Hellhole (51 page)

And one of his men had taken it out for a joy ride.

Escobar shook his head in irritation. He still had Diadem Michella’s order in his jacket pocket, commanding him to prep the mothballed fleet, to make repairs and run all necessary checks in order to certify the creaking ships as spaceworthy again. She wanted these antique vessels given flight clearance and launched into orbit, where they would be locked to the framework of a large stringline hauler and delivered out to Ridgetop.

Good riddance
. Following his orders to the letter, Escobar intended to authorize repairs of only the most critical malfunctions; Territorial Governor Goler could invest the rest of the time and effort.

However, a reckless pilot had launched this vessel for a brief run in the inner Qiorfu solar system, and the ship had barely made it back intact. A death trap. Furious, but trying to control his anger, Escobar stood with his old father at the bottom of the exit ramp, impatient for the test pilot to emerge.

“He landed safely,” the retired Commodore mused. “That’s what counts.”

“Not to me. Captain Ulman had no business taking that ship out until it had passed another full set of ground inspections.” As ship after ship was prepped and flown, Escobar knew he was going to lose a pilot sooner or later. He growled in disgust. “This fleet should have been disassembled for components ten years ago.”

The old man lowered his voice to calm his son. “The Diadem demands that these vessels be put back into service with all possible speed. In order to follow her orders, some . . . shortcuts have to be taken.” Percival’s sad eyes held a far-away light. “Cut Captain Ulman some slack. Remember, he is an experienced officer, a man who proved himself to me in wartime. He took a direct role in defeating the rebels.”

Escobar felt frustrated and hemmed in by his father. “Shortcuts and impulsive actions might have been necessary during wartime, but there was no conceivable need for Ulman to take such a risk for
this
. That ship could have blown up on reentry.”

The access hatch opened, and the pilot strode down the ramp, wearing gray flight coveralls and carrying his helmet under one arm. He looked shaken, having been publicly dressed down by the unit captain over the codecall connection. Escobar made sure all the personnel in the shipyards had heard his reprimand.

At the bottom of the ramp, Ulman saluted crisply. “I have successfully identified several systems in need of repair,
sir
!”

The test pilot had been upbraided previously for minor infractions, but a year ago he had taken out another mothballed ship, a small harrier, without clearance. He and his unit captain had argued then as well, with Ulman insisting that the decommissioned vessels be flown regularly (mainly because he wanted to fly them). Escobar had not disagreed in principle – he wanted to fly ships, too – but he could not justify the expense or risk without direct authorization from the Constellation. However, because the lieutenant was a distant relative of Lord Ilvar Crais, his punishment had amounted to little more than a slap on the wrist. No doubt the same would happen now.

“You were insubordinate, Ulman. You misled the base traffic tower into believing this ship was ready for a test flight.”

“I thought it was, sir.” Lieutenant Ulman avoided Escobar’s gaze, but he seemed unsettled by more than just the scolding. “I was wrong. Your insistence on extra inspections for these old ships is . . . quite correct, sir. I apologize for being impetuous.”

With a sudden chill, Escobar wondered just how close the test pilot had come to crashing the ship. The man looked completely shaken. Both of them longed to see action, tired of wasting their lives at Lubis Plain, mothballed like the ships.

Before Escobar could lose his temper, he said, “Submit your full report to the repair crew, Captain. You are grounded until further notice.”
Until the next ship is ready to be tested
.

Dressed in his tattered old gold-and-black Constellation uniform, Percival patted the cowed officer affectionately on the shoulder, a congenial gesture that horrified Escobar. “Don’t take it too hard, Rico. Maybe as punishment you’ll be assigned to escort these ships out to the Deep Zone.”

Ulman drew a deep breath and straightened. “Sounds better than the brig, sir.”

Irritated, Escobar dismissed him. “That will not be necessary, Lieutenant. I intend to deliver the ships to Ridgetop myself.” At least he would get some flying time in.

An inspection team entered the troop ship that had barely landed intact. Additional crews were working on other vessels that had been rolled out onto the paved landing field. Looking at all the vessels being refurbished, Escobar shook his head. “I can’t understand why anyone would even want these outdated ships.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. Governor Goler will use them to monitor suspicious activity.”

“The Diadem suspects General Adolphus of trying to escape his exile?”

“She always suspects General Adolphus of something.”

Escobar gave a proud sniff. “I’m not worried about him. He could have won the war, but lost his nerve. Even after all the bloodshed he caused, the General did not have the fortitude to see his troops to victory.” His voice was filled with scorn.

The old Commodore surprised him. “It was quite noble of him, actually. The Diadem was willing to cross a moral line that Adolphus was not.”

“You sound as if you admire the man!” Escobar stared at his father in amazement and dismay. He lowered his voice, though no one stood close enough to hear them. “Keep those comments to yourself, Father. Maybe you retired with a halo of glory, but you had a checkered career before that. Don’t jeopardize your legacy, or mine.” Percival’s careless comments might affect his son’s chances for advancement, regardless of Escobar’s marriage to a Riomini niece.

The retired Commodore fell silent. Finally Percival cleared his throat. “Time for my first brandy of the day.” The aged veteran hobbled away toward a staff car to return to the old manor house that once belonged to Adolphus.

T
he Diadem publicly released the images of her inspector’s findings at the slickwater pools, and the Constellation media corps cast the story in a ridiculous light. Government advisers went on record mocking the cult members who claimed to be possessed by aliens.

The tactic backfired, though. Despite the snide media commentators in the news stories, the shadow-Xayan converts were so sincere in describing their wondrous lost civilization that even more curious travelers flooded to Hallholme from the Crown Jewels.

The massive influx of visitors stretched Sophie’s abilities to the maximum and overwhelmed her lodging capacity. Money flowed in as well. New converts surrendered most of their possessions to her (which she kept in a separate account), and even the merely curious paid well for their rooms or tents. Her people scrambled to add more housing, even resorting to temporary survival tents, and the sound of construction filled the once-placid air around Slickwater Springs. She feared that an abrupt turn of Hellhole’s weather could leave a swath of bodies behind, and Slickwater Springs no longer had shadow-Xayans who could deflect the storms with telemancy . . .

Devon and Antonia ran themselves ragged to keep up with all the arrivals and departures. Four employees from the main Vence operations in Helltown worked full-time just to deliver supplies from her warehouses out to Slickwater Springs. Sophie promoted several lower-level managers as swiftly as she could, and she was constantly on the lookout for new hires as business expanded beyond her wildest dreams. Slickwater Springs was such a success that she didn’t have a spare moment to catch her breath and enjoy it.

On Klief, her ex-husband Gregory had probably seen the widespread reports by now. He must be tearing his hair out to see how well she was doing! Despite their scornful tone, the news reports showed Sophie looking proud, healthy, and satisfied next to their son and the lovely Antonia.

She wondered if Gregory regretted what he did to her all those years ago, but it didn’t really matter. Now, even if he fumed and sneered and resented her, she wasn’t worried that he would hunt her down. Her ex-husband didn’t have the stamina to chase her so far, and if he sent his lawyers to Hellhole, they’d be powerless here. Devon was now an adult, and the General certainly wouldn’t let Gregory pull any tricks.

Yes, Sophie was set . . . if only she could keep up with the madness. Regardless of the number of people who immersed themselves, the level of slickwater remained constant. Apparently, all of the datafluid was connected through aquifers in the planet’s crust, constantly flowing and replenishing itself.

A young man, giddy with new Xayan thoughts in his mind, had leaped into the slickwater for a second time, hoping to gain an additional set of alien memories. He succeeded, carrying two separate ancient lives inside his head, so that he exhibited three distinct personas. When other starstruck shadow-Xayans attempted this, though, they emerged from the pools disappointed – only around one in ten seemed capable of hosting multiple Xayan personalities.

At regular intervals, Fernando-Zairic returned to Slickwater Springs to invite the newly baptized shadow-Xayans to join their new city out near the red weed. Every one of them accepted the offer.

Fernando sauntered up to Sophie now, looking beatific as he surveyed the visitors around the pools. “As our numbers grow, our telemancers get stronger, as was our hope. Even those outsiders who choose not to immerse themselves will go home and spread the word. The Constellation knows of our plight now.”

“Yes, they do.”

She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, however. Adolphus might have diverted the Diadem’s inspectors for the time being, but how long could that last as their numbers grew and news spread? The General was preoccupied, though, with his final stringline preparations, and Destination Day would arrive soon enough. She hoped the Xayans could help them against the Diadem’s inevitable harsh response.

As she and Fernando-Zairic watched the pools, a man garbed in clothing much too fine for Hellhole approached them. He spoke in a challenging tone. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

Sophie had seen plenty of skeptics or, worse, media reporters eager to expose a conspiracy. “How so?” Somehow, she managed to be polite.

“If these pools are indeed reservoirs of alien knowledge from a lost civilization, then this” – he spread his hands, and his face took on a disgusted expression – “all of this is an
embarrassment
. Wise and noble Xayans turned into a tourist attraction? And humans, dunking themselves into that organic liquid, collecting lives as if they were souvenirs? It’s nothing less than sacrilege.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “And when has Diadem Michella refused to exploit anything of value in the Constellation? If this were an iperion quarry, she would have ordered us to dig an open pit half a kilometer wide, and no one would complain.”

“This is different,” the man insisted. “These are—”

Zairic cut him off. “It is not sacrilege, because we Xayans
wish
for this to happen. This is our future, the only way our civilization can live again. We are real. We are awake. We are being helped, not harmed. And the more people who immerse themselves, the more vibrant our race becomes. That is better than preserving artifacts for a museum.”

“And what happens when all these people take Xayan personalities and go back to the Crown Jewels? Your pool is diminished.”

Fernando-Zairic responded with a wry smile. “But they don’t want to leave. None of them.”

Sophie realized he was right. Even those who came from offworld had joined the new shadow-Xayan settlement. Not a single one had left Hellhole. Clearly not satisfied, the skeptic stalked off to speak with the others . . .

A
lthough Ishop admired Laderna’s tenacity and determination, he needed to be personally involved in solving the upcoming problem, now that he had returned from the dirty pustule of Hallholme. Five noble names remained on his list . . . and how was he to deal with the fact that a
Duchenet
name was among them? The only clear and immediate options were Princess Keana and the Diadem herself.

So, killing a Duchenet was going to be difficult, but he was sure he and Laderna could find an eventual solution, though it would require the utmost finesse. A challenge worthy of a true noble. The list was the list, and only a weakling would change the terms just because one item might prove more problematic than the others.

He had an idea, however. Even though months had passed since the death of Louis de Carre, Princess Keana remained obsessed with finding his son Cristoph, much to her mother’s dismay. That might provide an opening. Keana thought she was being subtle with her clumsy overtures, but she simply had no skill at keeping secrets or cashing in favors. She continued to make a pest of herself with her probing, ineffective questions, but no one had any reason to help her.

At another time, Ishop might have found it amusing. The Diadem’s naïve daughter had never been taught how to function in the delicately structured politics of the Constellation. She remained unskilled and downright oblivious. Poor thing. She wasn’t stupid, but utterly out of her league – an accident waiting to happen. He’d known for some time that Keana was the one who would have to die, as soon as he could determine how best to accomplish it.

An idea began to form in his mind, and he asked Laderna to track down all the information she could find on Cristoph de Carre. Just because Keana could not discover his whereabouts did not mean he couldn’t be found easily by someone with the right skills.

Apart from the joy of eliminating another name on his list, Ishop felt that the government would benefit from this woman’s removal.
For the good of the Constellation
. He very much liked the efficiency of having one task serve two purposes. He smiled to himself as wheels began to turn in his mind.

Using her particular skills, Laderna dug for information with her usual dogged determination. After Cristoph’s eviction from the Vielinger estate, the disgraced lordling had simply disappeared. While some gossipers assumed the Riomini overlords had quietly murdered him, Ishop knew that was not the case. Not only would Michella have considered it a waste of time and effort (since the family was ruined anyway), she would have given
Ishop
the job.