Thanks to Uroa’s memories, Keana knew what the original Xaya had been like. She remembered the lush plains of succulent groundcover on which the Xayans fed, the glorious blooms that attracted lazy insects, the fungi that released phosphorescent spores, which could provide a euphoric rush if consumed upon first release … and the flourishing oases of red weed that provided arboreal habitats for flying invertebrates, such as bobbing jellyfish that wafted gently on the breezes.
The Ro-Xayans had preserved it all here, rebuilding a semblance of their ruined home over the centuries. The interior of this asteroid was an amazing alien garden. Her human nose did not have the sensory apparatus to appreciate all the nuances of scent patterns that had been part of the music of Xaya just like colors and sounds. Keana found it breathtaking.
Inside her, though, Uroa was shocked at what she saw.
The large asteroid was like a hollowed-out egg, with a camouflaged exterior that made it look like a nondescript celestial rock, but internally the painstakingly preserved environment was a self-sustaining ecosystem.
Keana looked up and saw airborne jellyfish floating along, shifting in pastel shades and patterns of pale blue, pink, and orange. Tendrils of red weed, suspended toward the center of the hollow asteroid, drifted languidly, held up by empty bladders.
She stepped cautiously forward, knowing she had to be a leader, a representative trying to save her world. Internally, Uroa expressed great concern to her. “They are Ro-Xayans—you must not trust them!”
“I haven’t even spoken to them yet,” she said aloud.
Moving on his long undercarriage, Lodo accompanied her into the immense enclosure. She could sense that he was anxious, intimidated. Tanja Hu and Ian Walfor hung back closer to their ship, knowing that Keana and Lodo would be the crux of this encounter.
Inside the gigantic chamber, groups of Ro-Xayans waited for them, looking toward the visitors with curious, unreadable expressions. The powerful rival aliens had used telemancy to capture Walfor’s ship, but they made no threatening moves now, did not surge forward to seize the captives. The Ro-Xayans simply waited to face them.
Keana spoke to her companions, as much to reassure herself as the others, “This is what I wanted. This is the gamble I needed to make. We have to speak with them and try to save the planet.”
Inside her mind, Uroa cautioned, “You are thinking like a human. You expect them to be reasonable.”
“I have to, otherwise we have no chance,” Keana said. With Hellhole and the entire Xayan race at stake, she had to try.
As if relenting and deciding to help in her efforts to communicate with them, Uroa fed more details into her mind, giving her new information about the terrible schism, the civil war that had split their race, how Zairic and his fellow visionaries tried to guide all Xayans to their evolutionary destiny. Keana could barely think straight as he continued to flood her with emotions, hammering her with the dismay he’d felt when the splinter faction left, and then the disbelieving horror as the remaining Xayans realized that their own fellows intended to destroy them rather than admit defeat.
Keana forced her own personality back to the fore. “I will talk with them,” she insisted. “If we fail, Hellhole is going to be devastated in four days.”
Tanja ventured forward, looking angry and unsettled. “But why are they hurling their own habitat asteroid toward the planet, along with the others? Why would they destroy themselves as well?”
Lodo turned to her and said, “Because the Ro-Xayans are insane. Their actions have already established that.”
Inside the immense, hollow chamber, thousands of aliens gathered to receive the strangers. All were pale, soft, and abuzz with a murmur of shared conversation, excitement, and concern. Rising from the curved stone walls were buildings, colorful free-form buildings like the ones the shadow-Xayans had erected in their settlement near the slickwater pools. There was even a cloudless blue, artificial sky, with wisps of cloud formations in it. She saw no semblance of a sun, and the light source was concealed.
Finally, the Ro-Xayans came toward them in throngs. These creatures had a different appearance from the four Originals rescued from the deep redoubt; they exhibited more color, splashes of pigmentation and rivers of mottled spots that may have been natural coloration, or possibly artificial body paint.
Since Lodo was the only Xayan there, the aliens focused their dark, spiraling eyes on him, but said nothing. He asked aloud, “Who represents you?”
From the Uroa presence inside her, Keana could understand their language. “We all speak with one voice,” said the foremost Ro-Xayan, a tall male with a flair of bright blue that ran up his chest and around to the back of his neck. “You are one of the others.”
“I am one of the survivors,” Lodo said. Keana realized he was using his telemancy to implement comprehension among their human companions as well.
“I am Zhaday. You are free to address me and address all these others.”
Keana stepped forward next to Lodo. “I am Keana, and I speak for the human race—those whom you would destroy when your asteroids strike Xaya.”
“Unfortunate,” said Zhaday. “You should not be there. Our goal is to eradicate the Xayan species and prevent ala’ru. You are not our enemy.” But he looked closer at her eyes.
“You can’t smash our planets and expect us to brush it off,” said Walfor.
Ignoring this, Zhaday studied Keana and said, “How is it that you have a glimmer in your eyes, a perceptible trace of a Xayan? I find that interesting, and disturbing.”
She said, “I am also Uroa, a Xayan leader who remembers your schism, who remembers what you did to the planet the first time. His memories and experiences are preserved within me. I have reawakened them.”
Lodo said, “And I remember such events firsthand. I was there in the end days. Several of us were sealed in a vault and preserved, and we have only recently reawakened. I was there when you sent the asteroid crashing into sacred Xaya. I witnessed it with my own eyes.”
After pondering, Zhaday said, “I have absorbed countless histories myself. I know the records and memories of many—as well as the justifications for what my faction did. The first asteroid should have been enough to obliterate all of the ala’ru fanatics. It should have been enough to save the future. But now, sadly, we know it was not enough. And there is no hope.”
“Most Xayans were indeed wiped out,” Keana said. “But everything that formed their essence was stored in slickwater. They were preserved to be awakened again. When human colonists came to the planet, they found the slickwater.”
The other Ro-Xayans crowded closer, listening, murmuring. “Slickwater is not known to us,” Zhaday said.
“It was created by Zairic, our great warrior-philosopher,” Lodo said. “He saved most of our race, and we are blossoming again. As we join with human minds, the resulting hybrids are vastly stronger than mere Xayans. You cannot stop ala’ru,” Lodo insisted. “We are very close.”
Zhaday turned in alarm to the other Ro-Xayans. Their background humming language grew louder, like a thunderstorm.
Keana said in a firm voice, “We cannot let you destroy all the progress we’ve made. Just look at what you’ve saved here. Let me try to heal the rift between your factions. There is no need for this philosophical war to continue.”
“It will not continue,” said Zhaday. “It must end. We had plans and hopes. We wanted to preserve beautiful Xaya for the future, wanted to restore our pristine world. Before sending the asteroid long ago, we preserved all that Xaya was, intending to rebuild our civilization without the threat of the ala’ru fanatics. But we were deluded.”
“Yes, Xaya is awakening again,” Keana noted. “Vegetation is growing. Species are reproducing and spreading out—thanks to your own efforts, we now know. The Xayan people are awakening from the slickwater. The planet is coming back!”
In a somber, pulsing tone, Zhaday said, “And that is why you give us no choice but to attack Xaya agai
n—this time with even more force. Our determination was insufficient the first time. We hoped a less extreme solution might work, but ala’ru is too dangerous for us to ignore, and this time we can allow nothing to remain. There must be no chance whatsoever for resurrection, not the tiniest scrap of life. No memories in your slickwater, no hint of a Xayan mind. No echo of our civilization can remain anywhere on the planet, anywhere in the universe. We must obliterate ourselves along with it, just to be certain.” He paused a long moment. “It is that important to stop ala’ru.”
62
From his fascination with ancient Earth military history, General Tiber Adolphus knew the old colloquialism of a “Mexican standoff.” His ships were armed and ready, an impressive defensive force that now included the recaptured warships from Umber. But even the slightest setback in the evacuation would cost many lives, and he was preoccupied with a nonstop effort of filling warships, cargo haulers, and shuttles to get the people away to safety.
He did not intend to take all those people or all those vital ships into battle.
Commodore Hallholme’s unexpected fleet had hurtled in along the Umber stringline with orders to seize the Hellhole stringline hub and impose Constellation rule—but that would be an empty conquest, once the planet itself was destroyed within days.
Yes, even though his instruments could detect the cluster of incoming, unnatural asteroids, Hallholme did not budge. “General Adolphus, I have a superior military force. My ships are armed and prepared to fire. I demand your immediate surrender.”
Under the hovering threat of the Constellation fleet, evacuation operations ground to a halt, and the Commodore remained implacable. The ships in transit were at risk of capture or destruction. The Ankor and Michella Town spaceports were crowded with panicked people desperate to get off the planet, but all launches were canceled. The shuttles already docked at the stringline hub or loaded aboard the DZDF battleships could not return to the surface to load more evacuees.
Everything remained at a standstill, and General Adolphus resented every lost minute. “Commodore, you can see our urgent situation. Put aside your political obsessions and personal animosity toward me. I have to save my people. You can either assist, or you can get out of the way.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, General. I have my orders.”
Adolphus looked at the man, who was quite a bit older than he, hair grayer, face gaunt, eyes more troubled. “We have faced each other for years, and I’ve taken your measure. If you can sit back and let my entire population die, then you are not an honorable man at all.”
Hallholme appeared stung by the comment, but said, “My duty remains unchanged. I have sworn to defend the Constellation.”
He had already informed Adolphus that his ships were equipped with enhanced shielding to protect against telemancy blasts, and he promised that his brute-force projectile weapons could cause enormous damage to all the ships crowded around the hub. He doubted if the aliens could defend against all of his weapons.
Adolphus didn’t inform him that the shadow-Xayans were unlikely to offer their telemancy defenses, since the groups of converts had withdrawn into a last-minute frantic push to reach their evolutionary ascension before the whole world was destroyed.
“Incoming ship, General,” said Lieutenant Sendell. “It’s a stringline freighter from Nicles.”
Adolphus felt a cold wash of tension, worried that yet another Deep Zone world had folded, just like Umber and Tehila. He asked Sendell to call up shipping records, and was relieved to learn this was a scheduled arrival. The Hellhole stringline hub was still the center of DZ commercial traffic, and word of the crisis had not yet spread to the other planets.
The cargo ship was undoubtedly loaded with grains, processed metals, and crystal data-storage units for which Nicles was known. The Deep Zone was just developing its network of commodities, determining which worlds were the best sources of particular materials, and which other worlds needed those goods. Adolphus felt an inward groan. If only the DZ had a chance to establish a normal existence.…
As the Nicles freighter decelerated, its pilot was alarmed to plunge into the middle of the standoff. Commodore Hallholme immediately dispatched three midsize destroyers, which surrounded and captured the freighter before it could reach the stringline hub.
The Commodore transmitted again to the Jacob’s bridge. “General, we will hold that ship, its passengers, and crew until you surrender.”
Adolphus leaned forward, his voice a low growl. He hadn’t wanted to stoop to such measures, but he had little time and no patience for finesse or subtle diplomacy. “Taking hostages and using human shields—once again you show your true colors, Commodore.” He had to make the threat clear. “Are you certain you want to play the hostage card again? You said you don’t care that we have Diadem Michella Duchenet, but I am also holding thousands of Constellation prisoners of war—including your son.”
He cut off the transmission and let the Commodore stew on that, then opened a new channel to Slickwater Springs. Sophie looked worried when she came on-screen. “We’ve had an emergency here, Tiber. A smoke storm forced us to buckle down before we could start evacuation prep, and then a quake released a buried torpedo ant nest. Numerous casualties—it’s a disaster.”
“What about the POWs? Are they safe?”
“The camp is in the next valley over and was not affected. But the Diadem’s aide, Ishop Heer … he tried to kill Michella, and then he ran out into the storm. He’s dead.”
Adolphus couldn’t say he would grieve overmuch. “What I need to know most of all—have the escaped POWs been found yet?”
She looked tense and disturbed. Everyone knew they had very little time left. She didn’t give him the answer he wanted to hear, but the one he expected. “No word yet, but after this much time, the chances of their survival are practically nil. Cristoph is ready to discontinue his search—we’ll need to focus on the evacuation. We could be using those search flyers to move people from outlying mining settlements.”
“Have them do one more sweep … but then send him to Ankor to assist.”
He sat back and sighed. Now he had to decide how long he could maintain his bluff with the Commodore.
63
The alien stood in the middle of the clearing, gazing upward into the darkening sky. “It won’t be long now. The asteroids will strike in a few days.”
“But you are certain they’ll come?” Bolton asked. He had no way of getting any sort of technical verification.
Jonwi’s words thrummed again. “They will come. There is no doubt.”
In the deepening night surrounded by the suspended red weed, Bolton shivered. He knew he should find a place on the soft groundcover to sleep, but what was the point of continuing to look for a way to survive? Of trying to save the Redcom? Despite the red weed that wrapped him, Escobar was obviously dying, and would probably perish even before the asteroid bombardment. Bolton found that tragic.
By now the searchers must have given up looking for them. Perhaps they had found the wrecked Trakmaster and what was left of Yimidi, maybe even the remains of Vingh in the arroyo. But if planet-killing asteroids were indeed hurtling in, why would anyone waste time or effort looking for a couple of escapees? Bolton stood under the whispering, drifting stalks of red weed, which emitted a shower of luminous spores that sparkled like fireflies as they were released into the air.
If only another few days remained, though, he wished he could be with his own people.…
As he worked in his pristine oasis, Jonwi seemed like a gentle soul, nurturing, even a dreamer. He had tended Escobar, kept him alive for this long, yet he refused to transport the gravely wounded man to a place where he could receive medical attention. Each time Bolton asked, begged for Jonwi’s help, the alien rebuffed him, insisting that he would not leave his precious garden.
Bolton stood on the boundary of the red weeds now, peering into the bleak, starlit wasteland, as if daring some alien
predator to leap out at him. Though he had enough to eat from the special vegetation that Jonwi told him was edible, his stomach rumbled. After several days, his body was growing less able to draw the nutrients he needed, and the flavors all had a bitter aftertaste. He longed for something familiar on his palate.
Escobar lay in a deep, fading coma. He had not awakened again since his restless mumbling the previous day. The deep gash on his neck was covered with a hardened scab, his skin was clammy and cold, and the pulse Bolton could feel on his neck was barely perceptible.
Bolton needed to take the man away from here! But he could not do so, if Jonwi refused to help. Regardless, he had no idea which direction to go in the wild landscape.…
As he watched the night skies, he noticed many tiny lights, an increased number of spacecraft, an apparent flurry of activity in orbit. Surely, General Adolphus would have detected the incoming asteroids—perhaps even now he was evacuating the planet. Bolton hoped at least that the Constellation prisoners in the camp would be taken to safety.
But that wouldn’t do him, or Escobar, any good at all.
Sitting alone in the darkness with the humming sounds of native Hellhole life forms all around him, he wondered where Keana was … and if she might be worried about him.
When he went back to the glade where Escobar lay, he found that Jonwi had returned from a mysterious inspection of the densest forest. Bolton stood before him, said, “I have a solution, a possible way to save my friend.”
Jonwi gazed at him without saying anything, but in the alien’s slowly spiraling eyes, Bolton detected what he thought was skepticism. “Your friend is dying. He cannot be saved.”
Bolton grasped at any possibility. “Unless we immerse him in slickwater. We were told the pools can heal people. Encix promised miracles when she tried to get us to join the converts. I implore you, help us get back to the settlement and the pools. Please! If the slickwater can save him, then why not give him that chance?”
Hellhole Inferno Page 36
