Hellhole

by Kevin J. Anderson

  By then, Jako had taught Antonia to be wary, never to trust anyone, and in the process he had unwittingly taught her how to spot the telltale signs of deception in himself. She came to understand how possessive he was, that his convoluted plot had built a cage designed to keep her with him and only him.

  She bided her time for weeks until she saw her opportunity. She cut her hair again, dyed it a different color, and hurried to the Aeroc spaceport and colonization office. After forging the proper agreements and offering a new set of ID that she had obtained without Jako’s knowledge, she boarded the next departing ship.

  And now, on Hellhole, maybe she was at last safe . . .

  Antonia glanced up when she heard excited chatter from other workers tending the hydroponic gardens. They were pointing to the top of the hemisphere overhead. Through the transparent crystal plates, she watched glowing blue spheres of diaphanous energy bounce from point to point on the metal support gridwork.

  “A kind of St Elmo’s Fire,” Devon explained, trying to be nonchalant. “Happens all the time.”

  The blue static whorls furled and bounced. Some of them collided with a shower of sparks and vanished into the air. Other fairy lights continued dancing around the dome’s apex.

  She looked at Devon, thinking about his idealistic curiosity concerning the Crown Jewel planets. “What you have here may not be glamorous, Devon, but be content. There’s a dark side to excitement and adventure.”

  19

  Though it was the territorial capital of eleven Deep Zone colonies, Ridgetop was required to pay tribute to the Constellation just like any other world. Governor Carlson Goler had to encourage the production of useful items from all the planets he supervised under authority from the Diadem. It was his job, though he did not relish it.

  The fledgling DZ settlements struggled to stand on their own feet, even though they still received regular supply shipments from the Crown Jewels. The colonists planted crops to feed themselves, established mining and fabrication industries to meet their own urgent needs and support their own people. They didn’t have surplus resources or luxury items to please the Constellation’s noble families.

  On each of his eleven planets, Territorial Governor Goler had to act as if the Diadem’s priorities were more important than the colonists’. No wonder the individual planetary administrators didn’t like him. How could he sound credible when he didn’t necessarily agree with the idea himself? He had done his best, trying to soften the blow from the Constellation behemoth, even though he could never deflect it. And he had to be careful so that his efforts weren’t obvious, which meant the people didn’t realize how hard he was trying.

  Goler sighed . . . then sneezed. The pollens in Ridgetop’s air often irritated him. He was a lanky, dark-skinned man with a quiet voice and a soft demeanor. Many of his fellow territorial governors considered him innocuous; others simply found him invisible.

  With the next stringline hauler due to arrive in three days, Ridgetop’s required tribute had to be prepped. Goler went out to the steep hillsides to watch heavy machinery clear another swath of spindly but beautiful goldenwood trees. Dirt roads had been carved onto the steep slopes, zigzagging through razed areas where overworked loggers clearcut the tall forest, leaving only stumps and trampled, weedy vegetation.

  Because the goldenwood groves were so gorgeous and serene, such hillside scars offended Goler’s sensibilities, but the logging was necessary; he knew of no other way to meet the tribute. Fortunately, after being severely shocked by cutting, the trees’ root systems responded with an outburst of growth and would cover the hillsides again in a decade.

  Goldenwood lumber shimmered in the sunlight like veins of precious metal, making it a much prized building material. Once processed, the boards were packed into reinforced upboxes and launched into orbit, where they would be retrieved by the stringline hauler, and rushed to Sonjeera for distribution.

  Down in the cutting zone, humming lifters grasped smooth trunks, while trimmers sliced off feathery leaf clusters that looked like strips of metal foil. Scooping up armfuls of sheared-off leaves, male and female lumber workers packed them in crates. In a flash of inspiration, Goler had actually convinced the Constellation that goldenwood leaves were valuable and could be processed into exotic materials and coatings, and they had become moderately popular among nobles on the Crown Jewel world. By contrast, no one on Ridgetop saw much use in the leaves, but the settlers were happy to include them as part of the tribute to the Diadem. It eased their burden a little bit.

  For eleven years now, Michella had been content enough with Goler’s leadership. When he was first assigned to this DZ planet, she told him that his utmost priority was to see that the new colonists caused no trouble. “Ridgetop has already given me enough difficulties, Mr Goler. Let’s not do that again.”

  Before his arrival, the Army of the Constellation had razed an old squatter colony and replaced all the unauthorized settlers with her own people. Over the years, under Goler’s administration, Ridgetop had become a model frontier colony.

  The numerous habitable planets in the Deep Zone had been known for centuries, peripherally mapped by probes and intrepid long-range explorers. But without any established stringline connections, those worlds were considered too distant and inconvenient to be worth a major settlement effort. The only way to reach them had been via old-style FTL transport, which required voyages that lasted months or years.

  Back then, the DZ planets attracted only the hardiest and most desperate colonists. Few were willing to leave the comforts of Crown Jewel civilization to risk the long and expensive voyage, unless they had nothing to lose. Anyone who decided to colonize those enigmatic worlds knew it would be a one-way trip, since old FTL ships had insufficient fuel for the return voyage and had no spacedock or manufacturing facilities on the other end. They were pioneers going off into the unknown.

  The newly extended stringline network changed all that. By dispatching her trailblazer vessels to lay down iperion paths to the frontier planets, Diadem Michella suddenly had fifty-four new worlds under her control. With her blessing, she invited ambitious people from the crowded Crown Jewels to go and make a new start.

  Not surprisingly, the original squatters who had ventured out to claim virgin territory years earlier were not pleased with the sudden influx of outsiders. They had left the Constellation behind long ago and had been surviving without help or interference from the old government. When Michella annexed the entire Deep Zone and subsequently imposed tariffs and taxes, the independents resisted violently. The Diadem was forced to dispatch her military to squash several uprisings, including one on Ridgetop before she brought in Carlson Goler to clean up the mess and start afresh.

  Even though he was Territorial Governor out here, the powerful noble families back in the Crown Jewels considered him little more than a trumped-up civil servant. But Goler did his work and paid attention to the way the wind was blowing. He had always been a realistic man, yet he had already achieved much more than he’d expected. Though fulfilling the Diadem’s regular tribute was a persistent thorn in his side, Goler chose not to rock the boat. The people understood that.

  He had been a career government worker on Sonjeera, with no hope of advancing himself, until his name came up for the Ridgegtop assignment because of his past loyal but unremarkable service. Out in the Deep Zone, though, he had his chance. He considered it an honor to be here in an important job, and he maintained his primary residence on Ridgetop.

  His fellow territorial governors didn’t hold the same view. They had their homes and offices on Sonjeera, working out of the Bureau of Deep Zone affairs – an opulent new building that had been under construction for four years on the edge of Council City. Even though the other governors maintained nominal offices in the Deep Zone, most were loath to leave the opulence and comforts of the Crown Jewels.

  Goler actually liked living on Ridgetop. He had grown rather fond of the place, though the other governors roll
ed their eyes, considering him backward. They argued that it was impractical for a territorial governor to live anywhere other than Sonjeera – why bother with all that extra travel, they asked him, to ride the stringline from Ridgetop back to the Constellation’s main hub, then back out to one of the other worlds under his jurisdiction?

  The fact was, he didn’t much like Sonjeera. Goler preferred his hillside home among the goldenwood groves.

  However, the colonists here still regarded him as the Diadem’s man. No matter how he tried to soften the blow, he was still required to impose obedience and collect the tribute payments.

  Now, out in the lumber processing yards, he signed off on four sealed upboxes, smiled and thanked the workers. As the ground crew prepared the boxes’ internal engines for ascent to orbit, one red-faced man wiped sweat from his eyes and let out a disgusted sigh. “Governor, can’t you tell the Diadem that these trees are worth a hell of a lot more than she gives us credit for? Pad out the tribute a little so we have some breathing room?”

  Goler shook his head, then sneezed again. “I wish I could, but her inspectors watch everything with hawk eyes. Breathe easy, though – I am confident the market price of goldenwood will continue to go up.”

  “Why is that?” The logger did not sound convinced.

  “Because I happen to know the Diadem is building a new lake house out of goldenwood, and after the nobles see it, they’ll all want to imitate it. When the demand increases even more because of that, we can charge them through the nose.”

  The other man grumbled. “I’d like to spend less of my day working for Her Eminence and more of it with my own family.”

  “You’re doing a fine job.” There wasn’t much else Goler could say. “Let’s get these shipments ready. After the stringline hauler leaves, you’ll have weeks to take care of your own needs.”

  Finished with his inspection, Goler returned to his peaceful open-architecture home on the hillside. He had other work to do this afternoon, documents to check, regular reports from the administrators of the other planets he supervised, but he doubted there would be anything crucial. Goler’s underlings considered him a bland and unremarkable leader, but he knew things the others didn’t, a secret about Ridgetop that continued to gnaw at him . . .

  He had designed the A-frame house with large window-walls for the spacious views. The treated goldenwood lumber that comprised the walls, floors, and rafters might be worth a fortune elsewhere, but on Ridgetop, every house was built of the substance.

  The outside air held so much fluffy pollen that Goler’s eyes and nose burned. He sneezed repeatedly after he came through the door. Seeing him back home, his old household servant, Tasmine, brought him a pitcher of iced herbal tea. “I sprinkled dried priniflower in the brew. That’ll stop the inflammation and sneezing.”

  He sipped it gratefully, knowing it would take effect quickly. “Thank you, Tasmine. You work miracles.” The aged woman knew more about Ridgetop’s indigenous plants and their medicinal properties than any other person – but then, she had been here much longer than anyone else. “We should catalog and patent your herbal remedies, Tasmine.”

  She sniffed. “My knowledge is my own. I choose to share it with you, but anyone else from the Constellation can suffer and die for all I care.”

  Her comment did not surprise him. “We’ve got our own biologists, and the pharmaceutical hunters search for anything worthwhile they can bring back to Sonjeera. They may discover some local remedies without your help.” A rare and potent drug would certainly help him pay the regular tribute.

  Tasmine huffed. “They have their gadgets, but they have no common sense, nor experience. It’ll take them longer than you think, Governor.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t point them in the right direction.” Though she seemed stiff and formal, Tasmine was one of his only friends, his only real sounding board on Ridgetop. The Constellation officials considered Goler a bit odd, and the Ridgetop people maintained their distance from the government man, though he tried to keep a cordial relationship. He had to walk a fine line.

  It was from the old household servant that Goler had learned exactly what had happened here on Ridgetop, before he and the Diadem’s fresh wave of colonists had arrived. The truth was very hard for him to keep inside, but he had no choice. Constellation history called it the “Ridgetop Recovery,” but he knew that those innocuous words cloaked a wealth of bloodshed.

  Fifteen years ago, when Constellation representatives informed the original squatters that Ridgetop had been officially annexed, the colonists flat-out refused to concede. They had come here by their own means and survived nearly a century without contact from the Constellation, but Diadem Michella did not accept their claims of independence, especially after she had spent a fortune in star crowns to establish the new stringline path out to Ridgetop.

  The next ship arrived not with colonists or supplies, but with a military force. Operating under strict orders, soldiers swarmed over the Ridgetop settlement, swept through the goldenwood groves that the old settlers had tended for generations. They burned the local homes, hunted down and killed every colonist, buried the bodies in shallow graves, and razed the entire site.

  Sweeping all the horrors under the rug, they erected prefabricated barracks and announced that Ridgetop had been “recovered in the name of the Constellation.” No further details. A wave of eager new colonists came in to claim one of the most hospitable Deep Zone worlds.

  When he took up residence here, pleased with his promotion, Goler was unaware of Ridgetop’s dark history. The second-wave colony had flourished for several years before Tasmine appeared. She served in his household for some time, and when she finally convinced herself to trust Goler, she revealed to him in private that she was the last, the only survivor of the original colony. During the military operations, she had hidden in the trees and watched her family and friends slaughtered.

  She’d given him proof, too, a secret video recording of the killings that showed black-uniformed Riomini mercenaries committing atrocities in the name of the Constellation. Tasmine even guided him out to one of the burial sites, where they found human bones that had been exposed by rains. Afraid to ask questions of Sonjeera, Goler ordered a discreet investigation of the site. Sadly, he didn’t require much convincing.

  The Ridgetop Recovery – the Ridgetop Slaughter – was a black secret that Diadem Michella believed to be safely buried. As much as Goler wanted to expose the horrific story to the public, he didn’t dare. Despite Tasmine’s wounded sense of justice, he could think of no possible positive outcome from doing so, but he knew the truth, and the old woman was satisfied with that.

  Goler felt that the original Ridgetop squatters had been naïve fools to expect anything other than the bloody response they received. But that was no excuse. Those people had been innocent and free, and they hadn’t known any better. Goler knew better, and he didn’t dare stand against Michella’s plans for expansion.

  Looking through the wide windows of his home, he sipped the herbal tea and felt his sinuses begin to clear. The first of the four loaded upboxes roared into the sky, heading to orbit. From here, he could see whole sections of the mountainsides that had been clearcut of golden-wood trees.

  Tasmine stood at his side and watched. When she spoke, her voice was rough and husky. “There’s blood in those trees. We both know it.”

  Goler couldn’t help but agree.

  20

  Tanja Hu climbed the steep hillside above Saporo Harbor without ropes or gear, sometimes picking her way along the abandoned funicular track, other times veering off onto the stable rocks. She wore a small pack and a floppy hat to keep the hot afternoon sun off her face. Her assistant Bebe Nax sometimes accompanied her on other trails, but on this route Tanja preferred to be alone.

  Hiking was one of her favorite forms of exercise, and the latest weather report indicated that this might be her last chance for a climb before the seasonal rains came. The exertion was not
hard for her, since she kept herself active and fit. Her cousins thought she was funny, laughing that she would try to avoid feminine plumpness. Even Uncle Quinn agreed that she was far too skinny, but Tanja didn’t like the idea of any part of herself being soft.

  Today this was about more than a hike.

  She glanced up through the trees to the sky. At least she wouldn’t have to climb back down the same way – if Ian Walfor kept his word.

  Tanja made her way around the pair of weed-overgrown funicular cars, side by side on their parallel tracks. Activating the clock in her earadio, she heard the time: nearly noon. As she neared the top of the rock, perspiring and aching, she watched a white streak cross the sky, heard a distant sonic boom – Walfor showing off in one of his shuttles, probably fueling his engines with testosterone. Maybe he thought it would impress her. Though she did nothing to encourage him, she hoped he wouldn’t stop trying.

  The contrails in the atmosphere looped around as the ship descended towards the hilltop, where Tanja waited for him. She heard the roar of engines as Walfor switched to an alternative propulsion system. Fascinated by obsolete technology, he had a talent for merging the old with the new, processing his own fuels for the numerous old engines he collected on frozen Buktu. Bright afterburners blazed overhead, and the roar of engines grew so loud that she had to cover her ears.

  Though the hilltop looked too small to accommodate the shuttle, Walfor masterfully brought down the tube-shaped ship on a flat ledge. When he’d first suggested the unorthodox meeting place, Tanja was skeptical, but he insisted that he could land on a proverbial pinhead and take off again without disturbing the pin. His abilities almost matched his boast. Pieces of rock flaked away beneath the precariously balanced craft and tumbled down the steep slopes. He left the engines rumbling as he waited for her to board.