of trouble.” Riomini paused, and even in the recorded image his anger was palpable. “Afterward, as a punitive measure, I want you to raze his entire planet, wipe out the cities and settlements, leave its surface a burning blister, just as I did on Theser.” The Black Lord’s face darkened, and his eyes seemed to stab directly into Percival’s heart as he ended the message.

  Hearing this, Adkins recoiled. “He can’t possibly mean that.”

  “I’m afraid he does, Duff. I hope, but do not expect, that his orders stop there. After we finish on planet Hallholme, he may well command us to devastate other Deep Zone worlds.” Percival’s jaw ached from clenching it so hard.

  After the projection faded, Percival was left staring at the vacant space. The Black Lord’s disrespect rankled. If you had done that the first time, you would have saved us a great deal of trouble. Percival had grown to dislike Diadem Michella’s leadership abilities, and now he thought he would like Diadem Riomini’s administration even less.