Hellhole: Awakening (24 page)

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Zabriskie said, after getting a nod of approval from his Redcom. “I will handle it very carefully.” Satisfied, Firth departed.

Caron grumbled under his breath, “I’ll be so bored by the end of two months, I’ll probably be reading every word on the food wrappers.”

Bolton cleared his throat. “Redcom, we should not delay. Two months from now, every minute might make a difference.”

“Agreed,” Escobar said. “Prepare for departure, sergeants. I’ll make an announcement to the fleet.”

*   *   *

From the bridge of
Diadem’s Glory,
Escobar and Bolton watched the trailblazer drop out of the hangar bay. The stringline engineers had already constructed a temporary anchor point for this end of the new stringline.

Using the navigation coordinates programmed into the trailblazer’s cockpit, Sergeant Zabriskie set course for the Hallholme system while Caron signaled the bridge. “All lined up and ready to depart. Iperion deployment systems are optimal, fuel tanks loaded, engines check out, course set. Wish us luck.”

Escobar broadcast across the hundred ships in their docking clamps, “All our hopes and prayers go with you, sergeants. Have a safe and swift voyage.”

“See you all in a couple of months,” Zabriskie said, then activated his FTL accelerators. The trailblazer launched with a shimmering blur while strains of military music played across the fleet intercom.

A round of cheers went up from the bridge crew. Gail Carrington stood trim and silent beside Escobar and Bolton, all of them staring at the point in space where the trailblazer had vanished.

No one could see the new stringline, but once the iperion breadcrumbs were strung from here to planet Hallholme, the military haulers could cross the final distance in a flash. The hard part was waiting—and surviving—until the trailblazer marked the route.

Bolton leaned close, lowering his voice. “Redcom, while the crew is upbeat, this is the best time to impose the next stage of our extreme rationing and conservation measures. They’ll accept it now.”

“Very well, Major. You have new recommendations for me?”

Bolton had an electronic clipboard in his hand. “I’ve run the numbers and I warn you, it’ll be hard. Many will find my additional safeguards appalling, perhaps even impossible, and we can’t do it all at once or they will revolt.”

Escobar frowned. “What do you mean, ‘not all at once’?”

Bolton looked dismal, and swallowed hard. “I’m afraid we’ve only discussed the first phase of what we have to do.”

33

Deep underground, Cristoph and Keana-Uroa disembarked from the shaft crawler and entered the museum vault for another day of searching and cataloging. Lodo was already there, working with the human team members and their shadow-Xayan assistants and advisers. Even after centuries entombed there, the Original alien rarely left the subterranean chamber.

Although her mental companion Uroa had informed Keana of old frictions among various Xayan groups, particularly between Zairic and Encix, Keana generally liked Lodo’s personality. Among the surviving aliens, he had the most congenial demeanor, and a sense of humor, instead of the edgy hardness Encix exhibited.

Long ago there had been divisions in the Xayan race, political and spiritual disagreements as their combined mental power approached the critical
ala’ru
point, rifts that grew more acute in the last months before the asteroid struck.

With their world’s imminent destruction, the factions had argued over the best way to survive, and those wounds remained five hundred years later. Now, as the numbers of converts increased, adding human abilities to Xayan telemancy, their race had a very real likelihood of being able to ascend after all.

“We can feel the growing telemancy that will enable us to make the evolutionary leap,” Uroa said inside her mind. “The shadow-Xayans have a greater potential than the Xayans ever did.”

“Let’s see what they’ve discovered today,” Cristoph said aloud, unaware of the silent conversation in her mind. “By stranding the fleet, the General bought us time, and I don’t plan to waste it. We’ve got to make this planet secure.”

Following him and Lodo, Keana-Uroa dodged one of the illusory, glowing shapes that floated in the air. A crackle of energy snapped past her ear. Uroa continued in her mind, “Encix and I have different philosophies, but we both agree on our ultimate goal—
ala’ru.
”

Over the next hour, as Keana continued to study the relics in the chamber, pondering the items already cataloged as “unknown” by the archaeologists, she spotted a black artifact composed of smooth nested curves resting in a high alcove. Uroa flinched at the sight of it and tried to drive her attention elsewhere, but Keana forced her eyes back and stepped toward the black artifact. “What is this?”

“An archaeological object of great importance,” Uroa said in her mind, and his voice also came from her throat, as if Keana had asked and answered her own question.

Lodo glided up to her, “It was discovered outside by a group of human colonists, who subsequently perished. We store it here, but it remains unidentified.”

“What is it for?” Cristoph asked. “What does it do?”

“Unknown,” Lodo said. “It survived the asteroid impact—or it arrived on this planet afterward.”

Cristoph retrieved the artifact from the alcove. It was half a meter long, lightweight and smooth, and seemed to swallow light while reflecting random sparkles, like the escaping images of lost stars. “Devon Vence and Antonia Anqui brought this back from a ruined camp of settlers.”

In her mind, Uroa said in a silent, internal thought, “Even Encix and Lodo do not understand that artifact. They are afraid of it, and so am I. It may be an important key to the past and to the future.”

Lodo spoke up, “Encix, Tryn, and I came to the vault together in an attempt to unlock the object’s secrets, without success. We should not disturb it further.”

Lodo took the artifact from Cristoph and returned it to the high alcove.

The other objects in the museum vault were fascinating as well, but not so enigmatic. Keana had spent days identifying the preserved relics from Xaya’s glorious past, using her Uroa half to explain to the archaeologists the exquisite miniature figurines of exotic alien animals, original species that had been made extinct after the impact. She examined a favorite little figurine, a goatlike, winged animal with webbed feet. The species had been erased, unless something brought it back in the planet’s reawakening … like the vast and mysterious herd of grazing creatures. In her mind, Uroa shared images of the living animals from his memories.

Beside her, Lodo used two crystalline cubes in his fingerlike protrusions to create and display numerous images from Xayan history—great crowds of sluglike aliens squirming, swaying, practicing their collective and individual powers under the leadership of Zairic and Uroa. Keana saw lovely and graceful buildings the Xayans manifested and maintained by telemancy, which were constantly shifting in subtle ways, as if evolving.

Suddenly the stone floor of the vault shook and vibrated as tremors built from deep beneath the surface. She felt Uroa’s alarm and pain inside her mind as the shock wave shifted and stabbed deeper, like a spasm in Hellhole itself.

In the high alcove, the black object vibrated, and emitted a humming sound. The ancient images vanished like a historical record gone offline, and as the tremor increased, the black artifact hummed louder, and began to glow a deep purple.

Keana felt a strong psychic connection with Uroa and Lodo, a sharp agony piercing their thoughts. Cristoph was startled as the seismic upheaval cracked the walls and ceiling, but the telemancers joined their efforts to hold the vault stable and prevent the cracks from spreading.

Gradually the upheaval subsided, and the mountain stopped shaking. Cristoph climbed back to his feet, brushing dust from his shirt and his hair. He looked around to make sure the quake was over. “We need to check the seismic reading. That was a major shock.”

“A very ominous sign,” Lodo said, agitated. “The planet is restless.” His translucent skin had an odd, sickly sheen.

“It continues to awaken,” Uroa said, through Keana.

Even after the tremors faded, the black artifact hummed louder, growing to such an intense noise that bolts of pain rippled through Keana’s mind, deafening Uroa’s presence. Before she could cry out, the obsidian object fell silent and clattered to the ground.

“Did that artifact trigger the quake?” she asked, hoping for an answer either from Lodo or from Uroa. “Did it cause the tremors somehow?”

“Or did the quake awaken
it
?” Cristoph added.

Neither of the aliens replied, and Keana sensed that Uroa simply did not know the answer. But she also felt a blank silence in his presence, as if he were withholding something from her.

34

When General Adolphus returned from his trip to Ridgetop, he felt energized, already victorious—and it was time to deliver his ultimatum to the stranded Constellation fleet.

Sophie met him in their quarters at Elba and gave him a coy smile. “Before we depart, I have something you’ll need.”

“We?”

She lifted her chin. “You’re not leaving me out of history. I intend to be at your side when we capture the Constellation fleet.” She went back to the bedroom closet she had claimed as her own. “I’ve been waiting for the right time.” She brought out a wrapped hanging garment and held it in front of him.

Sitting on the bed, the General raised his eyebrows. “A new ball gown to dazzle me? You don’t need that, Sophie.”

She snorted. “I’m not a woman made for fine gowns. This is for
you.
” She unsealed the covering and pulled away the wrappings to reveal his dress uniform from the rebellion, which she had cleaned and meticulously restored. “This was the actual jacket you wore during the surrender ceremony. Time to use it for a better purpose now.”

Adolphus touched the deep-blue jacket sleeve, the coppery buttons. “I was stripped of everything.” He peeled the jacket off its hanger and held it up. The garment had a slight chemical odor, from insect repellants that had been used. “Amazing—how did you find this?”

“After your trial, your personal possessions were sealed in a vault, but not forever.” She smiled. “It took my agents the better part of three years to track it down. Did you know there’s quite a market for collectibles from your rebellion?”

“I thought the Diadem had outlawed the sale of rebellion memorabilia.”

“She did. This was one of the last items the government sold—officially.”

“I see.” He shook out the jacket, beamed with pleasure.

“You should wear this when you capture Escobar Hallholme’s fleet. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

“You make me feel stronger, Sophie.” His voice was thick with emotion—uncharacteristic of him even when they were in private. “You’ve always been a bulwark of competence and common sense. I depend on you to keep things organized—you’re as much a commander of Hellhole as I am.”

She stood behind him as he slipped his arms into the jacket and pulled it on over his broad shoulders. Kissing him on the cheek, she said, “And I’ll always be here.” She stepped in front of him to inspect the garment, straightened the lapel and collar. “It still fits.”

He tugged down at the front, fastened the buttons across his waist. “Perfectly.”

*   *   *

To build a significant force that would intimidate the crumbling Constellation fleet, Adolphus recalled ten more battleships from Deep Zone planets, in addition to his sixty armed vessels guarding Hellhole. One of those was his old flagship, the
Jacob.

Yes, the flagship seemed a fitting place to accept the surrender of the Constellation fleet.

Turlo and Sunitha Urvancik had verified that the five stringline haulers were indeed stranded, and all those warships had been cut off for weeks now. According to the intelligence report his spy had provided, the fleet carried fifteen thousand people and only enough supplies for a few weeks without reprovisioning. Soldiers could survive on reduced rations, but by now they would be hungry and anxious. He didn’t expect Escobar Hallholme to surrender immediately, but Adolphus would arrive with an impressive fleet of his own, issue his demands … and wait.

Adolphus wore the restored uniform as he stood on the
Jacob
’s bridge. His ships would ride the iperion path out to the severed end of the stringline at Substation 4. Long ago, Percival Hallholme had stripped the rank insignia from his shoulders, but now they had been meticulously restored. His original general’s stars had been handmade anyway, just like his army and his rebellion.

More than a decade ago, he had lost only because Commodore Hallholme threatened to slaughter thousands of innocent family members. But winning the war had erased all stigma of the cowardly act from his old nemesis. Official records now called Percival Hallholme’s gambit an acceptable trick.

Victors were able to write history as they chose. As soon as he captured the stranded Constellation fleet and took all the soldiers prisoner, General Adolphus would write his own history. In preparation for seizing the Constellation fleet, he had reviewed the historic records of his own surrender, just for the turnabout. He hoped the junior Hallholme had done the same, so the younger man would know the proper formalities.

During that last face-off over Sonjeera, Adolphus had been so certain of his impending triumph. This time, he would not make the mistake of underestimating his opponent, would not be surprised if Escobar attempted treachery as his father had done before him. Another Hallholme, cast from the same mold.

Adolphus’s ships streaked down the stringline away from Hellhole. Sophie paced the bridge of the flagship, the only person not in uniform. Security Chief Craig Jordan served as the
Jacob
’s first officer, and most of the crew came from the pool of veterans who had voluntarily followed him into exile after the end of the rebellion.