“None, Eminence. The idea is absurd, as you no doubt realize. However, plenty of the converts believe they are aliens. They seem genuinely deluded. Before I left Michella Town, Administrator Adolphus had one of the local xenobiologists show me the remains of a large indigenous creature one of their hunters had killed in the wilderness. The first large beast they’ve encountered on that planet. It appeared to be some kind of herd animal that survived the impact. Maybe that is at the root of the rumors.”
Entering the gym building, Michella accepted a towel from an attendant and draped it over her shoulders. Ishop took one for himself and wiped sweat from his face as he kept talking. “In all, I found Adolphus to be vague and elusive. He could be hiding something . . . or he might just be intractable.”
She headed for the pool, scrubbing her damp hair with the towel. “You are probably correct in both respects, Ishop. Tiber Adolphus hates me as much as I hate him. If there’s a way to disgrace, hurt, or embarrass me, he will find it.”
Ishop’s pale green eyes became calculating, moving to the next item on his mental agenda. “Adolphus is smart, though, Eminence. What if the slickwater is indeed valuable, but he’s hiding behind a silly cult to deflect Constellation interest? Hmm, perhaps it was a trick after all?”
She entered the pool room and looked at the enticing smooth water, wondering if Ishop would follow her into the changing area. He was so loyal and intense, he probably wouldn’t even notice when he stepped over a boundary. “Interesting thought, and I wouldn’t put it past Adolphus. That planet was supposed to be a dumping ground for all the Constellation’s criminals, exiles, and misfits.” She squinted. “If there’s anything valuable on Hallholme, maybe I want it back.”
67
As the number of shadow-Xayans grew at Slickwater Springs, they became a drain on the settlement’s resources. The placid converts didn’t leave, didn’t offer to work for Sophie Vence, didn’t go back to their old jobs for the colony. All mundane concerns seemed irrelevant to them.
Finally, like a mother bird chasing her babies out of the nest when they grew too big, Sophie marched out to the large group that sat listening to Zairic’s evening sermon, and she laid down the law. “I can’t let a bunch of freeloaders stay here indefinitely. Back when this planet was a paradise, maybe you Xayans could sit around and drink milk and eat honey off the ground, but there’s a bit more effort involved here on Hellhole. All colonists have to pull their own weight.” She pointed her finger at Fernando-Zairic. “You had better figure out what you intend to do, whether it’s dredging up something useful from your alien memories, or finding other real employment. Either way, you need to earn your food and shelter. No more handouts.”
Laughing, Fernando-Zairic applauded and turned to his followers. “Sophie Vence is absolutely right! We have overstayed our welcome, and it is time we established our own city – one that may only be the faintest mirage of what Xaya once was, but we shall see. We have enough telemancers to accomplish this. With our wealth of human and Xayan knowledge, our city may surpass expectations.”
Sophie was surprised that convincing them could be so easy. “Well, all right then. I’ll loan you enough supplies to get started.”
Every resurrected alien life represented a person of significance to the lost race, a leader, a philosopher, a telemancer. Fernando-Zairic had achieved a kind of balance with the bright-humored original human personality coming to the fore at occasional intervals, even though Zairic was in control more often. Other converts, however, rarely showed their human characteristics. Sophie was concerned that the aliens seemed to be dominating the volunteers, and she said so.
“Is that so surprising?” Fernando-Zairic explained. “Of all the lives and memories our race preserved, the first to awaken are the most powerful and important personalities.” He shrugged. “Conversely, the first human volunteers are those who were most beaten down and least hopeful, those with nothing to lose. The group is skewed. Strong Xayans and weak humans. As more and more people join us, however, you’ll see a change in the balance. Humans and Xayans will be equal partners, I promise.”
The next morning at dawn, she watched Fernando-Zairic gather the shadow-Xayans – more than a hundred of them now – and lead them in a prompt and orderly exodus. His actions reminded her of an ancient tale in which the Pied Piper coaxed all of the village children away to their doom. For the Xayans’ sake, she hoped their leader was more than a con man . . .
Over the next several days, Fernando-Zairic and his followers established their new city in the nearby bowl-shaped meadow that Vincent had discovered, blanketed with fast-growing red weed. From their Xayan memories, the converts recognized the plant and understood what to do with it. Though their human bodies could not eat the fruit or leaves, they could process the material into a fabric similar to canvas, which they planned to sell in Helltown, with Sophie Vence as their commercial intermediary.
Once the shadow-Xayans moved to their settlement, Vincent Jenet finally moved on to explore more of the wilds of Hellhole. With bittersweet regret, he departed, and Sophie was sad to see him go; he’d been a big help to her, one of those hardworking employees who actually did what he promised and didn’t need constant supervision, though she knew the poor man was still hurting inside.
Sophie had seen sad tolls among the converts, too – broken relationships and marriages, people who came together to the slickwater pools but parted when one person accepted alien memories and the other decided against it. General Adolphus had strictly forbidden children from immersing themselves, even though a few parents wanted to take their young sons or daughters with them into the Xayan memories. Adolphus refused to hear the pleas of saddened mothers and fathers. “It’s barbaric to burden a child with a complete alien life before he’s had a chance to live his own.” Nevertheless, families fell apart, no longer able to understand one another. At least in the new settlement, the converts would have their own place.
While the eerie shadow-Xayans rejoiced in what had awakened within them, Vincent understood what the eager-eyed volunteers were losing. Sophie felt even worse for him when Fernando-Zairic did not come back to bid his friend farewell . . .
Having lost his partner in the Ankor sinkhole, a grief-stricken Tel Clovis kept to himself at Slickwater Springs, speaking barely a word to the others. For hours, he stood on the boardwalk at the edge of the pond, clutching the flimsy wire barricade. His expression shifted from longing to revulsion or hatred, as if he blamed the slickwater for Renny’s death. He had abandoned his administrative position and now lived in a daze.
Tel watched intently while an old woman from Michella Town walked with an elegant stride along the boardwalk. With no fanfare or hesitation, she slipped into the slickwater pool and sank beneath the surface.
Though by now this had become a familiar occurrence, onlookers still regarded each baptism with awed whispers. When the woman emerged from the pool, pulling herself up on the rungs of the ladder, she paused as the last of the fluid drained away from her. She gazed around, inhaled deeply, and walked up to Tel Clovis. She regarded him with her new shimmering eyes. “Renny wants you to stop despairing. Some of his memories are in the pool with us, dissolved in the slickwater. We learned from him.”
He gasped, but she continued to stare at him. “Now, will you join us?”
She held out her old wrinkled hand. Crying, Tel took it, and she led him into the pool.
68
Wearing his crisp uniform, Unit Captain Escobar Hallholme fumed as he watched the rotund, outdated FTL ship settle back onto the Lubis Plain landing field not far from where he and his father stood. He didn’t want to calm down before he had a chance to reprimand the pilot.
It was the ugliest spacecraft he’d ever seen, with tiny windows on the sides of its bloated body and black streaks scoring the underside of the hull. Used as a troop ship in Adolphus’s rebellion, such an old vessel shouldn’t still be flying, should never have been powered up without a thorough shake
down and inspection by qualified mechanics. The hulk had been left here with all the others, like an old animal about to die, but the ungainly ship still flew – a tribute to the dedication and skills of the soldiers working at the Lubis Plain yards.
And one of his men had taken it out for a joy ride.
Escobar shook his head in irritation. He still had Diadem Michella’s order in his jacket pocket, commanding him to prep the mothballed fleet, to make repairs and run all necessary checks in order to certify the creaking ships as spaceworthy again. She wanted these antique vessels given flight clearance and launched into orbit, where they would be locked to the framework of a large stringline hauler and delivered out to Ridgetop.
Good riddance. Following his orders to the letter, Escobar intended to authorize repairs of only the most critical malfunctions; Territorial Governor Goler could invest the rest of the time and effort.
However, a reckless pilot had launched this vessel for a brief run in the inner Qiorfu solar system, and the ship had barely made it back intact. A death trap. Furious, but trying to control his anger, Escobar stood with his old father at the bottom of the exit ramp, impatient for the test pilot to emerge.
“He landed safely,” the retired Commodore mused. “That’s what counts.”
“Not to me. Captain Ulman had no business taking that ship out until it had passed another full set of ground inspections.” As ship after ship was prepped and flown, Escobar knew he was going to lose a pilot sooner or later. He growled in disgust. “This fleet should have been disassembled for components ten years ago.”
The old man lowered his voice to calm his son. “The Diadem demands that these vessels be put back into service with all possible speed. In order to follow her orders, some . . . shortcuts have to be taken.” Percival’s sad eyes held a far-away light. “Cut Captain Ulman some slack. Remember, he is an experienced officer, a man who proved himself to me in wartime. He took a direct role in defeating the rebels.”
Escobar felt frustrated and hemmed in by his father. “Shortcuts and impulsive actions might have been necessary during wartime, but there was no conceivable need for Ulman to take such a risk for this. That ship could have blown up on reentry.”
The access hatch opened, and the pilot strode down the ramp, wearing gray flight coveralls and carrying his helmet under one arm. He looked shaken, having been publicly dressed down by the unit captain over the codecall connection. Escobar made sure all the personnel in the shipyards had heard his reprimand.
At the bottom of the ramp, Ulman saluted crisply. “I have successfully identified several systems in need of repair, sir!”
The test pilot had been upbraided previously for minor infractions, but a year ago he had taken out another mothballed ship, a small harrier, without clearance. He and his unit captain had argued then as well, with Ulman insisting that the decommissioned vessels be flown regularly (mainly because he wanted to fly them). Escobar had not disagreed in principle – he wanted to fly ships, too – but he could not justify the expense or risk without direct authorization from the Constellation. However, because the lieutenant was a distant relative of Lord Ilvar Crais, his punishment had amounted to little more than a slap on the wrist. No doubt the same would happen now.
“You were insubordinate, Ulman. You misled the base traffic tower into believing this ship was ready for a test flight.”
“I thought it was, sir.” Lieutenant Ulman avoided Escobar’s gaze, but he seemed unsettled by more than just the scolding. “I was wrong. Your insistence on extra inspections for these old ships is . . . quite correct, sir. I apologize for being impetuous.”
With a sudden chill, Escobar wondered just how close the test pilot had come to crashing the ship. The man looked completely shaken. Both of them longed to see action, tired of wasting their lives at Lubis Plain, mothballed like the ships.
Before Escobar could lose his temper, he said, “Submit your full report to the repair crew, Captain. You are grounded until further notice.” Until the next ship is ready to be tested.
Dressed in his tattered old gold-and-black Constellation uniform, Percival patted the cowed officer affectionately on the shoulder, a congenial gesture that horrified Escobar. “Don’t take it too hard, Rico. Maybe as punishment you’ll be assigned to escort these ships out to the Deep Zone.”
Ulman drew a deep breath and straightened. “Sounds better than the brig, sir.”
Irritated, Escobar dismissed him. “That will not be necessary, Lieutenant. I intend to deliver the ships to Ridgetop myself.” At least he would get some flying time in.
An inspection team entered the troop ship that had barely landed intact. Additional crews were working on other vessels that had been rolled out onto the paved landing field. Looking at all the vessels being refurbished, Escobar shook his head. “I can’t understand why anyone would even want these outdated ships.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers. Governor Goler will use them to monitor suspicious activity.”
“The Diadem suspects General Adolphus of trying to escape his exile?”
“She always suspects General Adolphus of something.”
Escobar gave a proud sniff. “I’m not worried about him. He could have won the war, but lost his nerve. Even after all the bloodshed he caused, the General did not have the fortitude to see his troops to victory.” His voice was filled with scorn.
The old Commodore surprised him. “It was quite noble of him, actually. The Diadem was willing to cross a moral line that Adolphus was not.”
“You sound as if you admire the man!” Escobar stared at his father in amazement and dismay. He lowered his voice, though no one stood close enough to hear them. “Keep those comments to yourself, Father. Maybe you retired with a halo of glory, but you had a checkered career before that. Don’t jeopardize your legacy, or mine.” Percival’s careless comments might affect his son’s chances for advancement, regardless of Escobar’s marriage to a Riomini niece.
The retired Commodore fell silent. Finally Percival cleared his throat. “Time for my first brandy of the day.” The aged veteran hobbled away toward a staff car to return to the old manor house that once belonged to Adolphus.
69
The Diadem publicly released the images of her inspector’s findings at the slickwater pools, and the Constellation media corps cast the story in a ridiculous light. Government advisers went on record mocking the cult members who claimed to be possessed by aliens.
The tactic backfired, though. Despite the snide media commentators in the news stories, the shadow-Xayan converts were so sincere in describing their wondrous lost civilization that even more curious travelers flooded to Hallholme from the Crown Jewels.
The massive influx of visitors stretched Sophie’s abilities to the maximum and overwhelmed her lodging capacity. Money flowed in as well. New converts surrendered most of their possessions to her (which she kept in a separate account), and even the merely curious paid well for their rooms or tents. Her people scrambled to add more housing, even resorting to temporary survival tents, and the sound of construction filled the once-placid air around Slickwater Springs. She feared that an abrupt turn of Hellhole’s weather could leave a swath of bodies behind, and Slickwater Springs no longer had shadow-Xayans who could deflect the storms with telemancy . . .
Devon and Antonia ran themselves ragged to keep up with all the arrivals and departures. Four employees from the main Vence operations in Helltown worked full-time just to deliver supplies from her warehouses out to Slickwater Springs. Sophie promoted several lower-level managers as swiftly as she could, and she was constantly on the lookout for new hires as business expanded beyond her wildest dreams. Slickwater Springs was such a success that she didn’t have a spare moment to catch her breath and enjoy it.
On Klief, her ex-husband Gregory had probably seen the widespread reports by now. He must be tearing his hair out to see how well she was doing! Despite their scornful tone, the news reports showed Sophie looking proud, heal
thy, and satisfied next to their son and the lovely Antonia.
She wondered if Gregory regretted what he did to her all those years ago, but it didn’t really matter. Now, even if he fumed and sneered and resented her, she wasn’t worried that he would hunt her down. Her ex-husband didn’t have the stamina to chase her so far, and if he sent his lawyers to Hellhole, they’d be powerless here. Devon was now an adult, and the General certainly wouldn’t let Gregory pull any tricks.
Yes, Sophie was set . . . if only she could keep up with the madness. Regardless of the number of people who immersed themselves, the level of slickwater remained constant. Apparently, all of the datafluid was connected through aquifers in the planet’s crust, constantly flowing and replenishing itself.
A young man, giddy with new Xayan thoughts in his mind, had leaped into the slickwater for a second time, hoping to gain an additional set of alien memories. He succeeded, carrying two separate ancient lives inside his head, so that he exhibited three distinct personas. When other starstruck shadow-Xayans attempted this, though, they emerged from the pools disappointed – only around one in ten seemed capable of hosting multiple Xayan personalities.
At regular intervals, Fernando-Zairic returned to Slickwater Springs to invite the newly baptized shadow-Xayans to join their new city out near the red weed. Every one of them accepted the offer.
Fernando sauntered up to Sophie now, looking beatific as he surveyed the visitors around the pools. “As our numbers grow, our telemancers get stronger, as was our hope. Even those outsiders who choose not to immerse themselves will go home and spread the word. The Constellation knows of our plight now.”
“Yes, they do.”
She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, however. Adolphus might have diverted the Diadem’s inspectors for the time being, but how long could that last as their numbers grew and news spread? The General was preoccupied, though, with his final stringline preparations, and Destination Day would arrive soon enough. She hoped the Xayans could help them against the Diadem’s inevitable harsh response.
Hellhole Page 38
