Hellhole (44 page)

Once the trailblazers dropped off the terminus rings at their destinations, the secret would be out in a matter of days – and all the surprised DZ planetary administrators would have to make a choice. In order to ensure the correct decision, Adolphus had sent out secret subversives to prepare those planets that seemed like tough nuts to crack. They were laying the groundwork for a swift and smooth transition, so that the whole enormous Deep Zone would stand unified against the expected retaliation from the Constellation. On some worlds, he would use military options to force compliance, if necessary . . .

The dozen active co-conspirators were acquiring old or surplus space military ships under a variety of pretexts, refurbishing them at their planets so they could stand ready. On each stringline from Sonjeera, there were numerous vulnerable points to intercept a lumbering and overconfident Army of the Constellation should it come. He had even arranged for the defection of a few key linerunners from the old Constellation network.

Inside his Elba residence, with the doors of his private study securely locked, Adolphus reviewed the latest message from Captain Ernst Packard, who had recently departed for the DZ planet Ridgetop. The General had known Packard well, a cultured, even effete man who thrived on the finer things in life, priding himself on his clothes, appearance, taste in music, and pretentions in gourmet dining. Adolphus had been surprised when Packard moved to Hallholme, since this did not appear to be a world suited to his tastes; he was even more surprised when Packard volunteered to become one of the long-range trailblazer pilots. Neither the lonely journey, nor the cargo of hazardous iperion, seemed the sort of thing he would choose.

But Packard was persistent, and Adolphus trusted him. Four months ago, the man had flown away in a trailblazer loaded with supplies, his music library, a wealth of entertainment files, and aspirations to “get some thinking done.”

Adolphus played the newest message packet, but when he saw the image of Ernst Packard, he immediately sensed that something was wrong. Because of the deleterious effects of long-term iperion exposure, the trailblazers had thick bulkheads and extensive shielding between cargo holds and living quarters. Given the long journeys, each pilot was required to wear protective gear, but Packard always dressed up to record his messages. He took off his protective suit, put on his best jacket and tie, slicked his hair back, and made himself presentable for the camera.

Now, the man was drawn and grayish, obviously ill.

“It is my occasion once more to give you an update, General. Did I mention that I’ve decided to write a book? By now it’s expanded to at least two volumes. Having little to say is no limiting factor when one has so much excess time on one’s hands! Though the remaining months stretch out before me, my time does appear to be nearly finished. However, I can last long enough to accomplish my task – you can count on me, sir. The people at Ridgetop will receive me with great cheers . . . or perhaps a funeral. It’s all a matter of timing.

“You see, more and more often I’ve neglected to wear my protective gear. The suit is so uncomfortable, and it’s a shame to be uncomfortable when time is short. According to my old doctors on Ogg, before I came to Hellhole, exposure to iperion actually has a potential
positive
effect on my medical condition.” Packard paused, frowned, then scratched his chin. “Did I mention my condition? It’s been so long, and I’ve had so many imaginary conversations, I can’t remember what’s real and what isn’t. But it is terminal, so I had nothing to lose.

“For the first couple of months, this voyage worked wonders for me. The iperion made me feel healthy again, although I couldn’t take much advantage of my new joie de vivre, being cooped up alone on a ship. Now, however, I’ve reached the point of diminishing returns, and the adverse effects of the iperion outweigh the benefits of the treatment.”

Packard smiled with good cheer. “Don’t worry, though, General. Everything aboard is automated. This ship
will
reach its destination and establish a terminus at Ridgetop, whether or not I live to see it.”

Packard seemed distracted for a moment, then continued. “I could start wearing the protective suit again, but what’s the use? The damage is done, and I have no regrets. I hope you don’t think me vain, General, but someday – if everything works out all right – I’d be honored if you’d consider naming this route the Ernst Packard Memorial Stringline.” He chuckled at his own hubris. “Hmm, that sounded much less egotistical when I imagined it.” He folded his hands before him and leaned closer to the imager. “Fear not, General. I’m proud of what I’ve done. This is Ernst Packard, your obedient servant, signing off.”

Stunned, Adolphus stared at the blank screen, feeling the full weight of his heavy heart. Any difficult enterprise had its share of casualties and sacrifices. He thought of all the names on death certificates he’d signed. Then there was Franck Tello, lost in that final engagement against Commodore Percival Hallholme and the Constellation forces over Sonjeera. Franck had followed orders to the end, never doubting his General. And in those last seconds before his ship was engulfed in flames, knowing that he and his crew were doomed, Franck had saluted – a last salute . . .

Forcing himself to concentrate on his duty and on his responsibilities, Adolphus called up the stringline map and marked Packard’s position en route to Ridgetop. He had faith that the ship would arrive as scheduled. He could count on Packard for that.

Someday, history would determine whether the sacrifices had been justified.

T
hough the new camp erected around the three slickwater pools appeared rugged (“rustic” was a better word, Sophie decided), the settlement would serve its purpose. The temporary buildings would offer little protection from a severe growler or volcanic eruption, but the valley was sheltered and the slickwater pools looked pristine.

If Slickwater Springs thrived, she could see about building sturdy permanent structures: a lodge house, a restaurant, sleeping quarters, isolated cabins. She told herself, only half in jest, that this could become Hellhole’s first spa and resort.

Over the past week, forty people had come to see the pools – all just out of curiosity, so far.

Sophie Vence had always thought big. Arriving in the early days of Helltown, she had invested her money and sweat in two greenhouse domes. When those proved productive, she expanded the operation and took over the management of a warehousing company that had failed to meet the colony’s needs. From there, the growth of her operations accelerated.

Now, hovering around the camp, Fernando-Zairic spoke to the new arrivals, filling their heads with remembered wonders of Xayan civilization. The visitors asked questions, which he eagerly answered, but sometimes he was at a loss for words. “We just don’t have a mutual background of experiences for me to describe it adequately. For instance, in my head I can hear Xayan music, but I can’t recreate it for you – at least not yet. Ah, if only more of you would join me.”

Listening to his imaginative stories, Sophie experienced a spark of amazement that had long been gone from her life. She knew many others were tempted. Though the physical appearance of the aliens brought shudders to most people, Zairic’s promises of utopia caught their attention. Anyone who volunteered to accept the slickwater memory-transference would receive all the exotic experiences of a strange life, a vicarious existence much more marvelous than their own . . . not to mention the potential powers of telemancy, which interested Adolphus most of all.

Though many down-and-out Hellhole colonists found the offer appealing, no one wanted to be first.

Sophie’s crews had set up stable boardwalks around the ponds’ edges. With real wood scarce on Hellhole, the boards were a synthetic composite derived from native plant life and silica. She had also installed a ramp for those who wished to immerse themselves, but so far there hadn’t been any takers.

The General wanted regular updates, but as yet she had nothing to tell him. Though she shared his concerns, they both realized the potential boon the reawakened Xayans could be.

She had thought Vincent Jenet would be one of the first volunteers, but he remained reluctant to immerse himself. He was worried about the risks, no matter how much his friend tried to convince him. “I saw how difficult it was for you, Fernando – you almost died. I was certain you
were
dead. How do you know the experience won’t be worse for others?”

The other man’s smile conveyed complete confidence. “The slick-water is now more capable of attuning to human biochemistry and cerebral morphology. Much was learned from the initial encounter with me. The next converts will have a less difficult time, I promise.”

To prove his assertion, Fernando went to the edge of the boardwalk, turned to face the crowd, and allowed himself to fall backward into the slickwater pool, fully clothed. He made no splash; the mercurial liquid folded itself around him like comforting hands, and he sank under.

Vincent was anxious for his friend, but he stopped himself short of jumping in after him. Presently, Fernando emerged grinning. The slick-water dripped off his hair and face, and the pool itself buoyed him up. He laughed at the expression on Vincent’s face. “I told you, it’s all right now! Come on in.” He stroked in the pool, closed his eyes, and spoke in a distant, alien-tinged voice. “I have told all of my waiting people the good news. They know they have a chance to live again, that we have succeeded in our desperate gamble to save our great race.” He let out a contented sigh. “Who will be first among you? There must be someone?”

The curiosity seekers watched, hesitant, skeptical, nervous. After several more days, Sophie began to wonder if anyone would take the plunge . . .

At long last, one old veteran of the General’s rebellion hobbled forward. Former Lieutenant Peter Herald had been injured in an explosion in the battle over Sonjeera, his lungs scarred from breathing caustic vapors; he had been exiled to Hallholme like many of Adolphus’s other supporters. Eking out a life there, he had worked first in the mines, then in the agricultural fields. The buildup of pulmonary scar tissue made it more and more difficult for him to breathe, especially in the dust-laden air of Hellhole, and his health deteriorated.

Loyal to his soldiers, the General insisted that Herald – like all exiled veterans – must be taken care of. However, the fact that he was dependent on the charity of others, no longer the man he pictured himself to be, weighed on Herald. He had been one of the first to arrive at the slickwater pools, staring at the oily swirling surface as if hypnotized. The former lieutenant’s face was full of longing to experience things that his body was no longer capable of.

After days of discussion and hesitation, he stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. “All right, dammit. Somebody has to be brave.” He coughed repeatedly, and his shoulders shuddered. “If this works, I hope more of you will join me. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

From the pool, Fernando-Zairic nodded encouragement. Sophie felt tense, but she did not try to stop the veteran. She had to watch, despite her anxiety. No one knew what was going to happen. Vincent opened his mouth as if to offer a word of caution, but he pressed his lips together and held his tongue. Everyone else watched with bated breath.

Without bothering to use the ramp, Peter Herald leaned over and let himself fall into the quiet cauldron of slickwater. He shuddered and thrashed a moment, his eyes opened wide in shock – terror – then dawning amazement. He submerged. Fernando-Zairic didn’t move towards him.

The people around the boardwalk drew closer to the edge. Someone wanted to throw a rope to save the man, but no one dared dive in to lend a hand.

Vincent called out, “Fernando, help him!”

“He’s all right, Vincent. Trust me.”

In less than a minute, Herald’s head rose above the surface. Viscid fluid drained from his hair and face, and he stroked smoothly toward the ramp and climbed out of the pool. He moved with a strength and grace he had not shown just seconds earlier. The slickwater shed itself from his body, draining back into the reservoir. The veteran said nothing for a long moment.

Fernando-Zairic climbed up and stood next to the man, his hands clasped together. “Who are you? Do you know yet?”

Herald opened his eyes wide and turned to face the others. Sophie shivered when she saw that his eyes, too, now had a faint unfocused sheen that gleamed in the light. “It’s true, what you said.” He raised his voice. “It’s all true! The wonders I have seen!” He looked around, eyes shining with an eerie pearlescence. “I don’t have the words. I don’t have the . . . it’s all true!”

Fernando-Zairic embraced him warmly. Peter Herald drew deep breaths – without coughing – and moved with a strength and vigor that Sophie found astonishing. The slickwater must have healed him.

Two other colonists needed no further encouragement. After they jumped in, Fernando and Herald helped them out to join the ranks of the converts. Other visitors pushed forward, jostling one another at the edge of the boardwalk. Sophie was sure that one man was accidentally knocked off the boardwalk and into the pool, but when he emerged, he had no complaints, only a look of awe on his face.

Sophie was amazed to see how swiftly everything –
everyone –
changed. By the end of the afternoon, ten more people chattered with great excitement, holding forth with descriptions of the Xayan lives they now carried.

Vincent’s feelings seesawed. He said to Sophie, “We all came to Hellhole because we didn’t have any other options. But if what Fernando says is true, then a kind of magic has come into the lives of these people.” He looked over at her. “Nonetheless, I’m happy enough with who I am. I’m not looking to become someone or something else.”

“But a lot of these people are.”

Sophie had never been much of a religious person, but now, as she saw the striking re-emergence of Xayan memories, she experienced an odd kind of spirituality. Fernando-Zairic seemed so very joyful as he greeted his resurrected Xayan friends.