Hellhole (19 page)

“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.

T
anja 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.

Tanja hurried forward as a slingvator cage glided down the side of the hull. She slipped into the cage, and it reeled her upward into the open hatch. As she stepped through the open cargo area, she saw secured shipping containers piled deck to ceiling, bulkhead to bulkhead. This was one of the craft Walfor used to haul materials to and from his larger cargo ships, which surreptitiously made the rounds among carefully selected planets that were within reach of his engines.

A pair of Buktu men in gray onesuits worked in the hold, carrying e-boards, tapping in inventory entries. Adjusting a cargo strap, a plump, frizzy-haired man cordially gestured her forward, along a narrow aisle-way. “Captain Walfor is waiting for you.”

Walfor’s black marketeers operated an eclectic assortment of souped-up old FTL spacecraft and smaller shuttles that were no longer listed on any official records. He picked them up wherever he could.

In the original plan, the Constellation’s trailblazers had laid down iperion paths from Sonjeera to all fifty-four DZ worlds, and once the paths were painted, stringline-capable vessels could race along at fantastic speeds. However, when the obscure Deep Zone planet Buktu proved to be an unprofitable destination, the Diadem signed an order to cease maintenance on that particular line, effectively cutting off Walfor and his people. With smiling generosity, Michella had offered to rescue and relocate the small population, but – much to everyone’s surprise – they unanimously refused, saying they would remain behind and take their chances on their cold, isolated rock, as they had done for some time.

Unknown to the Diadem, Ian Walfor had an idea that made his out-of-the-way location valuable.

Long ago, when the original pioneers ventured into the DZ, their vessels had carried only enough fuel for a one-way trip. Arriving at their destinations, those ships were abandoned, cannibalized for spare parts, and supposedly scuttled. However, Walfor had collected a number of those old ships and put them into service as a slow-boat form of transportation. On Buktu, his hardy frontiersmen developed their own secret industrial facilities, manufacturing fuel for the FTL drives from local ices and gases, and they improved the antique propulsion systems to make the ships faster. In that manner they had thrived for years, completely beyond the notice of the Constellation.

As she reached the cockpit, Tanja said, “You don’t make a subtle entrance, do you?” She strapped herself into a bucket seat beside him. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

He looked completely innocent. “Why, I’m just delivering foodstuffs, building products, and machinery to needy villagers on your planet.”

“And you’d better head out soon or you won’t get to Hellhole in time. The General will be waiting for you.”

Walfor went through the take-off sequence, then sped quietly across the landscape. “Are you that anxious to get rid of me?”

Tanja sat back and held on. “We’ve got a meeting scheduled there, and
you
take a lot longer to travel than the rest of us do. Besides, I need you to get your unauthorized cargo vessel away from Candela before the next stringline hauler arrives from Sonjeera.”

Walfor didn’t seem concerned. “Oh, I doubt the Constellation pilot will even rouse himself from his nap when he gets here – but we’ll be long gone, don’t you worry your pretty head. Right now, I can spend just a little more time with you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You realize you don’t have a chance with me, right? But you’re welcome to keep trying.”

He grinned. “All right, then I’ll keep trying.”

Despite his attitude, she knew that Walfor always did as he promised. She liked him as a friend and business associate, and he performed his work very well.
Important work
, as she and General Adolphus knew. He had enjoyed his week of downtime here on Candela, but it was time for him to load the processed iperion aboard his vessel and head off . . .

After they set down on a paved field 200 kilometers north, he switched to another antique propulsion system and taxied to a large, weathered warehouse – Walfor’s hub for distribution to the most populated areas of the planet. As he and Tanja emerged, crewmen were busy unloading crates from the shuttle and loading them onto trucks for delivery to Puhau and other isolated mountain towns.

“That’s the last of everything I brought with me from Boj,” he said. “Special discount for my favorite planetary administrator. If you feel inclined to offer any personal bonuses . . .”

“I’ve offered you and your crew plenty of hospitality in the past week. Time to get to work. Uncle Quinn has the iperion shipment ready to go.”

Inside the warehouse they found seats in a cafeteria on the second level, and Walfor retrieved them each a bottle of local beer. Tanja downed hers and followed it with a container of cold water. She watched the cargo activities outside and mused aloud, “My accountants say your profit margins are so low that they can’t believe you’re making any money from the Candela run.”

“Oh? You want me to raise my prices?”

“No, it’s just that the practitioners of your profession are not exactly known for being honest.”

“Maybe I’m giving you a special deal because I like you.” He smiled at her, and she didn’t believe it for a minute. He finally said, “All right, I have a higher calling, a long-range vision. The General’s plan makes a lot of sense. If it works, then everyone in the Deep Zone makes a lot more profit.” He seemed uncharacteristically sincere rather than cocky. “I think of it as an investment.”

“We’re each making a hefty investment,” she said.
And taking a deadly risk
.

Using her own financing, Tanja had quietly purchased a group of off-the-books trailblazer vessels that had been decommissioned after the new Constellation network was complete. Since the Diadem had no further use for the vessels, Tanja was able to buy them at fire-sale prices, supposedly to be used for local planetary purposes. Ian Walfor’s crew at Buktu had refitted and launched them, secretly delivering them to General Adolphus. With regular supplies of Candela iperion, the co-conspirators had everything they needed.

Finishing her water, she stood. “Much as I enjoy your company, Ian, I need to cut our date short and make arrangements to get to Hellhole myself. Your trip may take longer, but mine is a lot more roundabout. The General won’t want either of us to be late.”

“Oh, he’ll soften up once I arrive with the iperion shipment. I’ll be there.”

“That’s all I ask.”

W
hen they set off across Hellhole’s unexplored vastness to search for wonders and mysteries, Vincent finally thought he understood the excitement that had so energized Fernando. Maybe they would discover something interesting after all.

In Michella Town, the two men had received clothing, rations, tools and an overland vehicle rugged enough to withstand the dangers the planet was likely to throw at them. Their safety briefing turned out to be a two-day-long workshop during which they were bombarded with details about seismic activity, volcanic eruptions, dust clouds, toxic gas plumes vented from underground reservoirs, poisonous vegetation, indigenous insect analogs, pernicious parasites, and fungal infections that could get a foothold on human flesh. Possible storms fell into several categories: thunderstorms, windstorms, lightning, hail, freak blizzards, and tornadoes, in addition to the exotic smoke storms and static outbursts, colloquially called growlers, such as they’d experienced on their arrival day. And those were only the
known
hazards. Part of their job as topographical prospectors was to discover what else this planet had to offer, both good and bad.

Vincent had studied the information carefully, reviewing it for hours, though Fernando didn’t seem to be paying much attention. He could barely sit still as they prepared to depart in their well-provisioned Trakmaster.