Hellhole Inferno (52 page)

Uroa responded, “It is our only chance. We must achieve
ala'ru
before the asteroids strike!”

Keana felt a strange resignation from Uroa's presence, as if he, too, had doubts about the ascension because he now understood something of human civilization. Sharing her mind, he had experienced memories of other planets and people, which was only the barest hint of what the Galaxy had to offer. There were countless other galaxies, clusters, and superclusters of them … all of which would be eradicated if
ala'ru
reset the structure of universal physics.

She asserted control of her body. “Listen to me, Zhaday. The shadow-Xayans don't understand what they're trying to do. Encix lied to them. Even I didn't know until just now. Our ship is fast—let us go back there, so I can speak to all the converts and convince them not to proceed. They will listen to me, and maybe I can delay them long enough. The shadow-Xayans deserve a chance. Let me talk with them.”

Uroa's voice spoke, in an odd counterpoint out her own throat. “You aren't strong enough to defeat Encix. You can't drive her back.”

“I've fought her before,” Keana said. “My telemancy is great, and it's been growing stronger. I can fight Encix—and I can prevent you from intervening. It might just be enough to stop this disaster.”

Walfor spoke up. “My ship can fly a lot faster than these asteroids. We will get back to Hellhole in a few hours. It might work.”

The Ro-Xayans pondered with a telepathic hum, and Zhaday finally said, “We must grasp at any possibility. We can increase your chances, Keana-Uroa. With the knowledge and power Lodo just gave us, we know ways that you may be able to fight against a powerful Xayan opponent … and our faction has knowledge and powers to share. It may be enough for you to defeat Encix and convince the other converts to delay
ala'ru
 … long enough for the asteroids to strike.”

Tanja scowled. “That's an odd way to define victory.”

Keana froze. She could no longer move, held in the telemancy grasp. Zhaday came forward, as did other Ro-Xayans, reaching out, touching her face, neck, arms, shoulders … it was a flurry of strange alien limbs, contact points that were each like an electrode. She feared they were going to drain her, absorb Uroa, as they had done with Lodo. Inside her mind, she could sense that he was frightened and intimidated.

But the flow went in the opposite direction. She felt a surge like lightning enter through every pore. Her mind filled with other lives and ideas, with a much more comprehensive understanding of telemancy and all of its applications, a grasp of tiny, subatomic nuances. She felt supercharged and in control of the shared body. Her eyes opened wide; she could barely breathe. Zhaday and the others drew back and left her to encompass more telemancy than she ever dreamed possible.

“We transferred what we could,” Zhaday said. “Now you must use it.”

Keana turned, feeling an urgency as tremendous as the power she now held. But she was deeply troubled. “If I can stop
ala'ru
, will you divert the asteroids so they don't hit the planet?”

“That is not possible, even if we wanted to. With the mass and momentum of the twenty asteroids, even all of our combined telemancy would not be sufficient. The impacts
will
occur. You cannot save the planet. But you can save the universe—if you move quickly enough.”

Keana couldn't believe there was no hope, but she didn't argue with Zhaday. But if she could indeed stop Encix and
ala'ru
, she did not intend to stand idly by.

“To the ship,” Keana said.

Tanja and Walfor were already running back to the landing grotto in the strange hollow enclosure.

 

69

Cristoph de Carre's search craft returned from the wilderness in the early morning just as another static storm was building over the line of hills. The sturdy craft had skirted the storm all night. Cristoph had transmitted several urgent messages, announcing that he had a severely wounded passenger, but his transmissions were garbled with static before he could give details. The weather continued to be capricious and uncooperative, as if to further hinder the evacuation efforts.

When the craft landed outside of Slickwater Springs just after the debacle with Michella Duchenet, Sophie Vence went out in a roller to meet him. The storm sent crackles and pops through the comm line, and Sophie was practically within shouting distance before she could understand what Cristoph was saying. “We found the escaped prisoners—only two survivors. I have Escobar Hallholme, but he's barely alive.”

Sophie knew about General Adolphus's standoff and uneasy cooperation with the Commodore. If the man's son died, that shaky alliance might fall apart.

“Bolton Crais is with us, too. He says the Redcom's only hope is the slickwater.”

Sophie's heart sank, not sure whether Commodore Hallholme would prefer his son dead or possessed by alien memories. And after what had just happened to Michella …

Her roller reached the landed craft as Cristoph and his team were climbing out. Major Crais also emerged, looking drawn and stunned. His clothes were tattered. He watched with deep concern as two of Cristoph's men carried a prone figure wrapped in a cocoon of red weed; it looked like a body. Escobar Hallholme?

Sophie gestured to the roller. “Put him in the cargo bed, and I'll take him to the pools. If you're sure the slickwater is the only way.”

Bolton swallowed. “I've had days to think of other possibilities. He'll be dead soon if we don't take extraordinary measures.”

Escobar's face remained exposed, and she despised the arrogant and impetuous Constellation commander who had gotten his fleet into so much trouble. He looked older and haggard now, resembling his legendary father more than before. “What happened to him?”

Bolton helped carry the wrapped body. “This planet happened to him.”

They placed the dying man on the back of the all-terrain roller; as soon as Bolton joined her in front, she raced the vehicle toward the boardwalks and the slickwater pools. Cristoph and his team secured the aircraft as the static storm dissipated, skirting Slickwater Springs.

As she drove, Bolton reached back and fussed over Escobar in the back of the vehicle. “He's still alive—just barely. The tiniest sign of a pulse. I doubt he'll last long after we remove the red weed. It has only just managed to keep him alive.”

Sophie made no comment, racing along. She had no particular incentive to save him. She resented what Escobar was responsible for. Devon … Sophie's heart ached for her son. It seemed
wrong
that she was now rushing to save Escobar Hallholme's life. But he was a valuable prisoner, and Adolphus needed him alive.

The shadow-Xayans parted to allow the roller to the edge of the pools, and then they gathered close again. The distant static storm sent strobe flares into the atmosphere, and as the sky darkened, the building lights in Slickwater Springs went on.

Quiet converts used telemancy to carry the body toward the edge of the enticing pools. “The red weed slowed his metabolism,” said a young shadow-Xayan woman who had a very old and wise Xayan presence in her mind. “The slickwater will heal him.”

Bolton hurried alongside his companion. “This is our best chance. We've lost so much, but maybe we can save him.”

“One person.” Sophie knew that tens of thousands would surely die, those who couldn't escape the planet swiftly enough, thanks to the evacuation delays.

“One person,” he agreed. “My friend.”

The converts rushed the weed-wrapped body along the boardwalks and waded into the silvery lake, settling the reddish cocoon into the water and immersing the motionless human form. Holding him up, they peeled away the hardened fronds to let the memory-charged liquid seep through and begin its work. They immersed Escobar's entire body beneath the surface.

Bolton stood next to Sophie, concerned as he scanned the faces of the converts. “Is Keana here?”

“No, she's gone on a liaison mission to find the Ro-Xayans. She hopes she can make them change the asteroids' trajectories.”

His eyes widened with fear for her. “Keana! Isn't that dangerous?”

“Everything is dangerous, Major Crais.”

He looked up at the crowd of shadow-Xayans gathered on the boardwalk and watching the pool. He gasped when he spotted an old woman sitting silent and motionless nearby—Michella Duchenet, blank-eyed. She paid no attention to the others moving around her. “The Diadem! What happened—”

Sophie told him, “She's been drained of her thoughts and soul.”

At the pool, the shadow-Xayans pulled the Redcom's form out of the silvery slickwater, suddenly demanding Bolton's attention. Escobar Hallholme looked intact, refreshed, and alive. His eyes had the peculiar starry sheen of the shadow-Xayans, yet he was alert, drinking in details. Sophie let Bolton go forward as they guided him up onto the boardwalk. The Redcom stood, catching his balance as the last drops fell away and ran back into the pool. He drew a deep breath, extended his arms, flexed them.

Bolton stared. “Escobar, are you all right?”

“I am Escobar,” he said, but his voice had a deep, thrumming timbre. “And I am also Tarcov. We are both aware now. We are both strong.”

Sophie felt relieved that he was alive at least, although she couldn't guess how the Commodore would react. “Come, we have to let your father know. We don't have much time.”

When they entered the main lodge building, Sophie hurried them to the comm chamber. She had much to tell General Adolphus—not just the rescue of the two escaped prisoners, but also how Michella Duchenet had killed three people, including Peter Herald, before losing her mind in the slickwater.

After securing his search craft, Cristoph had already gone into the comm chamber. He looked up at her, “Now we can devote the ships to shuttling people to the spaceports. I'm checking with Ankor. They must be more overwhelmed than ever, and I doubt if Rendo Theris can handle it.”

When Cristoph hailed the spaceport, Theris looked even more harried than usual. Inside the Ankor headquarters building, the background noise was a clamor. Hundreds of people were crowded inside. “Mr. Theris, please give us an update.”

“Update? Even I don't know what's going on! The General and the Commodore are cooperating now, and we've been given the go-ahead to resume evacuation launches, but I've got thousands of people crowded around the spaceport. I can't launch ships fast enough to make a dent in all these refugees. And when do
I
get to depart?”

Cristoph looked at Sophie, then back to the screen. “That's a question many of us are asking. Launch as many shuttles as you can, and I'll be there within hours to assist.”

Theris seemed relieved to know he would have help. “I don't know how to set priorities, can't fit all these people in the vessels here, and we're still waiting for shuttles to come down from orbit, where they've been stalled for half a day. We don't have the fuel supplies we're going to need, and … and what about the hundreds of shadow-Xayans? They're gathered by the slickwater seeps, which are now encroaching on our landing areas. We're already crowded past maximum, and the people are ready to riot.”

Cristoph looked at Sophie. “I have to go, right away.”

On the screen, the spaceport headquarters suddenly became an even louder and more clamorous uproar. People rushed into the control room, scrambling toward the administrator. “The ground is cracking outside. A gantry just collapsed—and there's slickwater everywhere. We're flooding!”

On-screen, the launch headquarters began to shake. Debris fell from the ceiling. Rendo Theris yelled—and then all contact broke off.

Though Cristoph tried to raise them several more times, he got nothing more than a dead signal.

“Go,” Sophie said to him. “
Now.
Without Ankor we lose half of our evacuation facilities.”

Ignoring remnants of the static storm, Cristoph ran back out to his scout flyer.

 

70

Though the soldiers aboard the Constellation ships were trained to follow their Commodore's orders without question, they were confused and uneasy to be helping the rebel vessels in the evacuation.

The redcom of a large battleship transmitted over an open channel, angry at Percival. “Sir, our orders are to
level
the colony on planet Hallholme—not rescue them! Diadem Riomini's instructions were explicit: each spaceport, colony city, and settlement is to be left a smoking ruin. I was with the Black Lord at his victory on Theser, so I know that he intended this to be a punitive strike. Why are you trying to save these criminals?”

Percival was furious at the defiant tone of the officer's voice, but knew this needed to be said. “I was not at Theser, Redcom. If I had been, the results might have been different. Our civilization is built on a foundation of laws that are not to be discarded because of temper tantrums.”

“But sir! Diadem Riomini explicitly—”

Percival interrupted. “The Constellation Charter was in place long before Lord Riomini took the Star Throne, and it will be there long after he is gone.”

The old Commodore knew how dangerous his words were, but his fleet was far from Sonjeera and in the midst of a crisis. He was in charge of the operations here. “The law is clear, and I am ashamed that General Adolphus had to remind me of it: We
must
provide humanitarian aid in the face of a natural disaster. If you choose to open fire on civilian refugees, or their military leader who has already given me his de facto surrender, then I will relieve you of command and arrest you on charges of war crimes, barratry at the very least, and deal with you appropriately.”

Percival made sure his broadcast was heard across the entire fleet. That quieted the objections—for now.