Hellhole (32 page)

Fernando’s expression faded, and the Zairic personality returned. “I am willing to share everything that the Xayans knew, if your people wish it.”

“That’s not my call to make. I’m just a . . .” Vincent felt entirely out of his depth. He didn’t even know how to answer. He was a nobody, and so was Fernando, but now his friend carried the memories of an alien leader – assuming this wasn’t some strange form of madness.

Night had fallen in the valley as they talked. Fernando-Zairic walked toward the nearest slickwater pool. “Before the asteroid hit, we . . . dissolved ourselves into these reservoirs and into similar data pools around this world.”

“That’s why we found no evidence of Xayan bodies?” Vincent said. “We expected to see some remnants of your civilization, a few skeletons at least.”

Zairic stared off into the night. “I could explain better, Vincent Jenet, if you immersed yourself. You, too, could absorb all the thoughts and memories of a Xayan life, as has Fernando Neron.”

Instantly cautious, Vincent raised both hands and demurred. “I don’t think so. This is too weird for me to handle.” When Zairic showed no reaction at all, Vincent continued, “Now, are you saying that anyone who touches that slickwater will receive an alien personality?”

“That is how we designed the organic database, but it is only accessible to sentient creatures. Despite the destruction of our civilization, our presence remains – at least those of us who immersed ourselves into the sentient pools. From my experience with Fernando, I know that you can help the Xayans return from extinction. Your people can
become
us. We will become symbiotic partners, greater than either race.”

Vincent looked at the quiescent surface of the slickwater pool. “And there’s nothing left of your entire civilization? Nothing else remains?”

“Very little.” Fernando-Zairic gave him a pointed look. “But enough that we can offer proof.” Abruptly, he walked toward the parked vehicle. “Come, we must speak with your General Tiber Adolphus.”

A
fter driving at top speed over rough terrain for more than an hour, Devon finally decided he and Antonia were far enough from the wrecked camp and the cannibalistic insects. He brought the overland rig to a halt and sat breathing hard as the horrific reality caught up with him. “Sorry I put you at risk. I should have been more careful.”

“You got us out of there alive. That’s what counts.” Antonia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think we’re safe now?”

She could see he was stunned as well, though he tried not to show it. “Safe from the bugs, maybe . . . but this is Hellhole. Never let down your guard.” He rubbed his arms. “We’d better take care of our wounds. Those bites could be poisonous.”

Now that the adrenaline rush was over, Antonia noticed that the cuts and bites on her skin had begun to swell. “I’ll get the medpack.” During her time on the run, Antonia had been too afraid to seek medical attention for minor cuts, infections, or illnesses; once, Jako stole antibiotics when she’d shivered through a very high fever. She had thought he was devoted to her, but he was really just protecting his own secret . . .

She located the medpack in the back compartment of the vehicle and gave it to Devon. He tore it open and rummaged through the contents. “Each kit carries six different chemicals we’ve found useful against Hellhole toxins. Never seen anything like those beetles before, though.” He held up a tube of ointment. “In that situation, we use this multi-salve and hope to hell we have all the bases covered.”

Intent on the fixing the problem, Devon dabbed and cleaned her injuries, while Antonia took up another disinfectant pad and did the same for him. He winced when she prodded a particularly deep wound. She applied creams and bandages to his bites.

“You’ll have to, um . . .” Devon’s voice cracked. He took a deep breath and started again. “I need you to take your shirt off.”

Antonia reacted instantly, drawing away. His eyes did not meet hers, but he said, “Sorry to ask.” He removed his own shirt. “We need to check each other’s back and shoulders.” He flushed bright red.

Antonia relaxed slightly, fighting down her instinctive reaction. Devon was not Jako. This was no time to be prudish. She shrugged out of her torn blouse and turned her back to him. Devon seemed more nervous about touching Antonia’s bare skin than about the insect attack.

When he tended her bites with great care, gently applying salve to each one, she steeled herself to his touch, driving away the unpleasant memories of Jako’s touch and
his
obsessive attentiveness. Antonia checked Devon’s back next and put salve on the bites. He was more muscular than she had expected, but she supposed it wasn’t surprising, since he had grown up on a frontier world.

“You’re shivering.” He touched her neck and her forehead with concern. “Do you feel feverish? That could be a symptom.”

“It has nothing to do with the bites.”

Antonia realized to her surprise that she was not afraid of Devon Vence, that his shyness was more endearing than ever. After Jako, she hadn’t thought she’d ever be so calm around a man again. It was a small, but significant change.

“Here, give me that marker pen.” He drew heavy lines around her bite welts and asked her to mark his. “We’ll watch them for more swelling or reaction before we get back to Helltown.” Devon poked at one of his welts. “But I don’t really think we have anything to worry about. If something on Hellhole is poisonous, it’s
really
poisonous, and a reaction usually sets in within the first hour. I was paying attention to the pain level all along, and since we’re not writhing on the floor by now, I’m cautiously optimistic we’ll be all right.” He went to the Trakmaster’s hatch. “I’ve got to make sure nothing’s damaged after my reckless driving. You can stay inside and rest.”

“Not a chance.” She followed him, and the two slowly surveyed the vehicle’s battered exterior. Aghast, Devon reached out and rubbed one of the dimples where the voracious beetles had chewed through the metal. “My mother’s not going to be happy about the condition of this vehicle.”

“Your mother’s going to be
very
happy that you kept your wits about you and saved our lives. I’ll make sure she knows.”

Devon flushed at the compliment.

He took a flat scraper and went around the exterior, finding eleven more bugs, which he captured in specimen containers for the town’s xenobiologists to study.

Next, he crawled beneath the undercarriage, poked around, and emerged, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead. “Not enough damage to prevent us from getting home.” Then he added, so belatedly that she knew he had been mulling over the comment for some minutes, “And yes, I am very glad that I could save you.”

“Next time, I’ll return the favor.”

There was an awkward moment as Devon fumbled unsuccessfully for a response, after which he busied himself with one more unnecessary inspection of the Trakmaster.

Antonia wrestled with her thoughts and said aloud, “Devon, you’re sweet. I like you a lot, and I appreciate everything you’ve done – not just the lifesaving part. It’s good to have a friend here.” It wasn’t a confession, but more of an explanation. “When I came to Hellhole, I just wanted to get
away
, because if I’d stayed on Aeroc any longer, I’d be dead now. I’m convinced of it.”

Devon squeezed his fingers into fists, then released them. “I wish you’d tell me . . .”

“A man said he loved me, but he . . . he didn’t get what he wanted. He arranged for my parents to be murdered, just to make sure I’d be completely dependent on him. I believed his lies. I learned my lesson, maybe too well. Now I’m not sure I’ll ever trust anyone again.”

The young man was shocked, then furious. He offered to hop on the next stringline passenger pod, go find her ex-boyfriend, and beat him to a pulp. “We take care of our own, Antonia. You don’t need to worry about anybody here.”

It was obvious that Devon believed he could defend her, but she knew that if he tried such a foolish thing, Jako would kill him without a second thought. She touched his arm gently. “There’s nothing you can do about it. I just wanted to let you know why I’m a little closed off. You’re so open and kind, but that’s you. It’s not possible for me.”

Devon was heartbreakingly earnest. “It’ll get better. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you here.”

Not wanting to discourage him, Antonia smiled and thanked him. They clambered back into the vehicle and sealed the hatch.

As the young man drove them toward Michella Town, Antonia finally took out the black object they had found in the ruined camp. She rapped her knuckles on the strangely interlocked curves and spirals, ran her fingertips over its slick surface, the crystalline inclusions. “Have you seen anything like this in the General’s collection?”

Devon glanced at it as he drove. “That one’s more unusual than most . . . but they’re all unusual. We’ll present it to him and see what he has to say.”

I
t was a matter of timing and precise execution (an ironic choice of words), allowing no margin for error.

Like another shadow, Ishop Heer moved along the upper hallway of the Paternos mansion. Despite his large form, he slid from doorway to doorway, approaching his target. His pale, bald head was covered so that the white skin would not be so visible.

He didn’t need his list; he already knew what to do.

While planning this operation, Ishop had made it his business to know who slept in each bedroom. If necessary, he could kill the entire Paternos family and all the servants, a massacre that would cause an uproar throughout the Constellation . . . but that was not his purpose. He would rather do his work like a surgeon removing a diseased organ. Clean and tidy.

Lady Jenine Paternos was an old woman anyway. Despite the energy she brought to Council sessions, recent rumors suggested that her health was failing, and the Council vultures were all too happy to spread such gossip. Unlike the Riomini/de Carre matter on Vielinger, which Diadem Michella considered important, she would not get involved in the petty animosity at the root of the squabble between the Tazaars and the much-weaker Paternos family. But Ishop could certainly use it for his own purposes.

Through no fault of her own, not that Ishop cared, her name was on the list.

He knew that Michella was fully satisfied with his service and wouldn’t suspect a thing. Ishop had done his part to wrap up the de Carre problem, quickly and efficiently. The disgraced nobleman had been an oaf and a fop; though Louis de Carre had possessed a physically fit body, he had no fighting skills.

Just before the scheduled sentencing, and more than an hour before Keana was due to visit the man, Ishop had slipped into Louis’s cell and subdued him easily; in the process he had made de Carre’s death look like a suicide – in accordance with the Diadem’s orders. Her insistence on having Keana find the body was a particularly cruel gesture, he thought, but he didn’t want to get involved in the mother-daughter quarrel.

When Michella had quietly ordered Ishop to kill the miserable Louis, he did not allow himself to feel a bond with Lord de Carre, a man likewise humiliated and destroyed by the scheming politics of the other nobles, much as Ishop’s own family had been seven centuries ago. But empathy extended only so far.

Lord de Carre’s death advanced the fortunes of the Riomini family, whom he despised. Nevertheless, Ishop did as he was ordered to do; it honed his skills and kept him in the Diadem’s favor. Killing de Carre had been messy, and Ishop had to scrub himself in a long, hot shower and discard the clothes he had worn before he felt clean again, but the job was done – as ordered. It was his job.

However, Michella definitely would
not
approve of the assassination of Lady Jenine Paternos. In this particular instance, Ishop wasn’t working for the Diadem, but for his own family honor. He had to take care of the matter cleanly and efficiently. This was his own list, and he decided to put his needs first, for once. After all, whether or not anyone else realized it yet, he was a nobleman, not a servant.

The all-too-public squabbles between the two families provided perfect cover for what he needed to do. He was sure Lady Paternos had no knowledge that she was numbered among those who had wronged the Osheer family seven centuries ago, but her current dispute with Azio Tazaar gave Ishop just the right opportunity to dispatch two names on the list. He was pleased by how neatly the pieces fitted together, as if it was meant to be.

Ishop did not underestimate the old Paternos woman. Though he had neutralized the alarm system, he remained wary. Lady Jenine was a smart, tough crow. But Ishop was smarter.

The Paternos mansion was sturdily built and reinforced, so he froze when he felt the floor and walls move. A substantial earthquake, but he remained calm. Dust trickled down, but Ishop forced himself not to brush it away.

The tremor lasted fifteen seconds, then stopped, leaving the house to thrum and settle again. Kappas was known for its ubiquitous seismic activity of growing mountain ranges; scientists and tourists came here to study the rugged range that was being uplifted at an astonishing rate, more than a meter per year, by colliding tectonic plates. Throughout the temblor, the old house did not creak.

After the quake faded, Ishop remained motionless in an alcove, holding his breath to see if anyone might wake up and investigate the tremors. But the shaking must have been commonplace, since everyone slept through it.

Finally, he wiped the dust away and moved to the closed door of Lady Jenine’s bedchamber. He pushed it open easily; the old woman liked to leave it ajar for air circulation. As he closed it again behind him, he left the same small crack. He could hear soft snores coming from the four-poster bed. The knife in his hand probed forward, pulling him like a compass needle toward its intended victim.

Drawing closer, Ishop saw the form under the blanket, a spray of gray hair across the pillow. Lifting the strands ever so carefully, he exposed the wrinkled skin of her neck. She stirred, raising her chin as if to make his work easier, and with a smooth, quick motion he drew the razor edge from one side of her throat to the other, simultaneously pressing a gloved hand over her mouth to stifle any scream. Lady Paternos squirmed, and her eyes flew open wide, but he held her down, while her neck gushed red.