Hellhole (7 page)

The siren’s tempo increased, generating a sense of real alarm. Vincent shouted, “Spread out, start pounding on doors. Somebody’s got to let us in!” He ran to the nearest shuttered shop. He hammered on a door as thick as a spaceship hatch, but nobody answered. He moved to a locked-down dwelling and tried again with the same result.

Within seconds the wind picked up, blowing dust and pebbles along the street. The air’s alkaline scent grew noticeably more sour. The sky overhead turned a sickly yellow-green, as if it had suddenly spoiled. A thin arc of silver lightning shot horizontally across the clouds, completing a circuit; moments later, it was followed by a rumbling growl that was uglier and more ominous than any thunder Vincent had ever experienced on Orsini.

The warning siren continued for another minute, then fell silent – which seemed even more ominous. “Looks like everybody with any common sense is off the streets by now,” Antonia said.

“I hope it’s just some kind of drill,” Vincent said, but the knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

“If it’s important, they should post signs.” Fernando held out his arms with a childlike wonder, staring down at them. “Hey look – ever see anything like this? Every single hair is standing on end.”

Vincent realized that his skin had a tingling, fizzing sensation, as if millions of microscopic insects were crawling over it. Antonia’s long dark hair began waving and writhing, like a corona around her head.

A second burst of horizontal lightning crossed the clouds, and the deep thunder became a roar. The wind funneled between the buildings with an angry, grinding sound. The moist-metal odor of ozone permeated the air. Thin white bolts sizzled from rooftop to rooftop like a spiderweb of electricity, as if Michella Town had become a giant generator.

“We need to get into a shelter
now
!” Vincent yelled. “The static buildup will be deadly.”

Antonia shouted at the silent buildings around them. “Anyone there? Hello!”

At the far end of the street, a hatch door opened on one of the large warehouses. A woman and a gangly young man looked at them with expressions of horror. “Why the hell are you still on the streets? Come on!”

Without hesitation, the three ran towards their rescuers. Ever-increasing bolts of static discharged across the buildings, and the roar overhead sounded like a hungry prehistoric beast. With each breath, Vincent felt as if he had inhaled enough ambient electricity to burn out his lungs.

The young man in the hatchway grabbed Antonia’s arm and pulled her inside. Vincent and Fernando practically fell over each other as they dove for cover.

“Are you all crazy? No one stays outside during a growler!” the woman shouted. “Didn’t you hear the alarm?”

“Sure, we heard the alarm, but nobody told us what it meant.” Fernando seemed amused by the whole adventure. “What’s a growler?”

Behind them, whip-lightning skittered along the street, etching black lines of melted dust. The bolts strafed and danced along the side of the warehouse building. Just in time, the woman sealed the hatch shut with a spray of sparks.

Vincent panted hard, and Antonia ran her hands through her wild hair. Grinning with relief, Fernando bowed like a gentleman. “Thank you very much, ma’am. Fernando Neron, at your service. These are my friends, Vincent Jenet and Antonia Anqui.”

“I’m Sophie Vence, this is my son Devon – and you three are fools. Why were you just gawking out there like tourists? The weathersats announced this as one of the most powerful static storms on record.”

“Good to know it isn’t just an average one,” Fernando quipped. “I’d hate to put up with that every day while we’re here.”

Sophie looked upset. “You’re obviously newbies. Didn’t they go over basic survival skills during your orientation briefing?”

Vincent lowered his eyes. “Sorry, ma’am, but we didn’t get any orientation briefing. Once we got off the passenger pod, we’ve been left to fend for ourselves.”

Sophie pressed a hand against her forehead. “Unbelievable! The General’s going to hear about this. We don’t have time to go rescuing people who have no common sense.”

“We had a brochure,” Fernando said helpfully, “but it mainly focused on the opportunities we would find here.”

Sophie made a disgusted noise. “Typical Constellation crap. Don’t believe a word of it.”

Devon offered them water, first to Antonia. “Are you all right?”

The young woman drew away from his unwanted attention. “I’ll be fine.” Her words sounded sharper than she must have intended, and Devon looked crestfallen.

Sophie put her hands on her hips. “Well, you’re safe enough in here. This building acts as a Faraday cage.” Outside, the static storm continued its furious noises. “Make yourselves comfortable. It’ll be a few hours before this rolls over. Do you have someplace to go after that?”

Fernando gave her a warm and enthusiastic smile. “We’re open to suggestions.”

A
s the car carrying General Adolphus and his unwelcome guest arrived at the headquarters estate, the static storm broke in full fury. Even with the available models and satellite predictions, Adolphus had underestimated the speed and direction of the weather. The brown, crackling mass rolled in behind them like a plague cloud spangled with lightning.

Peering through the windows of the groundcar while the driver, Lt Spencer, raced for shelter, the Diadem’s watchdog studied the storm. He was perspiring heavily; beads of sweat glistened like undiscovered gems on his wax-smooth scalp, but he didn’t seem panicky, just unsettled that the events were out of his control.

Good
, Adolphus thought . . .

Back at the landing field, he had easily identified the Diadem’s spy. They all had a certain air about them, a self-important demeanor that kept others at a distance. The large-framed man was younger than his position of importance implied, and despite his physical size, he looked slick, with hyper-alert, pale green eyes; he was solid, not fat, and entirely bald. He wore an airmask over his mouth and nose, though such measures had never been proven necessary on Hellhole; he pulled thin filmgloves onto his hands. At first glance, Adolphus thought the man was a hypochondriac, paranoid about contamination . . . but then he changed his assessment. This man had an edge, a power in his confidence; he was not paranoid, but
careful
.

Wearing a full uniform and all his rebellion medals, the General had surprised the spy, smiling with brittle geniality as he introduced himself. Flustered to be spotted so quickly, the watchdog imperiously presented his credentials and put away a meticulous list he had been keeping. “I am Ishop Heer, representative of Diadem Michella Duchenet. Who informed you of this visit? How long have you known I was coming?”

Having met Heer’s type before, the General deftly evaded the question. “I have told the Diadem time and again that surprise inspections are unnecessary, since I have nothing to hide. I respect and abide by the terms of my exile. I follow every letter of my promises, because I am an honorable man. Diadem Michella knows that very well by now.”

“The Diadem cannot afford to make assumptions when it comes to the peace and security of the Constellation.” Ishop sniffed behind his breathing mask, scrutinizing the military outfit. He tucked his list in his pocket. “None of those medals are for service to the Constellation. Odd that you’d wear a defunct uniform. To serve as a reminder that your rebellion failed, Administrator?”

Adolphus refused to be taunted. “I still have a great deal of admiration for this uniform. My intent is to be formal and respectful, as the Diadem requires of me . . . but not necessarily considerate.”

During the drive from the spaceport, Ishop Heer stared at the buildings and made silent notes about Michella Town as they passed through on the way to the outskirts and the General’s main house. He seemed to be drinking in details, filing them away, comparing them to expectations. The man launched his first volley. “After the stringline hauler docked, I spotted a suspicious amount of orbital activity, Administrator. None of the previous inspectors made note of your advanced surface-to-orbit capability.”

Adolphus cloaked his annoyance.
Because the previous inspectors were all fools who could either be fooled or bribed outright
. “Territorial Governor Goler always accepted my explanations without question.” Goler, whose jurisdiction covered eleven Deep Zone planets ranging from Ridgetop to Hallholme, actually chose to live out in the DZ rather than back on Sonjeera; the man made dutiful trips to Hallholme, Candela, and the other nine planets he administered . . . but he wasn’t the most observant person.

“If the Diadem accepted Governor Goler’s reports without reservation, then I wouldn’t be here,” Ishop said. “Hallholme has installed more satellites than any other Deep Zone world seems to need.”

Adolphus relaxed. “Fortunately, Mr Heer, the static storm you’re about to experience will give you a dramatic demonstration of exactly why we need the sats.” Above them, the sky had visibly sickened with the oncoming turmoil. “We have worse weather than any other DZ world. Our climatologists have to rewrite their models after each major storm.”

“When will it hit?” Ishop looked out to the darkening sky as they left the outer buildings of the colony town behind.

The driver turned around. “I had hoped to outrun it, General, but it’ll most likely catch up with us before we reach HQ.”

“Increase speed, Lieutenant.”

The spy gave Adolphus a dubious look, as if he were being tricked, but the skies continued to blacken, and horizontal lightning bursts appeared overhead. The General decided to make Ishop squirm just a bit more. “It’s a bad storm, too – should last for hours. Our weathersats have mapped its extent. Lieutenant Spencer, it might be best if we hurry it up a bit more. Best speed.”

“Yes, General.” The driver accelerated the vehicle to its maximum speed for the final kilometer.

A furious rumble rolled across the sky, accompanied by a dancing strobe-display of horizontal lightning. Surface-to-sky bursts tore up the landscape, exploding little craters in the dirt. Ishop Heer looked quite satisfactorily intimidated. He adjusted his breathing mask, tugged at his filmgloves.

Still staring ahead, Adolphus said, “You see why we place so much importance on satellite launches and climate monitoring?”

The Diadem’s inspector did not argue.

The General had built his home and administrative headquarters several kilometers outside of Michella Town, and now the vehicle arrived at the big estate as the weather grew worse. The large, rustic manor house had gables, a shaded porch, and numerous wide windows flanked by armored shutters. In a crude approximation of a lawn, native vegetation had been cultivated so that it spread out in a mossy, turquoise-colored swath; other sections of landscaping contained languidly swaying lumpy ferns and knotted, hardy groundcover.

His loyal men had insisted on creating a worthy residence for their revered commander, and while Adolphus did not require the extravagance or spaciousness of a mansion, he
did
want to demonstrate a tangible hope that this rugged frontier world could become civilized.

“Welcome to my estate. I’ve named it Elba – for obvious reasons.” He smiled over at Ishop Heer, a subtle attempt to put the man in his place, to make him feel inadequate. No one in the Constellation bothered with ancient Earth military history, and the man couldn’t possibly have any idea what he was talking about.

“Frankly, it might have been more appropriate if you named it St Helena,” Ishop said with a sniff. He adjusted his breathing mask. “After his exile to the original Elba, the military leader Napoleon – whom you so obviously admire, Administrator – was able to escape and cause further havoc for the legitimate government. After he was defeated and sent to St Helena, though, he died a broken man.”

Adolphus was surprised at the man’s knowledge, even delighted. Not a single one of the previous inspectors had even recognized Napoleon’s name. There was something different about this man. “You know your history, Mr Heer.”

“I did my research on
you
, Administrator. Your interests are no secret to the Diadem, or to me.” Behind his facemask, he was probably smiling.

Just as the storm’s violent fringe cracked open around them, the driver pulled the groundcar into the underground parking bay, where they were safe from the weather. Ishop climbed out, brushed off his formal garments, and looked around as if expecting a welcoming party. He tugged his gloves to straighten them. “You are required to give me full access and accommodations until my inspection is complete, Administrator. I need to see your home, your offices, your records.”

“As always, I will do precisely as Diadem Michella commands.” Adolphus kept his voice stiff, giving the inspector no clue as to his state of mind.

With the big storm rolling about outside, the residence house seemed large and empty. Adolphus had live-in servants, security officers, and part-time staff, but upon receiving the weather report, he’d let them return to their families in town. For the most part, it was just him and the Diadem’s spy in the big house.