Hellhole Inferno (6 page)

Now, though, Candela had been beaten bloody. A pair of gigantic asteroids had fallen like anvils from the sky on a malicious coordinated course. Remaining there in orbit until the last moment, Tanja had watched the inevitable and appalling cosmic strikes. Centuries ago, the planet Hellhole had suffered from a similar titanic impact that wiped out most indigenous life-forms there, including the Xayan civilization. That impact had cracked Hellhole's crust, ignited volcanism, and churned the climate so badly that the planet still writhed in pain, even hundreds of year later.

But what Candela had suffered was far worse. Huge craters still simmered with lava oozing up from the mantle. Impact rings were like ripples of rock extending for hundreds of kilometers. The jungles had been leveled and incinerated. The atmosphere was clogged with smoke as forest fires continued to surge across the landscape. Scarlet cracks showed shatter lines across the expanse of the continents. It would be centuries before even the most daring pioneers could set foot here again.

It was a cosmic irony, Tanja thought, that even with so much devastation, the stringline terminus ring remained intact in orbit, allowing swift travel from Hellhole … although there was no reason for anyone to go back to Candela.

Finally, Walfor spoke. “At least you saved two hundred thousand people, Tanja.
You
led the evacuation. They didn't all die. We had some warning.”

“I didn't do enough,” she said.

His brow furrowed, his gaze hardened. “You did what you could. No one could have saved more.”

Her expression softened. “Yes, at least we did that—thanks to you.” If Walfor hadn't accidentally discovered the inbound asteroids, aimed and accelerated by the merciless Ro-Xayans, Candela would have had no warning at all.

Walfor deployed sensor packages to take detailed readings to chronicle the devastation down there. “I want a full record, including deep geological scans.”

“Maybe with armored shelters a camp could survive down there, for a while at least.” Tanja couldn't take her eyes from the awful devastation. “But why would anyone want to go there? There's nothing left.”

Walfor kept his voice low, as if in apology. “To see if the iperion can still be mined, of course.”

She didn't resent him saying it, knew that past the doorway of her grief she had pragmatic concerns to deal with. She was a planetary administrator without a planet. Candela had been the Deep Zone's only known source of the vital molecular tag that allowed superfast stringline travel. The only other source was the planet Vielinger in the Crown Jewels, and those mines were nearly played out.

“No one will ever be able to find iperion in that mess down there,” she said. “With all that upheaval? The whole landscape has been reshaped.”

“Yes, but we know it's there.” Walfor's expression held forced hopefulness. “If not here, we need to hope our prospectors find iperion on other worlds. They've increased their efforts throughout the DZ. With all those planets, someone is sure to find another deposit.”

Tanja wasn't so hopeful. “We know how incredibly rare iperion is. Just because we found a strike on Candela doesn't mean it exists on any other planet, particularly not one of the habitable ones.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, that's where you're wrong, my dear. We found iperion on Candela
and
on Vielinger. Finding the substance on one planet makes it an anomaly. Finding it on
two
, and especially two that are widely separated, means that it's not unique. There's no reason we can't hope to discover it on three, or four, or many more planets. We just have to keep looking.”

“I hope you're right.” She tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere, to other important matters. Hundreds of thousands of Candela refugees needed to be relocated, settled. Most had gone to Tehila, which was where she and Walfor planned to live for the time being. Ian Walfor had also lost his home after Commodore Percival Hallholme attacked his icy planetoid of Buktu, capturing all the inhabitants—all of Walfor's friends and family—and destroying everything in his wake.

Apparently sensing what Tanja was thinking, he frowned. “I hope you and I find another home soon. The DZ has already lost two planets.”

“
Three
planets, counting Theser. Sia Frankov and all her people slaughtered … leaving another lifeless world like this one.”

“Theser was devastated, but not like this. I visited there. Yes, its main city was leveled, the people killed, but we can colonize the place again—and right now. When the Ro-Xayans destroyed Candela, though, they meant for that place to be lifeless for a very, very long time.”

A chill went down Tanja's spine, as she thought of the warnings Encix had made. “And they're not finished yet.” She turned away from the scarred planet, gazed out into the emptiness of surrounding space. “Widen your sensor net, Ian. Let's make sure there's nothing around here spying on us.”

They searched the planetary emptiness with scanners and circled the world, still checking—but detected nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, Tanja continued to watch, wary. The ominous feeling wouldn't go away. She couldn't shake the sensation that something was watching them. And it wasn't friendly.

 

7

Lord Selik Riomini rather liked the appellation people used for him—the Black Lord—but it hardly said everything about him. True, he traditionally dressed in black, and his house flag was predominantly black, and he kept a number of obsidian sculptures in his villas and manor houses. Yet, black did not describe his moods, because he was often quite pleased with the ever-widening reach of his power.

The color black did, however, nicely suggest the danger he presented to anyone who dared to oppose him.

Queasy from the spicy lunch he'd eaten, Riomini rode in an armored staff car that made its way from his Vielinger manor house, passing through an ornate gate at the western entrance of the estate. Black paramilitary vehicles led and trailed his staff car, bristling with weapons; his ubiquitous female guards rode alongside his car on high-speed cycles. Black flags fluttered on all of the fenders.

Lord Riomini took a formidable force whenever he traveled from Aeroc. As part of his aggressive persona, he liked to let his enemies know that he could strike with great ferocity at any time. That was how he'd wrested Vielinger, the Crown Jewels' only known source of iperion, away from the inept de Carre family.

Riomini's staff car passed through a military guard station and entered a fortified industrial complex, then came to a stop in front of the largest building. He had an appointment to meet with Commodore Hallholme, who was delivering prisoners he'd captured from the rebel world of Buktu out in the Deep Zone. Riomini intended to put those enemy captives to work in the iperion mines, but first he had an inspection to complete.

Surrounded by his entourage, the Black Lord strode into the building, where he inspected an assembly line of spacecraft engines, where robotic arms fitted parts and performed quality-control tests. At Riomini's side, the stocky facility manager rattled off details, while Anson Tebias, the Black Lord's most trusted adviser, accompanied them, waiting for an opportunity to talk. In his mid-thirties, Tebias was tall and painfully thin; he made Riomini think of a stretched-out noodle, but Tebias was a very intelligent man, and he gave good advice.

The facility manager said, “As you know, my Lord, these spacecraft engines are destined for the Constellation fleet, so we must make certain each one is perfect. It is generous of you to fund this operation for the benefit of all.”

With a smile, Riomini said, “I'm only doing my duty for the Constellation, as any person of means should do.”

But Selik Riomini harbored deep resentment toward Diadem Michella, who did not adequately appreciate his contributions. He should already be the next Diadem, but the old woman kept stringing him along, never fully endorsing him, toying with him and other candidates. At one time his main competition had been Enva Tazaar, but even after the ambitious noblewoman's fall from grace, Michella had not embraced him. And she refused to retire … or die.

“Excellent work,” he told the facility manager with a knowing glance at Anson Tebias. “Keep constructing the new warships. There's no telling how soon we may need them.”

Regardless of how Diadem Michella snubbed him, he would make assurances of his own.

*   *   *

Leaving the industrial complex, Riomini's convoy was delayed on the main Vielinger highway by an accident between a cargo hauler and a transport bus. There were several injuries, and wrecked vehicles blocked the road. Showing no patience, Riomini commanded one of his armored military vehicles to push the wrecks and emergency vehicles off the road. He needed to be on his way.

By the time he reached the iperion mines, Commodore Hallholme was already there, resplendent in his gold-and-black Constellation uniform as he paced outside one of five landed transport copters. Riomini had wanted to make a grand entrance to impress the old soldier; instead, delayed, he had to mumble excuses as he stepped out of his staff car.

Though he was the old veteran's superior, Riomini always felt intimidated in Hallholme's presence. The Commodore's legendary status and judgmental demeanor had a way of unnerving him.

With only a cursory salute to the Black Lord, Hallholme signaled for his men to begin unloading Buktu prisoners from the burly copters. They had been held in custody since the Commodore's return in defeat from his last engagement with General Adolphus, but Riomini had pulled strings to get them transferred here to Vielinger. Several hundred expendable laborers would come in handy in the dangerous mines. He would save on expenses by trimming safety margins. Better to put DZ rebels at risk than loyal citizens.

As the teams of guarded prisoners were led into the main mine entrance, the Commodore approached Riomini. “The Buktu captives are now in your care, my Lord. I gave them my word that they would be treated humanely. Is there anything else you need of me today, sir?”

The words sounded good, but the Black Lord found the old Commodore's tone irritating, an edge that did not sound adequately deferential. Riomini waved a hand. “Go, and await my further commands.”

Hallholme nodded stiffly, gave another salute, and hobbled back to his aircraft. The copter had already taken off in an efficient-seeming rush by the time Riomini reached the mine entrance. A tall Nordic man identified as the leader of the prisoners, Erik Anderlos, listened as the mine supervisor issued gruff instructions to the new captive work crew. Anderlos did not look pleased, although he grudgingly joined the other prisoners.

The iperion mine supervisor, Lanny Oberon, wore dusty gray coveralls. He greeted Lord Riomini with a slight bow.

Riomini said, “Work these prisoners hard, and deal severely with troublemakers. Feed them just enough to keep them working.”

Oberon also looked displeased to hear the rough instructions. He'd been known to speak his mind and had kept his position only due to his expertise in extracting iperion from difficult veins. “The de Carres would never have used slave labor—they ensured the safety and well-being of the miners. But you are not giving me the budget or authorization to do that, my Lord.”

Riomini said, “Our priority here is to ensure the efficient operation of the mine and to produce the maximum amount of iperion. We have to extract whatever is left in the veins. You seem to be forgetting that these prisoners are enemy combatants, traitors to the Constellation. By rights, they should have been summarily executed, but this way they can perform a useful duty to make up for their crimes.” Then he added, as a concession, “Any funds we save by using these prisoners will go toward improving the structural integrity and operating efficiency of the mines.” He looked around. “Where's the maintenance foreman? That's his responsibility.”

“Jando Knight is on duty underground, sir, going about his rounds. Do you also wish to speak with him? I am in charge of orienting the new workers.”

“No. He knows what I expect of him.” Riomini narrowed his gaze. “As do you, Oberon.”

The supervisor was not intimidated. “I will perform my job faithfully, my Lord. No one is better at my job, and I've always been loyal to my employer, but I must also protect the welfare of my workers.”

“Don't forget, these are
enemy
prisoners—if they get a chance, they'll cut your throat.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Oberon bowed again, and trudged toward the main iperion mine shaft.

 

8

The large prison encampment near Slickwater Springs was surrounded by two high fences thrown together with construction wire and livestock mesh barricades taken from Sophie Vence's warehouses in Michella Town. The holding area had been built quickly after General Adolphus accepted the surrender of the Constellation soldiers. Tents and prefab colony huts offered shelter but few comforts.

Adolphus's camp guards patrolled the perimeter in vehicles and on foot. Despite the guards and the fences, Bolton Crais knew that the rugged, hostile landscape of Hellhole was the primary deterrent to escape.

In theory, it was only a temporary settlement, but Bolton knew the resolution of the conflict was far from over. He and his fellow prisoners of war had been here for many weeks already. It seemed like an eternity.

Around him, the camp was a buzz of activity as he climbed the steps of a wooden frame building at the center of the complex. Though the structure was not quite completed, it was being used as a makeshift entertainment hall, as if the prisoners had resigned themselves to staying here for some time. They had access to movie and game loops as diversions from the tension and boredom. When finished, the building would be a meeting hall, where Redcom Escobar Hallholme would address his captive officers, and where Sophie Vence, as the camp administrator, would meet with Bolton or other camp representatives to listen to their complaints and respond to them. Two evenings ago, after a growler storm had skirted the valley and injured more than a dozen prisoners with static discharges, the officers had gathered outside the building, voicing concerns that the temporary shelter of the camp was insufficient to protect them from threats.