After successfully testing the new line from Candela, Tanja Hu remained at Ankor for a while to help manage the final preparations. Two days after her arrival, Ian Walfor arrived from Buktu, his ship taking a second position in the orbiting hub. Orbiting construction workers scrambled to complete the last nodes in time, since Adolphus expected a flood of ships soon.
After ten years, the Diadem’s watchdogs had grown lax, focusing mainly on the General without caring about the veterans who had served him during the rebellion. At one time, they’d been prepared to give their lives in his cause; now, those loyal men and women were ready to carry out other assignments. Many had already been distributed among the other DZ worlds, ready to move as soon as the stringline network was established. Adolphus had every confidence in them.
When his passenger pod landed at Ankor, Walfor jovially shook the General’s hand and surprised Tanja by sweeping her into a bearlike hug. “I’m going to have to change my business model, General, but I wasn’t making much money with those old FTL ships. I prefer stringline travel: it’s faster, cheaper, and not nearly so boring.”
Tanja asked, “Doesn’t a lot of your revenue come from producing and supplying old starship fuel and maintaining the outmoded ships?”
Walfor wasn’t worried. “My people will do fine. There’ll be plenty of niches open in the new network. We’ll need ships and linerunners and maintenance, and I can convert a lot of my old ships into trailblazers to lay down more stringlines using Candela’s iperion.”
Tanja huffed. “Not so fast. I’ve spent all my altruism to get this crazy project off the ground. If you’re going to haul iperion from my mines, then I demand fair compensation.”
“Ah well, we can negotiate. We’ve always had to be flexible. There’s plenty of work to go around, without sacrificing our earnings to keep the Diadem in jewels and expensive perfumes.”
Adolphus laughed. “We’re all on the same page.”
The Ankor production facilities had already been building the frameworks of new stringline haulers and sending them up to orbit. Those vessels would shuttle back and forth along the fresh quantum pathways to demonstrate that the system was indeed a viable, and preferable, alternative to the Constellation monopoly.
Joint trade agreements had already been negotiated among Hallholme, Buktu, and Candela, creating a model for similar treaties with other Deep Zone planets. Inside the lobby of the newly built and virtually empty Ankor Hotel, Tanja outlined her ambitious plans for the secondary expanded network. On her drawings, string-line routes radiated from Candela to other DZ planets. Soon all of the frontier worlds would be connected in an intricate system that was no longer constrained by the bottleneck of one particular leader or planet.
Adolphus swelled with pride. “Your plans are even more ambitious than mine, Tanja – not that I mind. But will we have enough iperion to lay down all these lines?”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. My geologists have done extensive mapping and assessment – the iperion vein we’ve been mining is just a fraction of Candela’s assets. We already found three more huge deposits. It makes the Vielinger operations look like an appetizer, compared to Candela’s feast.”
Walfor grinned. “And wouldn’t the Diadem love to know about that!”
General Tiber Adolphus liked to plan for the long term, assuming success as a first principle. But before those dreams could reach fruition, he and all of his co-conspirators faced a great obstacle – they had to prevent, or at least survive, a war against the immensely powerful Constellation.
80
In her uncomfortable tent, Keana slept little. After months of searching, she felt anxious, nervous, even lightheaded at the knowledge that she might see Cristoph in the morning. This would be their first actual meeting, and they could talk about how much they both missed his father.
But Keana also needed to relive the nightmares of finding her beloved Louis dead and how helpless she had felt in the face of overwhelming treachery and politics. From now on, she and Cristoph would be joined by common tragedy. They would take care of each other. Soon, it would be all right.
Outside she heard mysterious whispers and bubbles from the fenced-in slickwater pools. Her mother would be appalled to see her now. The ground felt hard beneath her – not at all like the comfortable and spacious bed she had shared with Louis de Carre in those bright, glorious days . . .
Though Keana had failed in countless ways, she would rescue Louis’s son. One good thing. She would insist that he come back with her to Sonjeera, maybe find a way to restore his good name, or at least make his life more secure. He didn’t have to stay here on . . . Hellhole. What an apt name!
Over and over, she practiced conversations in her head, working out how their reunion would go. She was intrigued by Sophie Vence’s comment that he held an important job in a high-security area. What responsibilities had Administrator Adolphus given him? Cristoph seemed to be doing well, better than she had expected, so he must be talented, resourceful, and determined. But she could help him do better.
She lay awake in her lonely shelter with a contented smile on her face. Her pillow was so flat that she had to fold it to make it thick enough to support her head. After long, restless hours she dozed fitfully.
At dawn, she heard people rustling, probably curiosity seekers venturing toward the slickwater pools. She had already seen their eager faces, the unreasoning hope, the possibility of a second chance at life. The shadow-Xayans answered questions, encouraged people, and helped potential converts make up their minds. Just after Louis’s death, Keana might have been tempted to seek such an escape herself.
A shadow fell across the fabric of her tent. A man’s voice spoke. “Keana Duchenet? Are you in there?”
Her pulse sped up, and she scrambled out of the tent. She recognized Cristoph instantly from the pictures she had studied. But he was no longer dressed in the fine noble clothes from his portrait. His brown hair was cut in a short serviceable style; his face was dusty and leaner than his picture. His hard demeanor seemed at odds with the smiling portrait she had memorized.
She sucked in a breath, broke into a smile. She longed to throw her arms around him in an embrace. “Cristoph, I’ve been searching for you! The Constellation tried to cover up your whereabouts, but I—”
“You have a lot of nerve to come here.” His voice was implacable. He stood like a stone pillar, frowning down at her.
Shocked and confused, Keana took a cautious step toward him. “I am so glad to see you’re, safe. I’ve been worried about you. Are you all right?”
He glared. “I lost everything because of you and your political schemes, and how you manipulated my father.”
“But . . . I loved your father! Louis was the only real thing in my life. Everything else was just trappings. When I lost him, I lost it all – just as you did. And I’m here to help you. I want to make your life better. Come back with me to Sonjeera. We’ll find a way to fix things.”
“If you hadn’t seduced my father and flaunted your affair, scorning all propriety, he would never have allowed his holdings to fall into such disarray. The Riominis couldn’t have made their move.” His voice grew in volume as his anger swelled. “Because of you, my father was arrested and charged with countless crimes. Because of you, he killed himself, unable to face the shame!”
Tears streamed down her face. “No, that isn’t true. We were in love.” But her heart told her that she did bear some responsibility.
The young man wasn’t finished. “After he met you, he could think of nothing else, and the rest was inevitable. You didn’t care what anybody thought, did you? Your mother disapproved of the relationship, the people of Vielinger cried out at the neglect – and what did you do? Nothing! You lived a fantasy life with my father in your Cottage.”
Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. “You can’t blame our love for everything.”
“No. I’m blaming you for everything.”
His wo
rds beat her like cudgels, hurting her terribly. She didn’t want to hear anymore, yet she couldn’t turn away. “But I came to help you. I kept searching until I found you here.”
“For what? To destroy what little dignity I’ve managed to rebuild here on Hellhole? You Duchenets certainly are thorough.”
Her legs threatened to give way under her. This wasn’t what she had visualized; it wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. She grasped for any way to get closer to Cristoph and make him forgive her. She needed him as a last link, a fragile reminder of his father. “I want to save you. You’ve suffered great injustice – let me help.”
“I’ve seen your kind of help.” He made a disgusted sound.
“It wasn’t my fault or your father’s. The Riominis used our romance as an excuse to make their political move, but the Black Lord would have found any way to take control from your family. Nothing was going to stop him.”
“You’re wrong. My father could have prevented it, but he forgot about his people. I ran the business and the mines as well as I could, but he had the political connections. You made him powerless.” Cristoph held up a blocking hand before she could say another word. “No! Despite the disgrace you brought to my family, I’ve created a good life for myself here. Go back to Sonjeera – and don’t ever try to contact me again.” His words burned through her like acid. He strode off, not caring that others in the settlement had gathered around to observe the loud argument.
As she watched him leave, Keana felt more dead than alive, nearly as devastated as when she had found Louis lying in a pool of his own blood.
The man who called himself both Fernando and Zairic looked as if even a monstrous static storm could not disturb him. “Just a brief immersion in the slickwater, and the whole Xayan race will be available to you.” He smiled at Keana, confident but applying no pressure. “You will remember wonders you can’t even dream of now.”
“I don’t want any wonders!” She longed to have Louis back, but that was impossible. She had come for Cristoph, imagining that they could at least share their pain, but those hopes were shattered.
Fernando-Zairic seemed to understand her anguish. “You want peace, contentment. You want to fit in, and be important.” He stood directly in front of her, uncomfortably close. People watched them as if this were a sideshow at the camp.
“I am the daughter of the Diadem!”
He gave a contemplative nod, and his words cut through the blindfold she had placed over her own eyes. “And still, you need to feel important. You want your life to matter. The slickwater can make that possible.”
Through tear-filled eyes, Keana looked at the quicksilver pools in the morning sunlight. A few people gathered on the edge of the boardwalk, pondering their own decisions. The slickwater seemed to beckon her. Yes, she could dive in and never come back out. Light sparkled atop the liquid, but did not penetrate far into it.
“Do you really know who I am?” She realized she was shaking.
Fernando-Zairic’s composure didn’t change; his words were hypnotic. “You are a human, just as I was . . . hurting, searching, or curious. And there is a Xayan life waiting to join with yours, to make you whole.”
She gave him no answer, but let him lead her forward.
As they reached the boardwalk, a young blond man with a thin beard climbed out of the slickwater, and his expression was so full of amazement that Keana hesitated. This couldn’t just be a trick or a delusion, could it? The young man seemed to have had a real experience, something that washed away whatever tragedy or pain that had drawn him to Hallholme. Other shadow-Xayans came forward to welcome him into their community.
Keana edged closer to the pool, trying to escape the pain that burned in her chest like hot metal. Maybe the slickwater did offer peace, escape. Even if it didn’t last, even if it wasn’t real, there was a chance. And the hollowness in her chest reminded her that she had nothing to lose anyway.
“We would welcome you, daughter of Diadem Michella,” Fernando-Zairic said. “None of the Xayans would judge you for anything in your past.”
Just then she heard a woman’s voice calling from the other side of the pool, back by the lodge. She recognized Sophie Vence waving her arms, shouting with alarm. “Keana Duchenet, don’t you dare! Stay away from the slickwater!”
Fernando-Zairic looked naïve and perplexed. He kept his attention on Keana. “Don’t listen to her. There is nothing to fear.”
Sophie ran toward her, yelling for her own security men. “We can’t afford to let this happen!”
In an instant, Keana understood. At Cristoph’s behest, Sophie Vence would prevent her from being happy. They wanted to deny her the contentment and peace of the slickwater. How Louis’s son must hate her! All her life other people had controlled her, prevented her from doing what she wanted to do, imposed their will upon her.
With a quick step, Keana moved to the edge of the boardwalk and looked down at the compelling, mercurial fluid, the swirling mysteries that glinted in the morning light.
Sophie cried out for her workers. “Carter! Timmons – stop the princess!” The men ran toward her from two different directions. “We’ll be in a world of trouble if she—”
Before they could get closer, Keana made her decision. She was sick of who she was, sick of her corrupt family, and sick of the Constellation. Sick of having no one to trust, no true friends . . . sick of living without love, sick of her wasted and shallow life.
Ignoring the shouts of protest, she jumped smoothly into the water, as if it wasn’t there at all. She heard no splash.
The contact was a shock. Her eyes remained open. Swirling, ghostly shapes appeared from nowhere and dove deeper, pulling her along after them. Keana didn’t worry about holding her breath; time seemed to have stopped. The physical limitations of the human body had no relevance in this realm.
The phantom lights drew her much deeper than the pool could possibly be. Ahead, the shapes coalesced into a cloud of bright illumination . . . and out of that glow came a nebulous form, shadowy and mysterious. She knew she should feel fear, but she allowed it to cover her completely.
The presence engulfed her, and in its overwhelming power Keana lost her own sense of awareness. Her concerns faded away to be replaced by the sensation of soaring upward . . .
81
The Ridgetop medical facilities made Ernst Packard as comfortable as they could in his remaining days. The trailblazer captain lay in a hospital bed, fuzzy with painkillers. Despite giving him large doses of nutritional supplements, the colony’s best medical experts were unable to help.
He wheezed in his bed with a full picture-window view of golden-wood groves, his own music played gently in the background. He lifted his hand in what was meant to be a dismissive wave. “When I plotted the story of my life, this wasn’t how I foresaw the ending. Even recently, I imagined I’d live just long enough to complete my mission as a trail-blazer pilot, then die in full uniform at the helm controls. But here I am as good as dead, barefoot in a hospital gown.” His laugh turned into a cough. “I find it quite anticlimactic.”
“Your ship is almost ready to go.” Goler stood by the bed in a formal business suit. “I’ll take you back to Hallholme with me, and we can both let General Adolphus know that you completed your mission.”
“You’ll have to do most of the talking, Governor.” Packard tried to laugh again, but the sound degenerated into convulsive coughing.
Goler ordered his workers to step up the pace in decontaminating the trailblazer ship. The Ridgetop engineers worked around the clock prepping the vessel for a return journey and double-checking the bare-bones stringline terminus that Packard had installed in orbit.
A breathless foreman finally announced that the ship was cleared for departure to Hallholme. Governor Goler thanked him and his crews for their efforts, but Ernst Packard had died five hours before.
Protecting himself politically, out of habit, Goler left a document in his office safe that s
tated he was traveling to Hallholme “to demand an immediate and thorough explanation from Administrator Tiber Adolphus.” It was a plausible enough explanation if the situation should go terribly awry.
He expected to have a very interesting conversation with the General.
Now that the stringline route connected Ridgetop to Hallholme – as well as many other lines, if Packard’s information was accurate – the floodgates would open and ships would begin running back and forth. Once the Deep Zone had the option of free trade without the Constellation’s tariffs and tribute, there would be no turning back, whether Diadem Michella liked it or not . . .
When Goler’s refitted trailblazer arrived at the new orbiting hub above the Ankor site, he marveled at the massive complex in space; he couldn’t believe Adolphus had performed so much work without the Constellation suspecting. Even he, the Territorial Governor, had been aware of nothing. He remembered how outraged Diadem Michella had been to learn of Ian Walfor’s amateurish black-market transportation efforts; she would be white-hot with fury when she found out about this problem.
When Goler docked at the new hub, unannounced, the people below scurried about to make preparations. The General set aside all his other duties to meet the territorial governor in person, but he obviously had his suspicions.
Receiving him at the Ankor landing field, Adolphus’s expression was controlled, but wary. “Territorial Governor Goler, thank you for being one of the first official representatives to visit our new transportation hub. I am surprised by your prompt arrival.”
“You’re not the only one who’s surprised, Administrator Adolphus.” Hallholme was one of the eleven DZ planets under his purview, and Goler had worked with the General many times. This, though, was entirely different.
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