Hellhole (35 page)

Other visitors came and went, some sitting for awhile like Cristoph, but eventually all were invited inside the big house – except for him. At first, Cristoph assumed the others must have appointments, but when he asked them, he discovered that was not the case. All were new arrivals from a variety of Crown Jewel worlds, each person seeking his fortune. Cristoph was the only one being ignored.

Finally, at sundown, he said to the old veteran at the door, “He hasn’t forgotten about me?”

“Oh, he hasn’t forgotten you, or your family. Not in all these years.”

Cristoph slumped back on the bench and waited. He tried to do his best to take his situation in his stride, to show a brave face. He had never imagined that he might fall from riches to rags in an eyeblink . . . yet here on the worst planet in the Deep Zone, what did that matter? Of all places,
this
was where he should be able to prove himself with his skills in leading projects, managing miners or other large work teams. He would start where he could, and work his way upward to the best of his abilities. He had been stripped of his possessions, but not defeated. He knew he was smart and determined. Wasn’t this place supposed to be about second chances? It was not likely he could ever restore the de Carre family honor, but he could at least find his own.

The General, obviously, continued to hold a grudge.
Bitterness can last a lifetime, and beyond
.

Cristoph remained outside on the porch at sunset, with no place to sleep, and he considered giving up, but he couldn’t make it back to Michella Town before dark. He paced along the porch when he could no longer sit still.

From the front doorway, the sour veteran called, “You might as well leave. The General won’t see you.”

Calmly, Cristoph stretched out on the bench, as if making a bed for himself. “I’ll be here in the morning. I intend to try again tomorrow.”

The old man scowled. “Go away. This is not an inn.”

“No, an inn would at least offer water and food to a guest.”

The veteran seemed angry, but Cristoph heard a deep laugh behind him. “You’re a stubborn one.”

A barrel-chested man stepped past the old aide; he had close-cropped dark hair, a squarish face, and a brusque military demeanor. Cristoph levered himself off the bench and made a quick, respectful bow. “General Adolphus, I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”

“And if I say no?” The dark eyes flashed without warmth.

Cristoph didn’t want to show weakness, not in this place, not in front of this man. “Then you would be missing an opportunity.”

The General folded his arms across his chest. Cristoph thought he saw a hint of a smile. “I’m listening.”

In a rush, he described his responsibilities on Vielinger, which included running the iperion mines, the processing centers, managing the equipment, juggling schedules. It was an impressive list of skills, all of which he felt would be applicable here on this planet. He also explained how he had lost control of it all – the sabotaged equipment, the accidents, the arson.

“Sounds like you failed miserably.”

“I failed to block another power-hungry family that wanted to take our holdings. Is that sort of thing a problem here on Hallholme?”

Adolphus narrowed his eyes. “We have enough straightforward problems on this planet. Regardless of the cause of the accidents, it sounds like you couldn’t protect your workers and keep the operations running.”

Cristoph’s throat was dry, but he nodded. “You’re right, sir. In that, I failed.”

“I failed, too, during the last battle at Sonjeera,” Adolphus said. “But I accepted defeat in order to save as many lives as I could.”

Cristoph wasn’t sure what the General wanted to hear, so he gave a blunt, honest response. “I know you must be suspicious of my intentions, sir, but the Constellation has turned against me, disgraced my father, stripped me of my inheritance.”

“And you think I will save you?”

“No, sir. I intend to save myself.”

“Out of all the Deep Zone planets, why would you choose Hallholme?”

With a humorless smile, Cristoph shrugged. “Isn’t this the place to go when you have nowhere else to go?”

“That it is. Come inside, young man. I’ll find you a work assignment.” Adolphus considered for a moment. “But the work I have in mind is considered demeaning. You’re going to be a dust-system maintenance technician at the spaceport. You’ll get filthy crawling around inside tight spaces changing filters. Not quite the same as living on a Crown Jewel estate.”

“Nothing is the same. I’ll do it anyway, sir.”

“Yes,” Adolphus said with a firm nod. “Yes, you will.”

I
t was not a sport for old people, yet Diadem Michella played just as hard as the much younger lords and ladies. On the mown field, riders wearing their family colors were each mounted on a spirited Sonjeeran horp.

The long-necked steeds known for their racing speed and vitality looked like a cross between a horse and a giraffe, and riders sat well above the ground. Because horps could manage tremendous speeds even across the short distances of the sonic ballfield, many riders strapped themselves to the saddles with harnesses. Michella, however, believed that harnesses projected a cowardly image. She regularly selected the most spirited animal in her stable and never used a safety harness. She was a daredevil, full of life, flamboyant for the adoring public. She was the Diadem.

Keana met her mother near the stable before Michella could ride out onto the field. Since she could not publicly mourn for Louis, Keana wore a simple but elegant white outfit graced with an embroidered design influenced by the Vielinger sigil. If Michella had known of her daughter’s plans to go there, she would have stopped her – it was embarrassing – but perhaps the silly girl had finally learned a valuable lesson.

Michella had thought that eliminating her lover would rein Keana in, teach her not to wander from the well-defined course of her life, but her daughter was proving more intractable than she had ever been before. It was annoying.

When Keana arrived, the Diadem was about to climb an adjustable stirrup to mount her horp, while two men held the lively gray stallion for her. After mounting, the Diadem shooed away her two helpers so she could have a moment of privacy.

Interpreting the sigil on her daughter’s ensemble as a small protest, the old woman scowled deeply. “What’s done is done. Move on with your life! You should be at your own husband’s side. Why do you continue to push the limits of my patience?”

“Perhaps I got the trait from you, Mother. I’m not the only one in this family who pushes the limits.” Keana regarded the restless animal. “That beast could easily take you on your last ride, you know. What would happen to all your schemes if you fell and broke your neck?”

Michella raised her eyebrows at the venom in her daughter’s voice. “I’ll decide when I’m ready to die, and it won’t be at the whim of this simple-minded animal.” She looked at Keana’s face, saw the pain written there, and softened her tone. “I wish it had gone otherwise for you and Lord de Carre, my dear, but that relationship was doomed from the start. You were born to certain expectations, and your husband is a member of a very wealthy and powerful family. Do you know how hard I had to work to arrange your marriage with Bolton in the first place? Accept your life and start living it.”

Standing beside the animal, looking up at her, Keana said, “There’s something I have to do first. The Riominis have Vielinger, and Louis is dead, but there’s no need to punish his son. He did nothing to embarrass you, and his father accepted all the blame. Tell me where Cristoph is – I know you gave the order to send him away after he was evicted from the estate.” She fought back her emotions. “I want to make sure he’s all right.”

The horp jostled, anxious to be out on the playing field, but Michella savagely yanked the bit and slapped the creature into submission. Her voice was shrill. “How many times must I tell you? Stop obsessing over that family! It’s none of your concern. Cristoph was turned out of his estate and stripped of his fortunes. I’ve no idea where he went.” She no longer bothered to sound compassionate. “I’ll hear no more of your stories of dewy-eyed romance and living happily ever after. Even as Diadem, do
I
get everything I want? Hardly! I didn’t want the Riominis to overrun Vielinger, but it was unavoidable, a price of doing business with them – for the good of the Constellation.”

Michella gave an unregal snort. “In Council, dear, they speak openly of my successor, as if I’m not there. But I remain fit and healthy and vivacious to spite them!” She waved dismissively. “Now go watch my match. I’ve arranged an excellent seat for you. Time to get back to your normal life.” With that, the Diadem rode the beast through a gate in a white fence, and out onto the field.

Stung, Keana made her way to the spectator stands. All her life, her concerns had been brushed aside. At every turn, she tried to
help
, but no one took her seriously. The fact that her mother refused to let her find Cristoph only made her more determined to do it. She would have to gather her own allies and do it her own way. Sometimes, it was useful to be underestimated . . .

She sat in the stands with well-dressed members of the nobility. Keana did not want to draw attention to herself; she would have preferred to disappear to a place where she could find some peace. The decay and ennui of Sonjeeran society, demonstrated in these spectacles, was painfully obvious to her now.

As the sonic ball match took place and her mother galloped like a barbarian warrior in the midst of the other horps and riders, Keana mulled over Cristoph’s disappearance. She worried that something horrible had happened to him – perhaps the young man had been murdered and his body hidden. Or maybe he had just been sent far away.

She looked out on the field and watched Michella galloping high on the gray stallion, with her sonic stick extended to ground level, blasting the white game ball. Riominis, Hirdans, Craises, Tazaars and other competing nobles chased her mother with waving sticks to take the ball from her. The audience cheered for the Diadem, but Keana held her silence. She wished the animal would throw the old woman down on the field, where she could be trampled. Keana knew that her mother was responsible for what had happened to Louis, either directly or through intermediaries. The Diadem had ruined her life, squashed her dreams, and refused to help when Keana needed her the most.

Bouncing on her saddle without the safety restraint, Michella seemed in danger of flying off, but she held on nonetheless. In his characteristic black uniform, Lord Selik Riomini charged up beside her, extended his sonic stick and tried to hammer at the ball, but with a swift, expert motion, Michella fired a loud sonic rejoinder that knocked the stick out of his hands.

The old Diadem guided the ball around, then struck it high into the air. Moving in a graceful arc, it dropped straight through the basket. In celebration, a cannon shot fireworks into the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

But Keana merely sat in the stands, worried about Cristoph.

S
ince Fernando and his symbiotic alien presence showed no interest in driving the Trakmaster, Vincent took the controls and guided them across the rugged terrain back to Michella Town. Despite his anxiety to get back, to share what had happened to his friend, Vincent took no risks as he drove overland.

During the long trip, he observed the dramatic and irrefutable change in the other man’s personality. Once frenetic and needing to talk all the time, Fernando-Zairic now seemed placid, as if he neither wanted nor needed anything. Filled with his Xayan memories and mission, he no longer looked for opportunities to make a profit. He had a certain aura of
holiness
about him, which was vastly different from the Fernando Neron that Vincent had known. There was no doubt in his mind that this was real.

Still, he worried about how to reveal the astonishing story to others – who would probably react with skepticism and even ridicule. Upon hearing such a fantastic yarn, listeners would look at Fernando’s history as a scam artist and draw their own conclusions. Vincent would be painted with the same brush. Why would anyone believe them? The other man did not seem concerned, though, assuming that the truth would be sufficient.

Their best chance was to have General Adolphus listen to what Fernando (and Zairic) had to say. Vincent noted his companion’s blurred eyes once more and shook his head. Just spending a few minutes with the altered Fernando should be convincing enough.

When they finally reached Michella Town, Vincent pulled the dusty Trakmaster up to the survey office, where he was required to turn over hardcopy logs of their explorations. Fernando remained in the vehicle. “I will wait here. Please arrange for us to talk to General Tiber Adolphus.”

Vincent didn’t know if he would ever get used to the detached voice coming out of his friend’s lips. “Easier said than done.” But he had come up with something that might intrigue the General.