Hellhole Inferno (44 page)

“Surely your own people will come to rescue you,” Bolton said. “The Ro-Xayans have got to take you away before the asteroids strike.”

“They won't even save themselves. This planet must die. Our entire race must die.”

Four white, pantherlike animals entered the clearing and split up. They prowled, circled, all the while watching Jonwi with bulbous, feral eyes. Bolton crouched and prepared to defend himself, but the alien levitated himself in the air. The white predators gazed upward at him as if hypnotized, then the Xayan drove them away with a strong nudge of telemancy, and the creatures bounded off into the red weeds.

Lowering himself to the ground, Jonwi spoke as if nothing had happened. “I am what my people call a rover. In our wanderings after the Ro-Xayans departed from this planet, I have been stationed on other planets to observe the life-forms there. I even encountered human settlements on one other world, but I kept my presence concealed.”

Bolton was surprised to hear this, and the alien continued. “The Ro-Xayans are good at hiding and observing—and assessing threats. I succeeded in all of my duties.” He lifted his body up perceptibly, then sagged back down in a sigh. “But in this assignment, here on Xaya—the most important mission I could have imagined—it is no longer possible for me to accomplish anything.”

Jonwi's dark-eyed gaze became distant, going inward to his deepest memories. “The factions in my race developed because of deep religious and philosophical differences, a tremendous dispute that centered on
ala'ru
. The others called it their racial destiny, but we believe it is a dangerous idea that could threaten all existence. That is why we Ro-Xayans had no choice but to stop it from happening … even if the cost was our beloved and sacred homeworld.”

Bolton remembered how urgently Encix was trying to gain more and more converts from the prisoners held in the camp. “What do you mean that
ala'ru
could threaten all existence?”

Instead of answering, Jonwi was caught up in his own recollections. “We waited centuries for this planet to be ready for reseeding. My faction meant to restore Xaya after what we did to it, but we did not imagine that any of our enemies had survived and that they could still pose a threat. As a special precaution before the first impact, however, the Ro-Xayans scattered several small black objects across the surface, detectors that are sensitive to telemancy. If any of the Xayans did survive and begin to build toward
ala'ru
again, the detectors would send a signal. Alas, we received that alarm just as our world was awakening, and my people knew what they had to do … even if it undid all that we had accomplished here.”

Jonwi glided through the red weeds, and the tall stalks drifted from side to side, buoyed by their spore-filled bladders. “We had hoped for, and expected, a new beginning here, but the persistence of our enemies' delusions forces us to make this an ending—for our entire race.”

Bolton was disturbed by the alien's fatalism. With Escobar so severely injured, and while they were lost in the Hellhole wilderness, he doubted they could ever get away in time.

Jonwi mused, “Throughout this discovery and crisis, something has surprised me. Even though I know all my work is to be destroyed, I am actually blessed to be here, part of Xaya in its final days. Before the asteroids strike, I feel a strange sense of spiritual calmness and acceptance of my personal fate. I have no desire whatsoever to leave. If I am going to die, if my planet and my race are going to perish with me, this seems like the proper place for it to happen.”

His alarming comments stirred many questions for Bolton, but he didn't get a chance to ask them because Escobar stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. Putting aside thoughts of the imminent cosmic disaster, Bolton rushed back to his friend and bent over the weed-wrapped form. The Redcom opened his eyes and looked around, appearing confused and upset. His lips moved, but he spoke only gibberish, before slumping back into unconsciousness.

Bolton shook his head. “We have to get him to one of our towns, a medical center.” He touched Escobar's exposed forehead. “He feels cold.”

Jonwi nodded slowly. “He will die soon. I believe he is beyond the help of even your medical centers. The asteroids are coming. No one can be saved.”

 

58

At dusk, the smoke storm engulfed the Slickwater Springs settlement like a dark blanket. Outside, the torpedo ants continued to batter the main lodge building, which had been built close to their previously undiscovered buried nest complex. The yellow illumination from emergency lights around the compound cast an eerie glow through the haze.

Ishop felt trapped inside the building. Sophie Vence and the others hunkered down, waiting out the storm and the insect infestation, knowing they had to begin the emergency evacuation soon.

Michella demanded to be returned to her bungalow, a uselessly shrewish complaint that made Ishop loathe her even further. Sophie brushed aside the old woman's comment and instead found temporary quarters for them to spend the night. “The lodge will remain sealed against the torpedo ants. No one goes outside. Once the storm passes, the shadow-Xayans can drive the swarm away with combined telemancy, and then we can begin shuttling people from Slickwater Springs to the spaceport. Thanks to General Adolphus, we now control the stringline hub again.”

To Ishop's disappointment, Sophie reported the news that George Komun had been defeated and executed and that immediate plans for a planetary evacuation had been initiated, without hindrance. Before having them escorted off to their temporary lodge quarters for the night, Sophie smiled at Ishop and Michella. “Sleep well—and think of ways you can convince us you're worth saving. We might not have the time or resources to get everyone away.”

But Ishop did not sleep. The torpedo ants kept up a high, thin chittering and battered their wingless bodies against the mesh-glass windows in his room. Most important to Ishop, though, he was no longer under close guard. With the smoke storm and ravenous insects besieging the lodge, apparently Sophie wasn't concerned about any escape attempt. He and Michella were locked in their rooms.

A simple lock, however, proved to be no challenge for Ishop Heer. He waited, listened, and sat in silence until the quietest, darkest hour of the night. Then he broke out of his room.

He crept through the dim corridor, studying his options, seeing lights and movement in the main section of the lodge, the comm chamber, the offices near the registration foyer. He grimaced at every small noise he made, but no one noticed him. Too much other activity was happening, not just the problems at Slickwater Springs but also the emergency preparations for evacuating the planet. No one cared about the two valueless political prisoners. Back by the rooms holding the two prisoners, everything was quiet.

Yes, this was a perfect opportunity. He slipped along from doorway to doorway, searching, until he found a small maintenance closet. Inside, shelves held a variety of tools in disarray; shelves contained pry bars, chisels, a mallet—any one of which could make a useful and deadly bludgeon. Rummaging, he found a pen-size laser cutter, which he felt was much more appropriate, much more subtle, for his purposes. Yes, he already knew what he wanted to do.

A few minutes later, it was even easier for him to undo the lock outside of Michella's room. He opened the door very slowly, just enough for him to slip through.

The withered old woman slept in an alcove on a window seat that had been converted into a narrow bed with a dimmed lamp next to her bed. Old Michella had fallen asleep, not while reading but no doubt scheming. In the shadows, she looked like a pile of bones bound together with poisonous thoughts—as if a snake had shed its skin and left only the form of this withered crone. The eerie light from outside was more than he needed for his work.

He had killed many people, always through furtive means. He thought of how he had killed old Janine Paternos by slitting her throat in the middle of the night and then vanishing before anyone could find him. This was similar … but that sort of quiet and unexciting murder wasn't sufficient for him. And it was certainly not sufficient for a hateful monster like Michella Duchenet.

No, he needed her to feel terror, to understand what she had brought upon herself, how she had created her own nemesis in Ishop Heer. Michella wasn't stupid, and his vengeful hatred couldn't be a complete surprise to her, but Ishop needed her to know. He wasn't the sort who liked to gloat, but he required a certain amount of satisfaction, for his family bloodline, for how Michella had demeaned him and ground him under her heel, but blithely expected him to be just as pleased with her company as before.

He needed to see the look on Michella's face as her whole world crumbled even more than it already had. He had to do it for himself, and for Laderna. Ishop understood that Michella was no longer a bargaining chip worth anything, and he had never been of value himself for a ransom or a trade. Now, with the asteroids coming toward the planet, with the smoke storm outside, the horrific torpedo ants swarming and pattering against the window, and not enough time for a complete evacuation, Ishop had no doubt they would abandon him.

But he intended to see Michella writhe and die first.

Ishop heard her fitful, troubled sleep now, but her face was turned away from him in the dim lamplight. Such a humiliating downfall from her lavish royal apartments back on Sonjeera, where an army of servants attended to her every whim. Here, she had probably been forced to make the bed herself. Poor thing! Ishop felt acid in his throat.

He could not drive away the image in his mind of Laderna in her last hours, sealed in a quarantine chamber, tortured and interrogated, and then exposed to a flesh-eating virus. Laderna had placed herself at risk for him to eliminate the last name on their list. A
Duchenet
name. Now Ishop had to finish that quest, not only for the revenge he craved for himself, but for Laderna, too.

Michella stirred in her uncomfortable sleep.
Soon she'll be out of her misery
, he thought.

Through the room's window, Ishop could see the insects continuing to swarm in the hazy yellow emergency lights, although the smoke storm was dissipating. Next morning, if the shadow-Xayans used telemancy to drive away the voracious insects, he would miss his chance. He had to move quickly.

Ishop brought out the laser cutter, adjusted its range so he didn't need to approach old Michella curled on her bed … nor did he want to stand too close to the window. Smiling, he activated the cutting beam and etched a red line around the window frame.

Outside, apparently sensing the hairline incision, the torpedo ants went into a frenzy, slamming their bodies against the reinforced mesh-glass. Their humming and buzzing grew louder, vibrating through the weak spot in the window.

Throughout it all, the Diadem continued to breathe easily, sound asleep. With all the horrors and crimes on her conscience, it seemed impossible that she wasn't haunted by nightmares. Or perhaps Michella Duchenet was herself such an abomination that the nightmares were afraid of her.

Ishop held the laser cutter in his hand, leaned over her, activated the end so that it hummed and glowed, but did not extend the blade. It was close to her sinewy throat, the shriveled wattles of skin, tendons like steel cables. He hoped the cutter would be sufficient to saw through her larynx.

“Eminence,” he said, “I've brought you something.”

Her eyes flew open, focused on him, saw him leaning over her, but the shadows cast by the light from the lamp must have made him look distorted, like an ogre above her. She squirmed backward, sat up, as if ready to scream, but thought better of it as soon as she recognized him. He remained close, within striking distance. He held the laser cutter.

“I wanted to see your face before I do what I have to do,” he said.

She stiffened, looked frail and surprised. “Ishop, what are you doing? Have you found a way for us to break out of here?”

He had given up thinking about a realistic escape, although in the turmoil after her body was discovered, he thought he just might have a chance to slip away, steal a vehicle, race away to a spaceport, hijack a ship. Not likely, but Ishop had survived plenty of unlikely scenarios.

“I don't think you'll like the way I've planned to free you, but it's what you deserve.”

She blinked, lifted a scrawny hand, saw the laser cutter. “What is this? Have you found a weapon? Can you fight the guards?”

“I intend to kill you. You've always treated me like nothing more than a dog, someone you need—but when I need something from you, I am nothing more than excrement to be scraped off your shoe. I have noble blood, and you cast me aside. You made the other nobles ridicule me, laugh at me, after all I've done for you!”

“Ishop, stop this nonsense. Put your toy away and then—”

“This toy can decapitate you in an instant.” He extended the glowing blade. “I want to see you hopeless. I want you to understand the avalanche of hatred that you yourself triggered.”

She seemed baffled more than terrified. “But I've always been good to you, Ishop.”

He laughed. “You really don't understand, do you? After humiliating me in front of the Council of Nobles, after destroying my dreams, you think a pat on the back can make up for it? After all your countless poor but ruthless decisions, I was the only friend left in the Constellation—and you spat upon me, too.”

Michella now looked angry as well as afraid. “You are out of your place, Ishop!”

“And you are out of time. I planned to kill you before, but after what you did to Laderna, I want you to suffer more than ever. I thought you might even be pleased if she slipped in and killed your hidden sister after all this time. But torturing Laderna to death, letting her rot and scream and die from a flesh-eating bacteria? For that, Eminence, I will take incalculable pleasure in watching you die.”