Hellhole (50 page)

“Do not be alarmed,” Encix said. “It is thus that we honor our dead comrade.” All four withdrew their finger tentacles from the sarcophagus, leaving the dead Xayan nothing more than a shriveled, twisted lump of dried gelatin and cartilage.

Cristoph suddenly thought of his own father lying in a pool of blood in a Sonjeera prison because he was too weak to face his shame. He continued to back away, imagining what these creatures could do to
his
body.

Cippiq spoke calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “We assimilate the flesh and memories, preparing the body for eternity.”

“Shall we find a more comfortable area for you to sleep, so we do not disturb you?” asked Tryn, the other female and the smallest of the four Originals. “We can decrease the light energy in the air to help you sleep.”

“That’s all right.” Cristoph kept himself apart from them, anxious to be away. “I’m completely awake now.”

D
iadem Michella worked hard to maintain her body and mind in peak physical condition, since she intended to rule for decades more.

Her personal physician watched her from the rooftop patio, monitoring readings of her vital signs. He’d tried to discourage her from strenuous physical activity, which he considered inappropriate for someone her age, but Michella disagreed with his medical opinion. And the Diadem always won her arguments.

Just beyond the south portico of her sprawling palace, her private running track had been built to her specifications only a year before. In a glass-walled gym building beside the track, she kept every form of exercise machine, as well as a staff of trainers. On this cool, foggy morning, she hadn’t even broken a sweat as she kept a moderate, steady pace around the red clay track. She made her third lap of the four-hundred meter track and kept running.

Ishop Heer was late for their scheduled meeting.

Finally, after rounding another turn, she saw him hurrying from the main entrance of the gym, dressed in the running clothes she had left out for him. A robust man, Ishop considered himself to be in good shape, but Michella wanted to make him sweat this morning, in more ways than one. As much as she depended on the aide, Ishop had begun to think a bit too highly of himself. He must not be allowed to feel superior; he wasn’t, after all, of noble blood.

“Don’t dawdle, Ishop,” Michella called out as she increased her pace, making him work to keep up. “We have important things to discuss, and my schedule is full.”

Her watchdog fell into step beside her, already breathing hard. Perspiration stood out on his bald scalp. “I have a report for you about Hallholme, Eminence. I looked into the alleged religious cult and the rumors of aliens, as you requested.”

“Very well, you’d better hurry and tell me before you collapse and need to be carted off.” She knew she could outperform him in physical activity.

“Odd things are indeed occurring there, Eminence,” he said with a forced chuckle. “The colonists discovered a group of exotic pools, which I believe have psychotropic properties. Anyone who comes in contact with the water becomes delusional, euphoric.”

“In a dangerous way? Or are they just intoxicated?”

“They
believe
they are receiving alien memories from the previous inhabitants of the planet. Many converts also believe they have been healed from illness or injury. Their fervor is a bit out of the ordinary, but not alarming compared to the countless other cults that claim exclusive access to a previously unknown source of celestial knowledge.”

“What do you know for certain? Did you experience this water yourself?” Michella increased her speed, forcing him to run harder.

Ishop was shocked by the question. “Expose myself to the contamination? No, I took every precaution, Eminence. I wore gloves and a facemask, I washed frequently, and I subjected myself to thorough blood tests as soon as I returned to Sonjeera. However, General Adolphus did imply that he might immerse me in one of the pools. He was trying to intimidate me, but it didn’t work.”

Though the man panted heavily, he managed to keep up, to Michella’s surprise. Perhaps she shouldn’t underestimate him. She chuckled. “Ishop, I can’t imagine you becoming a member of a deluded cult.”

“I would have to be drugged or infected somehow. I certainly would not join by choice.” He shuddered visibly. “I have extensive media files of the spa encampment, the converts, the activities around those pools. We can use the images to warn our citizens of what’s really happening there – it won’t be hard to make the cult members look ridiculous. We could even make the
General
look ridiculous.” He obviously knew she would like that part.

“Good, our media corps can start on that. I’ll be sure it’s widely distributed. Maybe we can at least stop the gullible from going there. Alien memories? Miraculous healing? Indeed!”

Impatient with the aide’s panting and sweating, she turned towards the gym building, where she intended to cool down by swimming twenty lengths of the pool. “What about the rumors of actual, living aliens? Did you see any of them?”

“None, Eminence. The idea is absurd, as you no doubt realize. However, plenty of the converts believe they
are
aliens. They seem genuinely deluded. Before I left Michella Town, Administrator Adolphus had one of the local xenobiologists show me the remains of a large indigenous creature one of their hunters had killed in the wilderness. The first large beast they’ve encountered on that planet. It appeared to be some kind of herd animal that survived the impact. Maybe that is at the root of the rumors.”

Entering the gym building, Michella accepted a towel from an attendant and draped it over her shoulders. Ishop took one for himself and wiped sweat from his face as he kept talking. “In all, I found Adolphus to be vague and elusive. He could be hiding something . . . or he might just be intractable.”

She headed for the pool, scrubbing her damp hair with the towel. “You are probably correct in both respects, Ishop. Tiber Adolphus hates me as much as I hate him. If there’s a way to disgrace, hurt, or embarrass me, he will find it.”

Ishop’s pale green eyes became calculating, moving to the next item on his mental agenda. “Adolphus is smart, though, Eminence. What if the slickwater is indeed valuable, but he’s hiding behind a silly cult to deflect Constellation interest? Hmm, perhaps it was a trick after all?”

She entered the pool room and looked at the enticing smooth water, wondering if Ishop would follow her into the changing area. He was so loyal and intense, he probably wouldn’t even notice when he stepped over a boundary. “Interesting thought, and I wouldn’t put it past Adolphus. That planet was supposed to be a dumping ground for all the Constellation’s criminals, exiles, and misfits.” She squinted. “If there’s anything valuable on Hallholme, maybe I want it back.”

A
s the number of shadow-Xayans grew at Slickwater Springs, they became a drain on the settlement’s resources. The placid converts didn’t leave, didn’t offer to work for Sophie Vence, didn’t go back to their old jobs for the colony. All mundane concerns seemed irrelevant to them.

Finally, like a mother bird chasing her babies out of the nest when they grew too big, Sophie marched out to the large group that sat listening to Zairic’s evening sermon, and she laid down the law. “I can’t let a bunch of freeloaders stay here indefinitely. Back when this planet was a paradise, maybe you Xayans could sit around and drink milk and eat honey off the ground, but there’s a bit more effort involved here on Hellhole. All colonists have to pull their own weight.” She pointed her finger at Fernando-Zairic. “You had better figure out what you intend to do, whether it’s dredging up something useful from your alien memories, or finding other real employment. Either way, you need to
earn
your food and shelter. No more handouts.”

Laughing, Fernando-Zairic applauded and turned to his followers. “Sophie Vence is absolutely right! We have overstayed our welcome, and it is time we established our own city – one that may only be the faintest mirage of what Xaya once was, but we shall see. We have enough telemancers to accomplish this. With our wealth of human and Xayan knowledge, our city may surpass expectations.”

Sophie was surprised that convincing them could be so easy. “Well, all right then. I’ll loan you enough supplies to get started.”

Every resurrected alien life represented a person of significance to the lost race, a leader, a philosopher, a telemancer. Fernando-Zairic had achieved a kind of balance with the bright-humored original human personality coming to the fore at occasional intervals, even though Zairic was in control more often. Other converts, however, rarely showed their human characteristics. Sophie was concerned that the aliens seemed to be dominating the volunteers, and she said so.

“Is that so surprising?” Fernando-Zairic explained. “Of all the lives and memories our race preserved, the first to awaken are the most powerful and important personalities.” He shrugged. “Conversely, the first human volunteers are those who were most beaten down and least hopeful, those with nothing to lose. The group is skewed. Strong Xayans and weak humans. As more and more people join us, however, you’ll see a change in the balance. Humans and Xayans will be equal partners, I promise.”

The next morning at dawn, she watched Fernando-Zairic gather the shadow-Xayans – more than a hundred of them now – and lead them in a prompt and orderly exodus. His actions reminded her of an ancient tale in which the Pied Piper coaxed all of the village children away to their doom. For the Xayans’ sake, she hoped their leader was more than a con man . . .

Over the next several days, Fernando-Zairic and his followers established their new city in the nearby bowl-shaped meadow that Vincent had discovered, blanketed with fast-growing red weed. From their Xayan memories, the converts recognized the plant and understood what to do with it. Though their human bodies could not eat the fruit or leaves, they could process the material into a fabric similar to canvas, which they planned to sell in Helltown, with Sophie Vence as their commercial intermediary.

Once the shadow-Xayans moved to their settlement, Vincent Jenet finally moved on to explore more of the wilds of Hellhole. With bittersweet regret, he departed, and Sophie was sad to see him go; he’d been a big help to her, one of those hardworking employees who actually did what he promised and didn’t need constant supervision, though she knew the poor man was still hurting inside.

Sophie had seen sad tolls among the converts, too – broken relationships and marriages, people who came together to the slickwater pools but parted when one person accepted alien memories and the other decided against it. General Adolphus had strictly forbidden children from immersing themselves, even though a few parents wanted to take their young sons or daughters with them into the Xayan memories. Adolphus refused to hear the pleas of saddened mothers and fathers. “It’s barbaric to burden a child with a complete alien life before he’s had a chance to live his own.” Nevertheless, families fell apart, no longer able to understand one another. At least in the new settlement, the converts would have their own place.

While the eerie shadow-Xayans rejoiced in what had awakened within them, Vincent understood what the eager-eyed volunteers were
losing
. Sophie felt even worse for him when Fernando-Zairic did not come back to bid his friend farewell . . .

Having lost his partner in the Ankor sinkhole, a grief-stricken Tel Clovis kept to himself at Slickwater Springs, speaking barely a word to the others. For hours, he stood on the boardwalk at the edge of the pond, clutching the flimsy wire barricade. His expression shifted from longing to revulsion or hatred, as if he blamed the slickwater for Renny’s death. He had abandoned his administrative position and now lived in a daze.

Tel watched intently while an old woman from Michella Town walked with an elegant stride along the boardwalk. With no fanfare or hesitation, she slipped into the slickwater pool and sank beneath the surface.

Though by now this had become a familiar occurrence, onlookers still regarded each baptism with awed whispers. When the woman emerged from the pool, pulling herself up on the rungs of the ladder, she paused as the last of the fluid drained away from her. She gazed around, inhaled deeply, and walked up to Tel Clovis. She regarded him with her new shimmering eyes. “Renny wants you to stop despairing. Some of his memories are in the pool with us, dissolved in the slickwater. We learned from him.”

He gasped, but she continued to stare at him. “Now, will you join us?”

She held out her old wrinkled hand. Crying, Tel took it, and she led him into the pool.

W
earing his crisp uniform, Unit Captain Escobar Hallholme fumed as he watched the rotund, outdated FTL ship settle back onto the Lubis Plain landing field not far from where he and his father stood. He didn’t want to calm down before he had a chance to reprimand the pilot.

It was the ugliest spacecraft he’d ever seen, with tiny windows on the sides of its bloated body and black streaks scoring the underside of the hull. Used as a troop ship in Adolphus’s rebellion, such an old vessel shouldn’t still be flying, should never have been powered up without a thorough shakedown and inspection by qualified mechanics. The hulk had been left here with all the others, like an old animal about to die, but the ungainly ship still flew – a tribute to the dedication and skills of the soldiers working at the Lubis Plain yards.