Hellhole

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “If the Diadem accepted Governor Goler’s reports without reservation, then I wouldn’t be here,” Ishop said. “Hallholme has installed more satellites than any other Deep Zone world seems to need.”

  Adolphus relaxed. “Fortunately, Mr Heer, the static storm you’re about to experience will give you a dramatic demonstration of exactly why we need the sats.” Above them, the sky had visibly sickened with the oncoming turmoil. “We have worse weather than any other DZ world. Our climatologists have to rewrite their models after each major storm.”

  “When will it hit?” Ishop looked out to the darkening sky as they left the outer buildings of the colony town behind.

  The driver turned around. “I had hoped to outrun it, General, but it’ll most likely catch up with us before we reach HQ.”

  “Increase speed, Lieutenant.”

  The spy gave Adolphus a dubious look, as if he were being tricked, but the skies continued to blacken, and horizontal lightning bursts appeared overhead. The General decided to make Ishop squirm just a bit more. “It’s a bad storm, too – should last for hours. Our weathersats have mapped its extent. Lieutenant Spencer, it might be best if we hurry it up a bit more. Best speed.”

  “Yes, General.” The driver accelerated the vehicle to its maximum speed for the final kilometer.

  A furious rumble rolled across the sky, accompanied by a dancing strobe-display of horizontal lightning. Surface-to-sky bursts tore up the landscape, exploding little craters in the dirt. Ishop Heer looked quite satisfactorily intimidated. He adjusted his breathing mask, tugged at his filmgloves.

  Still staring ahead, Adolphus said, “You see why we place so much importance on satellite launches and climate monitoring?”

  The Diadem’s inspector did not argue.

  The General had built his home and administrative headquarters several kilometers outside of Michella Town, and now the vehicle arrived at the big estate as the weather grew worse. The large, rustic manor house had gables, a shaded porch, and numerous wide windows flanked by armored shutters. In a crude approximation of a lawn, native vegetation had been cultivated so that it spread out in a mossy, turquoise-colored swath; other sections of landscaping contained languidly swaying lumpy ferns and knotted, hardy groundcover.

  His loyal men had insisted on creating a worthy residence for their revered commander, and while Adolphus did not require the extravagance or spaciousness of a mansion, he did want to demonstrate a tangible hope that this rugged frontier world could become civilized.

  “Welcome to my estate. I’ve named it Elba – for obvious reasons.” He smiled over at Ishop Heer, a subtle attempt to put the man in his place, to make him feel inadequate. No one in the Constellation bothered with ancient Earth military history, and the man couldn’t possibly have any idea what he was talking about.

  “Frankly, it might have been more appropriate if you named it St Helena,” Ishop said with a sniff. He adjusted his breathing mask. “After his exile to the original Elba, the military leader Napoleon – whom you so obviously admire, Administrator – was able to escape and cause further havoc for the legitimate government. After he was defeated and sent to St Helena, though, he died a broken man.”

  Adolphus was surprised at the man’s knowledge, even delighted. Not a single one of the previous inspectors had even recognized Napoleon’s name. There was something different about this man. “You know your history, Mr Heer.”

  “I did my research on you, Administrator. Your interests are no secret to the Diadem, or to me.” Behind his facemask, he was probably smiling.

  Just as the storm’s violent fringe cracked open around them, the driver pulled the groundcar into the underground parking bay, where they were safe from the weather. Ishop climbed out, brushed off his formal garments, and looked around as if expecting a welcoming party. He tugged his gloves to straighten them. “You are required to give me full access and accommodations until my inspection is complete, Administrator. I need to see your home, your offices, your records.”

  “As always, I will do precisely as Diadem Michella commands.” Adolphus kept his voice stiff, giving the inspector no clue as to his state of mind.

  With the big storm rolling about outside, the residence house seemed large and empty. Adolphus had live-in servants, security officers, and part-time staff, but upon receiving the weather report, he’d let them return to their families in town. For the most part, it was just him and the Diadem’s spy in the big house.

  Maintaining a cool smile and bland attitude, he showed his unwelcome guest through the large kitchens and past a meeting room, a series of offices used by government clerks and his household manager, a room full of filing cabinets, and a few empty offices available for use when the colony size expanded; intent only on the main records, Heer apparently found none of the rooms interesting. He noted several comments on his list, without showing them to the General. Adolphus did not offer the man refreshments, nor did Heer ask for any. Once inside the building, however, he did remove his facemask.

  Ishop Heer finally perked up when they entered the General’s private study, which contained his collection of old books, journals, mementoes, and trophies he had collected during the five-year-long rebellion. He stood before a framed piece of wreckage, labeled as shrapnel from one of Adolphus’s fallen ships. “Do you keep so many items as a reminder of your loss, Administrator?”

  “Not at all, Mr Heer. I keep them so that there remains an accurate record of what happened. I’ve seen the official histories.”

  The inspector’s lips pursed in a sour pout, but he chose not to continue the argument.

  In bright pools of light in places of honor, vitrines held six contorted, half-melted artifacts of decidedly non-human origin – rare scraps from Hallholme’s original alien civilization that had been annihilated by the asteroid impact. Long fascinated by the strange detritus, Adolphus had posted a standing bounty for alien artifacts of any kind. Because the cosmic strike had created a worldwide holocaust, he doubted any functional relics would ever be found, but he held onto hope. He liked to gaze into the transparent display cases, pondering the vanished civilization.

  The storm continued to whirl outside, muffled by the armored shutters sealed across the windows. Now that he was in the protection of the house, Ishop Heer focused intently on his business. “I demand to see your daily logs, Administrator, so that I may compare them with all filings since the formation of the colony. I also have the reports of previous inspectors, tribute auditors and planetary-resource assessors. I have a job to do, and you have no choice but to cooperate.” His threat sounded hollow.

  “By all means.” Adolphus allowed the man to sit at his own desk – a moderately generous gesture – called up the databases for Ishop Heer and let him pore over the information. “So you think you can find something that all of your predecessors missed?”

  The spy sounded matter-of-fact, not arrogant. He took out his list. “I’m better at the job than they were. We’ll see if your nose is as clean as you’d like us to believe.”

  “Yes, we’ll see. You have full access. Take as long as you like.” Adolphus stepped away.

  The documents were complete fabrications, of course – there were details he didn’t dare let Michella discover – but these files should be accurate enough to satisfy Ishop Heer.

  As the man read screen after screen, checking off items on his own notes and ignoring his host, Adolphus pulled one of the old volumes from a shelf and relaxed in a comfortable chair, feigning insouciance. Diadem Michella still hadn’t figured out how he and his followers survived their first year here, after she had stacked the deck so heavily against him by omitting vital supplies and medicines, mislabeling food stocks, giving them defective tools and materials.

  She had set them up to fail . . . and yet, they hadn’t.

  Living on Sonjeera, surrounded by the glory of the capital city and her well-heeled advisers, the Diadem grossly underestimated how much support remained for his rebelli
on, even under her own nose. Among his banished soldiers were engineers, supply sergeants, biological experts, special ops crews, survivalists. Before he departed on his voyage of shame, Adolphus had sent out an invitation to the soldiers’ families and friends, and – to his surprise – many accepted, choosing to forsake the rotten core of the Constellation.

  Better to rule on Hellhole than to serve on Sonjeera.

  While delivering the exiles, the Constellation stringline captain had smuggled Adolphus a storage crystal containing a complete database of Hallholme survey records, which helped the General and his experts make plans for their colony. That had made a great deal of difference.

  After the stringline hauler departed, leaving them on the bleak planet, with no further contact expected for at least a month, Adolphus addressed those who had accompanied him into exile. “Once again, we must fight an adversary named Hallholme to survive – the planet this time, not the Commodore.”

  Such a bold undertaking would never have succeeded with a random group of people, but these fighters had served with him, sworn their lives to him. The General ran the fledgling colony like a military operation. He inventoried his personnel and their skills, mapped out the path to survival, kept a careful database of foodstuffs, seed stock, machinery.

  Immediately laying out the grid for the main town, Adolphus dispatched scouts to explore resources – aquifers, metal deposits, native vegetation that could be processed into something useful, minerals and building stone. His teams set up greenhouse domes, foundries, bare-bones manufacturing centers, power plants. Drilling crews got the water pumping and purified; military engineers erected shelters designed to endure the harsh climate (what little was known of it). The banished workers built generators, activated energy cells, planted and harvested crops.

  They survived the first year by the narrowest of margins.

  Only Adolphus knew how close it was. Long before the prepackaged supplies ran out, he reviewed the accounting, did a physical inventory, met with his supply sergeants, calculated what they would need . . . and the numbers didn’t add up. The Diadem had intentionally reduced the promised shipments and given them too little to live on.

  However, General Adolphus still had friends working behind the scenes back in the Crown Jewels. Undocumented supplies arrived in the downboxes on the next stringline delivery, additional protein to supplement the harvest from the domed greenhouses. For seven months, the colonists continued to find surreptitious stashes that appeared on no manifest.

  And then the extra packages had stopped, abruptly. Adolphus suspected something bad had happened to the nameless sympathizers, but he doubted he would ever know. Regardless, those smuggled supplies had been enough to get them over the hump. Michella must have been extremely frustrated . . .

  Adolphus let Ishop Heer continue his work for hours. At first, the General remained in the room, making for an intentionally uncomfortable environment. The Diadem’s aide always knew the General was breathing down his neck, watching him . . . but Ishop didn’t seem to mind. He concentrated on the records with the intensity of a patient yet hungry predator.

  Eventually, Adolphus went off to dinner, offering none to the other man. The act was petty, but by making his anger and annoyance plain, Adolphus showed Ishop what he expected to see (and the anger was indeed real).

  Even while the General dined, Ishop did not leave his work. Hidden imagers monitored the inspector the whole time. The static-storm continued to rage at its full intensity, but Elba was shielded and safe.

  When Adolphus returned to the study, Ishop had his notes stacked neatly, his screen turned to face the door. He already had the Hellhole records that were presented to the regular tribute auditors – files that the General doctored in order to minimize the apparent resources of Hellhole, thus reducing what he was required to pay to the Constellation. Adolphus also kept another set of files that he referred to as “the real records.”

  Ishop wore a look of triumph. “Your fascination with Napoleon is your undoing, Administrator.” He leaned back in the chair, enjoying the moment. “You’ve been caught.”

  “Caught at what, Mr Heer?” A brief chill ran down his spine, but he showed none of it.

  “I found your secure records containing the coded locations of additional mining operations, metal deposits, profitable industries. Secret files under a deeply hidden directory named St Helena. Did you really think I wouldn’t eventually guess your password of Josephine?” He sounded immensely pleased with himself as he tapped the screen. “None of the previous inspectors discovered that you’ve got an entire secondary network of resources. Tin mines, copper mines, iron mines – fifteen in all. Two smelters and mills. None of which were recorded on your accounting sheets.”

  “Those are merely pilot projects,” Adolphus said, knowing the answer wouldn’t hold up under detailed scrutiny. “I have hundreds of test shafts and geological surveys. Not all of them are viable. Are you saying the Diadem would like me to include a shipment of raw bauxite as part of our next tribute payment?”

  “It seems profitable enough,” Ishop said. “These resources increase the calculations of this planet’s net worth, which affects the amount of tribute you owe. The mere fact that you would conceal them from the Diadem raises questions. She has long suspected you of hiding information from her.”

  Adolphus clenched his jaw, looking both angry and guilty, and Ishop reveled in his reaction. For years, the Diadem’s inspectors had poked around, showing their lack of imagination, frustrated because they never found anything. This man had actually followed the hidden hints that none of the others noticed.

  Finally, Adolphus said, “I am impressed.”

  The second set of records was a red herring, however. The General had established and buried them long ago just in case he needed a bone to throw to any particularly persistent spy – a handful of mines that were no more productive or exciting than most others. Adolphus knew he would be fined, and supposedly embarrassed, but the Diadem’s man rejoiced in his victory, so the hidden information had served its purpose. Let the Diadem think she had caught him.

  Ishop sniffed, making a great show of checking off the last item on his list. “You remind us constantly that you are an honorable man, Administrator Adolphus. You built a tall pedestal for yourself, but your feet are made of clay just like so many others. You have cheated and lied. How is that honorable?”

  Adolphus just laughed. “Perhaps you don’t understand honor, Mr Heer. I made binding promises to the Diadem. I swore to pay the tribute that Sonjeera’s inspectors determined to be appropriate. I did not, however, swear to tell the whole truth to my enemy. I haven’t broken my word – look at the document for yourself.”

  “I have memorized it.” Ishop hesitated, his brow furrowing as he went over the words in his mind. “You deliberately misconstrued its intent.”

  “No, I deliberately paid attention – very close attention – to what I agreed to do.”

  “And now your secret is out.” The inspector turned from the data screens with a frustrated scowl. “I believe I’ve seen all I need to. I have factored in the additional productivity. Your required payment will henceforth increase, and I will impose penalties for your indiscretion.”

  “It was a risk I chose to take.” Adolphus shrugged. “Otherwise, everything is in order?”

  “It appears to be.”

  Adolphus knew what he was supposed to say, like a formal set of procedures on a checklist. “Therefore, I’ve cooperated with you fully, according to the terms of our agreement? Have I fulfilled my obligations to you, the duly appointed inspector from the Constellation?”

  It must have seemed like a victory he didn’t want to give the General, but Ishop had no choice. “Yes, you have, Administrator. I believe I am finished.” He looked ready to sign a receipt, if asked.

  “Good. Follow me, please.” At a brisk pace, Adolphus led the Diadem’s watchdog past a withdrawing room and the banquet hall, where he hosted recept
ions when Sophie Vence insisted. He wished she could be with him now. On a stormy night like this, it would have been good to sit by the fire, just the two of them, enjoying a fine meal and relaxing in each other’s company.

  Instead, he had this intruder . . .

  When the two men reached the front entry that led out to the open porch, General Adolphus opened the door. With a blast of wind and a crackle of blown dust, he revealed the full force of the bombastic holocaust outside. Thanks to the storm, they couldn’t even see the bright lights of Michella Town.

  Taken aback by the fury of the weather, Ishop hesitated on the threshold. He fumbled for his facemask, adjusted his gloves. Adolphus tried to nudge him forward, but the man didn’t budge.

  Adolphus said, “You have finished your work, Mr Heer – you said so yourself. I cooperated fully during the inspection, but I am not required to have anything further to do with you. Out you go. I’m not an innkeeper, and you’re no longer welcome in my home.” He gave another push, harder this time, and Ishop scrambled for footing on the porch. “Good luck finding your way back to town. It’s only a few kilometers.”

  Blinking at the wind and lightning blasts, the visitor grew pale. “You can’t possibly send me out into a storm like that.”

  “I most certainly can. As of this moment, you are trespassing. You should leave.”

  The inspector gaped at him in disbelief. “I won’t last more than five minutes out there!” Sweat stood out on his scalp again.

  “Oh, I’d guess substantially less than five minutes, but you could surprise me. Keep your head down when you run.”

  “I refuse!”

  “But you were the one who insisted on my absolute adherence to the strict exile agreement, Mr Heer. I am fully within my rights.”

  The Diadem’s man lowered his voice to an angry growl. “If you would do this to me, then you are indeed a monster.”

  “Exactly as your history books portray me. Don’t you read your own propaganda?”

  Ishop was at a loss for words, realizing his unaccustomed powerlessness in this situation. Adolphus let the tension build in the air for a few moments longer, then, having pushed the matter far enough, he relented. He took a step back and lowered his voice. “Anyone who would abandon a person to such a hostile place is indeed a monster. Wait . . . that’s exactly what Diadem Michella did to me and my followers. Do you know how many we lost during the first year here, because of storms like this and countless other hazards?”