Hellhole (45 page)

Sophie realized she was at the beginning of something remarkable out here at Slickwater Springs. At the same time a cold fear invaded her chest, as she wondered what she had unleashed.

G
liding along the stringline path, the
Kerris
added a faint dusting of iperion molecules where necessary, then began to decelerate on the approach to Hallholme. This was the last trip that Turlo and Sunitha Urvancik would ever make for the Constellation.

They had already set up the details for their disappearance. Once the two linerunners reached the terminus, they would disengage the
Kerris
from its quantum path and never return to their official duties. Both of them had more important things to do: they believed in General Tiber Adolphus.

On the current run from Sonjeera, the
Kerris
had stopped at three substations along the way, as scheduled. Turlo and Sunitha had repaired and recharged each of the unmanned facilities, filed the appropriate reports, kept everything neat and tidy.

Turlo had also planted detonation devices, should they prove necessary.

“We’ll be there in an hour, my dear,” he said. “Any second thoughts?”

She shrugged. “How can you have any doubts? You read Kerris’s final note. He’d be ashamed of us if we changed our minds now . . .”

During his service in the Army of the Constellation, their son’s letters home had grown progressively less certain over the course of the rebellion. Serving aboard the flagship of Commodore Percival Hallholme, Kerris had seen first-hand the ruthless measures the Constellation employed, particularly the appalling use of human shields, innocent civilians who were tormented (with images broadcast over narrow-band video transmissions) to intimidate the rebels.

Very shortly after Hallholme’s victory at Sonjeera, which brought an end to General Adolphus and his rebellion, Turlo and Sunitha received word that their son had died bravely in the final battle. Kerris even received a posthumous medal of honor.

Only later did they learn the truth, that their son had died not in battle, but from a lethal dose of radiation because of an improperly installed fuel rod in the engine room of the flagship. A major screwup. This event occurred well after Adolphus’s defeat and had less to do with glory or bravery than ineptitude.

For an idiotic victory regatta across the skies of Sonjeera, Diadem Michella insisted that Commodore Hallholme’s flagship be cleaned and polished. She had rushed the matter and hired untrained personnel, who made mistakes. Radiation exposure was a slow and horrible way to die, and Kerris had plenty of time to reflect on his situation. He wrote a long, bitter farewell note to his parents, but the Constellation had not seen fit to deliver it to them. A screwup
and
a coverup.

Instead, the notice Turlo and Sunitha received had said, “
Your son died bravely in the line of duty during the final battle to defeat the traitor General Adolphus.
”

Bullshit.

Two months later, an equally disenchanted Commodore Percival Hallholme sent them a smuggled message explaining the truth, and he included Kerris’s actual letter.

The retired Hallholme, it turned out, had feelings similar to their son’s. He loathed the fiction that the Diadem had created around him and his victory. After Adolphus’s disgrace and exile, Hallholme himself had secretly sent aid to his defeated enemy during the first year on that hellish planet.

Back then, Turlo and Sunitha were running stringline cargo haulers, and they helped the Commodore to doctor manifests, reroute supplies, and smuggle much-needed food, equipment, and medicines to the vanquished rebels. Even General Adolphus didn’t know the identity of his secret benefactor, and Turlo and Sunitha had promised to keep that knowledge to themselves – which they had done to this day.

Though the two men had been enemies on the battlefield, Hallholme and Adolphus shared a similar code of honor. After defeating the rebels, the Commodore had retired and taken up residence on the old Adolphus estate on Qiorfu, apparently to revel in his triumph (as the propagandists portrayed it); Turlo knew, however, that the retired old man simply had no stomach for politics anymore. The Urvanciks hadn’t had contact with him for years.

Due in part to Kerris’s service during the war, Turlo and Sunitha had been cleared as linerunners by the Constellation, but they never forgot what their son had suffered because of a government that wasn’t really noble at all . . .

Upon reaching Hellhole, the
HDS Kerris
docked at the Constellation’s orbiting terminus ring; the General had already made arrangements to erase all record of their arrival from the station.

Turlo swept his arm before the viewscreen. “The vacation spot of the galaxy! Ready for some rest and recreation, my dear?”

“I never want to set foot on Sonjeera again. I feel like spitting every time I go there.”

“Then it’s time for a new career. Same job, different boss.”

“An honorable boss – that makes all the difference.”

Sunitha was so furious at the corrupt Constellation government that she wanted to transmit a defiant message to Sonjeera, finally speaking the words she’d held inside for years. But Turlo stopped her. Better that the
Kerris
simply vanished from the grid. They would be presumed lost in transit, like Eva McLuhan . . . succumbing to cabin fever, loneliness, and tedium, another linerunner suicide on the books. Their ship would never be found, and the Constellation would write them off.

Leaving the
Kerris
docked to the terminus ring, they shuttled down to Michella Town. They would have three days to detach the linerunner and cruise around to the other side of the planet before the next cargo hauler arrived. There, they would link up to the large secret hub being constructed over Ankor . . . and start a whole new life.

Much to their surprise, General Adolphus came to meet them in person in the colony town. Turlo bowed, though he thought he might be expected to salute. “I am honored, sir.”

“Not as honored as I am.” Adolphus shook Turlo’s hand, then Sunitha’s. “You’re giving up a great deal to join my enterprise.”

“We’ve already lost everything that matters.” Sunitha’s voice cracked a little.

The General’s expression became somber. “I’m very sorry about what happened to your son.”

“The rebellion caused plenty of pain for all of us, sir,” Turlo said.

Sunitha added, “But not to the people who deserved it.”

The General looked up into the greenish sky. “A new revolt is at hand, one that won’t fail. In a little more than a month it’ll be Destination Day. I need your help to check our new lines.” He gestured them toward his private ground vehicle. “But you can spend a few days here in Michella Town. I’ve arranged lodgings for you, and I’ll pay for anything you want – food, drink, pampering, whatever minimal luxuries we have to offer. Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. The RandR is your signing bonus.”

Turlo caught his breath. “That’s awfully trusting of you, sir.”

“Nonsense. I know what sort of people you are. I don’t take anyone into my confidence unless I trust them.” General Adolphus moved toward the car, and his driver opened the door for them. “Besides, there aren’t many luxuries and amenities available here. You couldn’t get too extravagant even if you wanted to.”

F
ernando-Zairic remained at the alien pools, acting as an ambassador to welcome the new Xayan converts like himself, helping them adjust to their dramatically changed lives.

Vincent had no intention of leaving him. As an excuse, he said he couldn’t do the long mapping expeditions by himself, so he asked Sophie Vence to reassign him to Slickwater Springs, and she was happy to have a reliable extra hand. She knew Vincent was a good employee, and she had more than enough work establishing, expanding, and maintaining this fledgling settlement, especially as more and more people came to see what all the fuss was about.

Despite the growing interest in the slickwater, Sophie was relieved that the four Original Xayans had not emerged from their mountain bunker to observe the pools. Cristoph de Carre and a small team worked inside the vault under tight security. The General had asked Encix and her companions to remain isolated and out of sight, but it was unclear what would happen if the aliens decided to press the issue. Fortunately, for whatever reason, the four living Xayans seemed oddly reticent about the data-pool of restored lives, as if they had no interest in it at all.

The weeks passed, and as more and more Hellhole colonists reawakened ancient Xayan personalities, Vincent felt increasingly distant from his friend. Those who emerged from the pools with exotic secondary personalities seemed to have much more in common with Fernando, and the converts tended to keep to themselves.

Though the “shadow-Xayans,” as they had begun to call themselves, still looked human, their eyes and mannerisms were distinctly different. Vincent could tell at a glance who had been baptized and who remained the same. Since human physiology was not adequate for the communication methods used by the original Xayans, the converts still spoke the common Constellation language. Even so, their conversations left him out as they discussed shared memories and histories, of which Vincent knew nothing.

He saw little of the real Fernando anymore, since the Zairic personality had become dominant, engrossed in his important business. Fernando did appear now and then, but he laughed when Vincent expressed his worries. He even made his familiar raspberry sound. “Oh, Vincent – Zairic’s not forcing me to do anything against my will! Trust me, this is perfect . . . just perfect. I couldn’t be happier.” They stood together watching two more people plunge into the eerie pool. “One of these days, you’ll change your mind.”

When entering the slickwater, volunteers could not choose which personality would come out of the database of Xayan memories. He might emerge from the pool as an alien leader, architect, philosopher, scientist, or common laborer. They all wanted to live again, but the alien race had their own selection process; the first ones to emerge were slanted toward the most powerful and influential leaders of the lost race.

Some presences were stronger than others and dominated the volunteer human personalities, while others were more egalitarian and shared in a beneficial common bond. A few of the reawakened telemancers exhibited mental powers like those the Originals had demonstrated during the reception back in Michella Town. Those new converts could levitate themselves off the ground, their faces awash with delight as their human personalities marveled at their new abilities. Most, though, exhibited no powers at all.

Vincent was reassured to note that not a single one of the shadow-Xayans complained about their new situation; instead, they were exuberant with a sense of wonder that had been missing from their lives ever since they’d come to Hallholme.

At the burgeoning camp, Sophie Vence had a relatively large structure for her private residence and administrative office, and Vincent lived in one of the smaller adjacent cabins erected for the support workers. After their conversion, the shadow-Xayans established a cluster of small prefab huts on the opposite side of one of the three pools, and spent most of their time together, excited about their new future.

As dusk settled over the valley, a sharp frosty wind blew in with such a dramatic temperature drop that everyone scurried inside their tents or communal cabins. Vincent could see condensed steam rising from the slickwater pools. The shadow-Xayans retreated together to their huts, and after watching his friend join the group of converts, Vincent returned to his small cabin for a quiet night alone. Outside, he heard the crackle of ice, a skittering of crystals across the ground, and a brisk wind that jabbed at loose seals in the temporary shelter.

However, once Fernando-Zairic saw that his fellows were safe, he came back to Vincent’s cabin and joined him for conversation, just like old times. Vincent was surprised to have the company, “So, are you Fernando tonight, or Zairic?”

“Whichever you prefer. We share our time inside my head.” The calm voice was definitely the alien one. “We’re partners.”

“
Fernando
is my friend. Zairic keeps trying to talk me into immersing myself, but the real Fernando would accept my decision.”

The other man’s voice changed. “Oh, I can’t tell you how much I’d like to have you join us, Vincent, but I’m not going to pressure you. I don’t understand why you’re so afraid, but then, you always did worry about everything.”

“I like my personality as it is.” Vincent paused, recalling his dead father, his job in the machine shop, and how he had been forced to steal for an ultimately pointless medical treatment. Some people might have said he had nothing to lose. “I just don’t want to be dominated by someone else in my own mind.”

The raspberry sound again. “Oh, I’m not dominated. I
let
myself drop into the background, because Zairic has important work to do. Can’t you see?”

“I still want my real friend Fernando back.”