As the sun set on Ridgetop, Goler relaxed in a chair, looking through the transparent panes at the hillsides, the lush trees, and the ever-shifting colors that streamed through the air. To welcome him into their conspiracy, Sophie Vence had sent one of her bottles of wine from Hellhole, and now the Territorial Governor held a glass in his hand, swirling the garnet liquid and staring out at the landscape. He poured a second glass of wine for Tasmine, but the old servant claimed she had too many household duties.
Goler stopped her. “I insist. Take a moment to celebrate, Tasmine. Everyone on Ridgetop will soon be wealthy, because we won’t have to surrender so much of our hard earnings to the Constellation.”
The old woman stopped, took a dutiful sip of wine, and puckered. “Enjoy it while you can, sir, because the bitch and her Constellation soldiers aren’t going to let you get away with it. We’ll be in trouble soon enough.” Tasmine set the still-full glass back on the table with a hard, impatient click. “The rest of the Deezees aren’t prepared for what she’ll do.”
“Then we’ll have to tell them just what Michella is capable of. Don’t you think it’s about time that the whole Constellation knew the truth?” Goler smiled at her startled expression. “General Adolphus once said you can’t join a revolution by degrees. You have to commit.” He finished his wine with a gulp, stood from his chair, and extended a hand to her. “I’ve already recorded the basics about the Ridgetop Recovery, along with the corroborating evidence we obtained from the burial sites, but you can add a lot of authenticity.”
Tasmine quailed. “I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long. You can’t just ask this now!”
“I can, and I am. We need you. You are the only person who was there when it happened. No one else can tell this story the way you can. Expose what the Diadem is really like.” He drew her toward his study, where he had left the imagers in place. “Come, you’ve thought about it long enough. Now get it off your chest.”
Tasmine scowled at the equipment. “You’ll send the message to all the planets?”
“As many as will receive it. Even Sonjeera. You’ll deal a greater blow to the Diadem’s authority than all those ships we just received.”
The old servant’s expression darkened as anger and nightmares bubbled in her memory. “Yes, it’ll be good to expose what the bitch did.” She sat down heavily in the chair – his chair – and turned her bird-bright eyes directly toward the imager. “I loathe how she smiles and pretends to be a sweet grandmother to the Constellation. She’s really just a viper.”
Goler played the grainy old recording that Tasmine had shown him earlier, and while images of the massacre ran in the background, he recorded her commentary. Like a flood unleashed from a crumbling dam, Tasmine spilled out the full story of the massacre, adding details that even Carlson Goler had never heard. He shuddered as Tasmine talked on and on . . . and on.
She held nothing back.
87
As he escorted Keana-Uroa to the deep mountain vault filled with Xayan marvels, Cristoph de Carre felt awkward. His own feelings had whiplashed into sympathy for this woman, despite the damage she had caused to his family. He felt some hope that she claimed to dislike Diadem Michella as much as he did, if not more. Joined with a once formidable Xayan leader, she might hold a solution for their current dilemma. A defense, perhaps?
Cristoph halted the Trakmaster at the shaft entrance on the side of the rugged mountain. Machinery, piles of rubble, and mineral-processing beds made the area look like any other mining operation. “By coming to Hallholme and joining the shadow-Xayans, you’ve really thrown a wrench into the General’s plans.”
She gave him a distant smile. “Once we talk with Encix and the other Originals, perhaps I can offer help as well. This colony needs to be strong, needs to be ready to face my mother’s anger. The shadow-Xayans and I might be able to offer defenses you can’t afford to ignore. Don’t underestimate telemancy.”
“We’ll see.”
Cristoph had spent the past several months in the mountain vault with the team of investigators as well as the four Originals. Their very strangeness made them frightening, though they claimed to be allies. He found them fascinating, but did not understand them. Not as well as Keana did – now.
In her deeper Uroa voice, she said, “I look forward to being reunited with Encix, Lodo, Tryn, and Cippiq. I will also grieve for Allyf . . . although so many Xayans have perished, it makes no sense to mourn just one. Still, he represents all who were lost.”
“If you were the supreme leader of their race, then they’ll be glad to see you as well,” Cristoph said.
“My role was not quite as straightforward as that,” Uroa said. “We each led our factions.”
Nothing’s ever straightforward, Cristoph thought. “General Adolphus will meet us here.” He saw no sign of the General or his staff, who were coming here directly from Ankor.
Keana emerged from the Trakmaster without waiting for him and marched ahead by herself, drawn toward the tunnel that led to the buried museum vault. She was no longer as delicate and spoiled as he had expected. He led her to the shaft crawler that whisked them deep into the mountain, where numerous engineers and scientists were studying the library of Xayan artifacts.
As they reached the vault, the four pale-skinned alien creatures stood on a platform facing them, their large eyes gleaming in low illumination that oozed from the walls.
“We have waited for you, Uroa,” said Encix.
After several days of sharing her human body, Keana and Uroa had developed a cooperative routine. Now, as they faced the four Original Xayans, Keana felt a joined presence wrap around her – akin to the way Uroa had swept up on her in the slickwater pool, but these shared thoughts did not try to dominate her; they merely wanted to make a connection. She felt a sense of supreme calm and exhilaration, as if all the old pains in her body and heart were gone and would never return.
Light spiraled and sparkled over their heads. Keana stared in awe as the chamber’s walls and ceiling lit up in a parade of three-dimensional images that showed large populations of Xayans in the midst of ever-changing, animated structures. Music that her human ears could not hear vibrated against her sensitive skin, but the mental presence of Uroa allowed her to remember . . . and enjoy it.
“That was our ancient capital city, now contained in the memories of these four,” Uroa explained to her. “They do this to honor both of us.”
As Keana watched the changing images on the walls, Uroa was her guide. The sky over the remembered city glowed in a borealis display that bathed the buildings in shifting hues and shadows. Everything was alive, nothing static.
Now all of it was dead, obliterated by the asteroid impact.
When the display faded, Encix spoke aloud in a voice that sounded distant, but ironically closer than Uroa’s. “You are royalty, Keana Duchenet, so it is fitting that you are partnered with our leader. Though Uroa was anxious to awaken, he waited for the proper person – you.” The alien eyes spiraled faster. “Why would you resist him?”
Keana wrinkled her brow, trying to absorb the rapid inflow of information. “He and I have worked out an arrangement.”
With a pang, she recalled that she and Bolton Crais also had an “arrangement,” but everything had crumbled because of pressures and interference from others . . .
Encix bowed her flexible body. “Long ago, Uroa and I worked closely together. Each of us had great responsibilities.”
“To be more precise,” Uroa said inside her mind, though all of the Originals could hear him, “Encix and I were rivals, but we need not be in the future. We will set aside ancient differences for the good of our race, for our return and ascension. The only goal must be ala’ru.”
“I share that desire,” Encix said.
“We may have more pressing problems if the Constellation declares war on us first,” Cristoph pointed out.
“Then we will have to deal with that as well.” Uroa did not seem perturbed. “We
cannot let human factions divert us from ala’ru.”
While Keana moved through the vault and the innumerable storage alcoves for cultural items Encix and her survivors had considered worth saving, General Adolphus arrived, escorted in by his security chief. He stood next to Cristoph de Carre, regarding Keana and the four Originals. “I can’t say I’m pleased to have you here, Princess Keana. You have created an unexpected crisis at a very inconvenient time, and this is a highly secure area.”
“She’s not just Keana anymore, General,” Cristoph said.
Keana gave Adolphus a courteous nod. “You may be my mother’s nemesis, General Tiber Adolphus, but I came to this planet of my own accord.” She looked at Cristoph. “And I am now much different from the person I was. I am more than Keana Duchenet.”
“You can say that all you want, but I doubt the Diadem will see it that way.” The General was obviously still suspicious. “We are at a critical point in the history of the Deep Zone colonies. For your personal safety as well as the safety of my people I need to keep you . . . sequestered. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand your desire to keep me hidden – or hold me hostage, if that is your intent – but I can be of greater assistance in other ways. I was constrained by my mother, forced to follow her orders, to meekly accept whatever she commanded. Because of her, I lost much. I’m tired of being a pawn, and now I have a purpose. I can be worth a great deal to you, General.” She threw him off balance when she said, “I know about your new stringline network and your operations at Ankor.”
Astonished, Adolphus turned accusingly to Cristoph, who held up his hands. “I didn’t reveal anything to her, sir.”
Keana explained, “I know all about it because Uroa has picked up memories from the slickwater reservoirs throughout the planet, General. A man named Renny Clovis fell into the pool, and Tel Clovis has also joined the shadow-Xayans. Those two men knew about your plan to establish an independent transportation network. Uroa and I both understand the implications. I must say, your scheme is ingenious.”
The General and Cristoph looked at each other. Unspoken thoughts flashed between them. “And how do you propose to help us?” Adolphus asked. “From the beginning, I gambled on letting my people take on Xayan lives at the slickwater pools. I hope it pays off – I have other tricks up my sleeve, but I could certainly use some other defenses.”
“The Xayans are your allies. We understand your situation. Helping you is in our interests as well, because that makes it possible for us to move toward our racial goal again.” Her voice alternated between her own and her alien partner’s, but now Uroa’s speech pattern became dominant and clear.
Encix added, “And thanks to the memories of Keana Duchenet, we now fully understand that Diadem Michella and the Constellation nobles would not be our preferred allies. The Xayans side with you, General Tiber Maximilian Adolphus.”
“Thank you. Your abilities may be critical to our survival.” The General frowned deeply. “By now, though, the Diadem has likely learned of your presence here on Hallholme, Princess. She probably also knows of your . . . accident.”
“It was not an accident,” Keana and Uroa said in odd harmony.
“I considered embargoing all outbound stringline haulers to prevent word from leaking out, but that would have alarmed the Constellation even more. It would have drawn all their attention beyond just one woman lost on a foolish misadventure. Understand, I needed just another week or so to lock down my new network. All hell is about to break loose.” Adolphus let out a long sigh. “Since you know the Diadem so well, Princess, how do you think she’ll react when she learns about your conversion . . . and the stringline network?”
Keana paused to consider what Michella would do. “My mother feels a need to be in control at all times. If she believes she has been slighted or tricked, she becomes vengeful. She will summon the Army of the Constellation to take possession of this planet and everything on it – including the Xayans. And the stringline network. And me.”
The General’s face darkened in the uncertain light of the museum vault. The four Originals stood close, also listening to the discussion with grave concern. They seemed to understand their danger.
“General,” Encix said, “our race is reawakening. All of the resurrected Xayans must confer to decide how we can help to defend this planet. We cannot allow our plans to be hindered now.”
“Nor I, mine.” Adolphus straightened. “It is time to put everything on the table. I’ve been waiting years for this.”
88
Destination Day.
On the General’s timeline this was a neat, precise date when all the threads of his plan were pulled tight in a single knot. The culmination of his plans had been years in the making – a lifetime, in fact, because everything that had shaped Tiber Adolphus had also led to this triumph.
Very few people understood the old Earth historical reference to “D-Day” any more, but the idea raised a visceral reaction within him: the end of a massive, super-secret plan that would fundamentally change the course of humanity.
It was done. By now all fifty-three trailblazer ships had arrived at their destinations, throughout the vast wilderness of the Deep Zone. Adolphus had received completed-circuit pingbacks from each of the lonely captains who had spent months or years crawling along and reeling out a path of processed iperion. Upon their unannounced arrival, each captain had detached his vessel’s aft section, which became the new terminus ring. The new stringline route was ready for business, just like that.
Destination Day.
The surprise appearance of the trailblazer ships caused an uproar on each frontier planet, and the rebel cell members established there over the past few years acted in a coordinated fashion. Bewildered planetary administrators were caught completely unprepared. Adolphus’s secret supporters took over spaceport operations and embargoed outbound communications, then provided a loud and confident rallying cry for the rest of the populace, whose dissatisfaction with the oppressive Constellation had been carefully cultivated. The General received regular progress reports via stringline mail drones.
The initial eleven planetary administrators involved in the conspiracy assisted him as well. Tanja Hu had recruited several additional DZ leaders to their cause in the last two months, spreading and strengthening their cause. Though Adolphus was concerned about the potential for betrayal, or at least a leak, the Candela administrator was a good judge of character.
And the momentum continued to build, enough to make Adolphus feel even more confident. The Deezees had long resented being treated as second-class citizens, whose taxes and tariffs were increased regularly, while their needs were given little attention by the Diadem.
His unexpected ally Carlson Goler had forwarded his fleet of FTL patrol ships from Ridgetop; a dozen were now stationed at the main Hallholme hub, and the rest had been dispatched to guard the newly installed terminus rings at other vulnerable DZ worlds.
Once he issued his declaration, Adolphus knew he might have to destroy the old Sonjeera lines and cut off Hallholme from the old Crown Jewels network – as a last resort. Many people weren’t going to like that. He didn’t want to deal with a civil war among the disaffected old guard in the DZ at the same time as he worried about a full-scale strike from Sonjeera. This required finesse and meticulous planning; fortunately, that was what General Adolphus did well.
Now, with all the components in place, it was time for him to speak.
As usual, Sophie was his sounding board. Given all the tensions and uncertainties, Adolphus needed her now more than ever. He needed her advice, her common sense, her support, and her love.
“Time to stand up to the inevitable and laugh in its face,” she said. “Whether the Constellation likes it or not, your stringline network exists.” She had spent the night out at Elba, and as the two washed and dressed for the morning, she helped him prepare.
By becoming a part of him, Sophie had given him a solid foundation,
a strength and sureness that he had lacked before. And with so many of his followers who had accompanied him into exile, as well as colonists who depended on him for survival, the General had a secret weapon Diadem Michella Duchenet could never possess: loyalty and love. Their future existence – individually, as a colony, and as a new union of human-settled planets – depended upon it.
“I have been ready to give this speech for ten years, Sophie. I bit my tongue and abided by my agreements. I followed the terms of my exile to the letter, and it ate a hole inside of me. Oh, yes, I am ready to speak out.” He turned to face her. “I’ve decided to wear my uniform today, to remind everyone of what I tried to do more than a decade ago. The uniform is a way to make people think of what we almost had – and what we can have now.”
Sophie brushed off his shoulders after he donned his uniform shirt and jacket. “And what if, instead, they remember that you’re the General who was defeated?”
Adolphus tugged at his cuffs and applied the colorful rank insignia to his collar. “If they remember that, then they’ll also remember why I was defeated – because I refused to achieve victory over the bodies of innocents.”
“Fortune favors the bold,” Sophie reminded him. She accompanied him to his staff car, then leaned over to whisper, “You do look dashing.”
Even though the weathersats tracked a brewing static storm 300 kilometers away, a large crowd still gathered in Michella Town. For some time now, the colonists had suspected something was afoot, despite the General’s efforts at security.
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