David Weber & Linda Evans - Hells Gate

Launching a Blazing New SF Adventure Series!

HELL'S GATE—ARC

David Weber

& Linda Evans

Advance Reader Copy

Unproofed

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are

fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

form.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN-10: 1-4165-0939-9

ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0939-4

First printing, November 2006

Cover Art by Kurt Miller

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Weber, David, 1952-

Hell's gate / by David Weber & Linda Evans.

p. cm.

"A Baen Books original"--T.p. verso.

ISBN 1-4165-0939-9

1. Space warfare--Fiction. 2. Life on other planets--Fiction. I. Evans, Linda. II. Title.

PS3573.E217H45 2006

813'.54--dc22

2006019700

Typesetting by Joy Freeman, PagesByJoy.com

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Baen Books by David Weber

Honor Harrington:

On Basilisk Station

The Honor of the Queen

The Short Victorious War

Field of Dishonor

Flag in Exile

Honor Among Enemies

In Enemy Hands

Echoes of Honor

Ashes of Victory

War of Honor

At All Costs

Honorverse:

Crown of Slaves (with Eric Flint)

The Shadow of Saganami

edited by David Weber:

More than Honor

Worlds of Honor

Changer of Worlds

The Service of the Sword

Mutineers' Moon

The Armageddon Inheritance

Heirs of Empire

Empire from the Ashes

In Fury Born

The Apocalypse Troll

The Excalibur Alternative

Bolos!

Old Soldiers

Oath of Swords

The War God's Own

Wind Rider's Oath

with Steve White:

Crusade

In Death Ground

The Stars At War

The Shiva Option

Insurrection

The Stars At War II

with Eric Flint:

1633

with John Ringo:

March Upcountry

March to the Sea

March to the Stars

We Few

with Linda Evans:

Hell's Gate

Hell Hath No Fury (forthcoming)

Baen Books by Linda Evans

Far Edge of Darkness

Time Scout (with Robert Asprin)

For King and Country (with Robert Asprin)

Chapter One

The tall noncom could have stepped straight out of a recruiting poster. His fair hair and height were a

legacy from his North Shalhoman ancestors, but he was far, far away—a universe away—from their

steep cliffs and icy fjords. His jungle camo fatigues were starched and ironed to razor-sharp creases as

he stood on the crude, muddy landing ground with his back to the looming hole of the portal. His

immaculate uniform looked almost as bizarrely out of place against the backdrop of the hacked-out

jungle clearing as the autumn-kissed red and gold of the forest giants beyond the portal, and he seemed

impervious to the swamp-spawned insects zinging about his ears. He wore the shoulder patch of the

Second Andaran Temporal Scouts, and the traces of gray at his temples went perfectly with the

experience lines etched into his hard, bronzed face.

He gazed up into the painfully bright afternoon sky, blue-gray eyes slitted against the westering sun,

with his helmet tucked into the crook of his left elbow and his right thumb hooked into the leather sling of

the dragoon arbalest slung over his shoulder. He'd been standing there in the blistering heat for the better

part of half an hour, yet he seemed unaware of it. In fact, he didn't even seem to be perspiring, although

that had to be an illusion.

He also seemed prepared to stand there for the next week or so, if that was what it took. But then,

finally, a black dot appeared against the cloudless blue, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled in satisfaction.

He watched the dot sweep steadily closer, losing altitude as it came, then lifted his helmet and settled

it onto his head. He bent his neck, shielding his eyes with his left hand as the dragon back-winged in to a

landing. Bits of debris flew on the sudden wind generated by the mighty beast's iridescent-scaled wings,

and the noncom waited until the last twigs had pattered back to the ground before he lowered his hand

and straightened once more.

The dragon's arrival was a sign of just how inaccessible this forward post actually was. In fact, it was

just over seven hundred and twenty miles from the coastal base, in what would have been the swamps of

the Kingdom of Farshal in northeastern Hilmar back home. Those were some pretty inhospitable miles,

and the mud here was just as gluey as the genuine Hilmaran article, so aerial transport was the only real

practical way in at the moment. The noncom himself had arrived back at the post via the regular transport

dragon flight less than forty-eight hours earlier, and as he'd surveyed the much below, he'd been struck

by just how miserable it would have been to slog through it on foot. How anyone was going to properly

exploit a portal in the middle of this godforsaken swamp was more than he could say, but he didn't doubt

that the Union Trans-Temporal Transit Authority would find a way. The UTTTA had the best engineers

in the universe—in several universes, for that matter—and plenty of experience with portals in terrain

even less prepossessing than this.

Probably less prepossessing, anyway.

The dragon went obediently to its knees at the urging of its pilot, and a single passenger swung down

the boarding harness strapped about the beast's shoulders. The newcomer was dark-haired, dark-eyed,

and even taller than the noncom, although much younger, and each point of his collar bore the single silver

shield of a commander of one hundred. Like the noncom, he wore the shoulder flash of the 2nd ATS,

and the name "Olderhan, Jasak" was stenciled above his breast pocket. He said something to the

dragon's pilot, then strode quickly across the mucky ground towards the waiting one-man welcoming

committee.

"Sir!" The noncom snapped to attention and saluted sharply. "Welcome back to this shithole, Sir!" he

barked.

"Why, thank you, Chief Sword Threbuch," the officer said amiably, tossing off a far more casual

salute in response. Then he extended his right hand and gripped the older man's hand firmly. "I trust the

Powers That Be have a suitable reason for dragging me back here, Otwal," he said dryly, and the

noncom smiled.

"I wish they hadn't—dragged you back, that is, Sir—but I think you may forgive them in the end," he

said. "I'm sort of surprised they managed to catch you, though. I figured you'd be well on your way back

to Garth Showma by now."

"So did I," Hundred Olderhan replied wryly. He shook his head. "Unfortunately, Hundred Thalmayr

seems to've gotten himself delayed in transit somewhere along the way, and Magister Halathyn was quick

enough off the mark to catch me before he got here. If the Magister had only waited another couple of

days for Thalmayr to get here to relieve me, I'd have been aboard ship and far enough out to sea to get

away clean."

"Sorry about that, Sir." The chief sword grinned. "I hope you'll tell the Five Thousand I tried to get

you home for your birthday."

"Oh, Father will forgive you, Otwal," Jasak assured him. "Mother, now . . . "

"Please, Sir!" The chief sword shivered dramatically. "I still remember what your lady mother had to

say to me when I got the Five Thousand home late for their anniversary."

"According to Father, you did well to get him home at all," the hundred said, and the chief sword

shrugged.

"The Five Thousand was too tough for any jaguar to eat, Sir. All I did was stop the bleeding."

"Most he could have expected out of you after he was stupid enough to step right on top of it." The

chief sword gave the younger man a sharp look, and the hundred chuckled. "That's the way Father

describes it, Otwal. I promise you I'm not being guilty of filial disrespect."

"As the Hundred says," the chief sword agreed.

"But since our lords and masters appear to have seen fit to make me miss my birthday, suppose you

tell me exactly what we have here, Chief Sword." The hundred's voice was much crisper, his brown eyes

intent, and the chief sword came back to a position midway between stand easy and parade rest.

"Sir, I'm afraid you'll need to ask Magister Halathyn for the details. All I know is that he says the

potential tests on this portal's field strength indicate that there's at least one more in close proximity. A big

one."

"How big?" Jasak asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't really know, Sir," Threbuch replied. "I don't think Magister Halathyn does yet, for that

matter. But he was muttering something about a class eight."

Sir Jasak Olderhan's eyebrows rose, and he whistled silently. The largest trans-temporal portal so far

charted was the Selkara Portal, and it was only a class seven. If Magister Halathyn had, indeed, detected

a class eight, then this muddy, swampy hunk of jungle was about to become very valuable real estate.

"In that case, Chief Sword," he said mildly after a moment, "I suppose you'd better get me to

Magister Halathyn."

* * *

Halathyn vos Dulainah was very erect, very dark-skinned, and very silver-haired, with a wiry build

which was finally beginning to verge on frail. Jasak wasn't certain, but he strongly suspected that the old

man was well past the age at which Authority regs mandated the retirement of the Gifted from active

fieldwork. Not that anyone was likely to tell Magister Halathyn that. He'd been a law unto himself for

decades and the UTTTA's crown jewel ever since he'd left the Mythal Falls Academy twenty years

before, and he took an undisguised, almost child-like delight in telling his nominal superiors where they

could stuff their regulations.

He hadn't told Jasak exactly why he was out here in the middle of this mud and bug-infested swamp,

nor why Magister Gadrial Kelbryan, his second-in-command at the Garth Showma Institute, had

followed him out here. He'd insisted with a bland-faced innocence which could not have been bettered

by a twelve-year-old caught with his hand actually in the cookie jar, that he was "on vacation." He

certainly had to the clout within the UTTTA to commandeer transportation for his own amusement at that

was what he really wanted, but Jasak suspected he was actually engaged in some sort of undisclosed

research. Not that Magister Halathyn was going to admit it. He was too delighted by the opportunity to

be mysterious to waste it.

He was also, as his complexion and the "vos" in front of his surname proclaimed, both a Mythalan

and a member of the shakira caste. As a rule, Jasak Olderhan was less than fond of Mythalans . . . and

considerably less fond than that of the shakira. But Magister Halathyn was the exception to that rule as

he was to so many others.

The magister looked up as Chief Sword Threbuch followed Jasak into his tent, the heels of their

boots loud on its raised wooden flooring. He tapped his stylus on the crystal display in front of him,

freezing his notes and the calculations he'd been performing, and smiled at the hundred over the glassy

sphere.

"And how is my second-favorite crude barbarian?" he inquired in genial Andaran.

"As unlettered and impatient as ever, Sir," Jasak replied, in Mythalan, with an answering smile. The

old magister chuckled appreciatively and extended his hand for a welcoming shake. Then he cocked his

canvas camp chair back at a comfortable, teetering angle and waved for Jasak to seat himself in the

matching chair on the far side of his worktable.

"Seriously, Jasak," he said as the younger man obeyed the unspoken command, "I apologize for

yanking you back here. I know how hard it was for you to get leave for your birthday in the first place,

and I know your parents must have been looking forward to seeing you. But I thought you'd want to be

here for this one. And, frankly, with all due respect to Hundred Thalmayr, I'm not sorry he was delayed.

All things being equal, I'd prefer to have you in charge just a little longer."

Jasak stopped his grimace before it ever reached his expression, but it wasn't the easiest thing he'd

ever done. Although he genuinely had been looking forward to spending his birthday at home in Garth

Showma for the first time in over six years, he hadn't been looking forward to handing "his" company

over to Hadrign Thalmayr, even temporarily. Partly because of his jealously possessive pride in Charlie

Company, but also because Thalmayr—who was senior to him—had only transferred into the Scouts

seventeen months ago. From his record, he was a perfectly competent infantry officer, but Jasak hadn't

been impressed with the older man's mental flexibility the few times they'd met before Jasak himself had

been forward-deployed. And it was pretty clear his previous line infantry experience had left him firmly

imbued with the sort of by-the-book mentality the Temporal Scouts worked very hard to eradicate.

Which wasn't something he could discuss with a civilian, even one he respected as deeply as he did

Magister Halathyn.

"The Chief Sword said something about a class eight," he said instead, his tone making the statement

a question, and Magister Halathyn nodded soberly.

"Unless Gadrial and I are badly mistaken," he said, waving a hand at the letters and esoteric formulae

glittering in the water-clear heart of his crystal, "it's at least a class eight. Actually, I suspect it may be

even larger."

Jasak sat back in his chair, regarding the old man's lined face intently. Had it been anyone else, he

would have been inclined to dismiss the preposterous claim as pure, rampant speculation. But Magister

Halathyn wasn't given to speculation.

"If you're right about that, Sir," the hundred said after a moment, "this entire transit chain may just

have become a lot more important to the Authority."

"It may," Magister Halathyn agreed. "Then again, it may not." He grimaced. "Whatever size this portal

may be—" he tapped the crystal containing his notes "—that portal—" he pointed out through the open

fly of his tent at the peculiar hole in the universe which loomed enormously beyond the muddy clearing's

western perimeter "—is only a class three. That's going to bottleneck anything coming through from our

putative class eight. Not to mention the fact that we're at the end of a ridiculously inconvenient chain at

the moment."

"I suppose that depends in part on how far your new portal is from the other side of this one," Jasak

pointed out. "The terrain between here and the coast may suck, but it's only seven hundred miles."

"Seven hundred and nineteen-point-three miles," Magister Halathyn corrected with a crooked smile.

"All right, Sir." Jasak accepted the correction with a smile of his own. "That's still a ridiculously short

haul compared to most of the portal connections I can think of. And if this new portal of yours is within

relatively close proximity to our class three, we're talking about a twofer."

"That really is a remarkably uncouth way to describe a spatially congruent trans-temporal transfer

zone," Halathyn said severely.

"I'm just a naturally uncouth sort of fellow, Sir," Jasak agreed cheerfully. "But however you slice it, it's

still a two-for-one."

"Yes, it is," Halathyn acknowledged. "Assuming our calculations are sound, of course. In fact, if this

new portal is as large as I think it is, and as closely associated with our portal here, I think it's entirely

possible that we're looking at a cluster."

Despite all of the magister's many years of discipline, his eyes gleamed, and he couldn't quite keep

the excitement out of his voice. Not that Jasak blamed him for that. A portal cluster . . . In the better part

of two centuries of exploration, UTTTA's survey teams had located only one true cluster, the Zholhara

Cluster. Doubletons were the rule—indeed, only sixteen triples had ever been found, which was a rate of

less than one in ten. But a cluster like Zholhara was of literally incalculable value.

This far out—they were at the very end of the Lamia Chain, well over three months' travel from

Arcana, even for someone who could claim transport dragon priority for the entire trip—even a cluster

would take years to fully develop. Lamia, with over twenty portals, was already a huge prize. But if

Magister Halathyn was correct, the entire transit chain was about to become even more valuable . . . and

receive the highest development priority UTTTA could assign.

"Of course," Magister Halathyn continued in the tone of a man forcing himself to keep his enthusiasm

in check, "we don't know where this supposed portal of mine connects. It could be the middle of the

Great Ransaran Desert. Or an island in the middle of the Western Ocean, like Rycarh Outbound. Or the

exact center of the polar ice cap."

"Or it could be a couple of thousand feet up in thin air, which would make for something of a nasty

first step," Jasak agreed. "But I suppose we'd better go find it if we really want to know, shouldn't we?"

"My sentiments exactly," the magister agreed, and the hundred looked at the chief sword.

"How soon can we move out on the Magister's heading, Chief Sword?"

"I'm afraid the Hundred would have to ask Fifty Garlath about that," Threbuch replied with absolutely

no inflection, and this time Jasak did grimace. The tonelessness of the chief sword's voice shouted his

opinion (among other things) of Commander of Fifty Shevan Garlath as an officer of the Union of

Arcana. Unfortunately, Sir Jasak Olderhan's opinion exactly matched that of his company's senior

non-commissioned officer.

"If the Hundred will recall," the chief sword continued even more tonelessly, "his last decision before

his own departure was to authorize Third Platoon's R&R. That leaves Fifty Garlath as the SO here at the

base camp."

Jasak winced internally as Threbuch tactfully (sort of) reminded him that leaving Garlath out here at

the ass-end of nowhere had been his own idea. Which had seemed like a good one at the time, even if it

had been a little petty of him. No, more than a little petty. Quite a bit more, if he wanted to be honest.

Chief Sword Threbuch hadn't exactly protested at the time, but his expression had suggested his opinion

of the decision. Not because he disagreed that Fifty Therman Ulthar and his men had earned their R&R,

but because Shevan Garlath was arguably the most incompetent platoon commander in the entire

brigade. Leaving him in charge of anything more complicated than a hot cider stand was not, in the chief

sword's considered opinion, a Good Idea.

"We'd have to recall Fifty Ulthar's platoon from the coast, if you want to use him, Sir," the chief

sword added, driving home the implied reprimand with exquisite tact.

Jasak was tempted to point out that Magister Halathyn had already dragged him back from the

company's main CP at the coastal enclave, so there was really no reason he shouldn't recall Fifty Ulthar.

Except, of course, that he couldn't. First, because doing so would require him to acknowledge to the man

who'd been his father's first squad lance that he'd made a mistake. Both of them might know he had, but

he was damned if he was going to admit it.

But second, and far more important, was the patronage system which permeated the Arcanan Army,

because patronage was the only thing that kept Garlath in uniform. Not even that had been enough to get

him promoted, but it was more than enough to ensure that his sponsors would ask pointed questions if

Jasak went that far out of his way to invite another fifty to replace him on what promised to be quite

possibly the most important portal exploration on record. If Magister Halathyn's estimates were remotely

near correct, this was the sort of operation that got an officer noticed.

Which, in Jasak's opinion, was an even stronger argument in favor of handing it to a competent junior

officer who didn't have any patrons . . . and whose probable promotion would actually have a beneficial

effect on the Army. But—

"All right, Chief Sword," he sighed. "My respects to Fifty Garlath, and I want his platoon ready to

move out at first light tomorrow."

* * *

The weather was much cooler on the other side of the base portal. Although it was only one hour

earlier in the local day, it had been mid-afternoon—despite Jasak's best efforts—before Commander of

Fifty Garlath's First Platoon had been ready to leave base camp and step through the immaterial interface

between Hilmaran swamp and subarctic Andara in a single stride. The portal's outbound side was

located smack on top of the Great Andaran Lakes, five thousand miles north of their departure portal, in

what should have been the Kingdom of Lokan. In fact, it was on the narrow neck of land which

separated Hammerfell Lake and White Mist Lake from Queen Kalthra's Lake. It might be only one hour

east of the base camp, but the difference in latitude meant that single step had moved them from

sweltering early summer heat into the crispness of autumn.

Jasak had been raised on his family's estates on New Arcana, less than eighty miles from the very

spot at which they emerged, but New Arcana had been settled for the better part of two centuries. The

bones of the Earth were the same, and the cool, leaf-painted air of a northern fall was a familiar and

welcome relief from the base camp's smothering humidity, but the towering giants of the primordial forest

verged on the overpowering even for him.

For Fifty Garlath, who had been raised on the endless grasslands of Yanko, the restricted sightlines

and dense forest canopy were far worse than that. Hundred Olderhan, CO of Charlie Company, First

Battalion, First Regiment, Second Andaran Temporal Scouts, couldn't very well take one of his platoon

commanders to task in front of his subordinates for being an old woman, but Sir Jasak Olderhan felt an

almost overpowering urge to kick Garlath in the ass.

He mastered the temptation sternly, but it wasn't easy, even for someone as disciplined as he was.

Garlath was supposed to be a temporal scout, after all. That meant he was supposed to take the abrupt

changes in climate trans-temporal travel imposed in stride. It also meant he was supposed to be confident

in the face of the unknown, well versed in movement under all sorts of conditions and in all sorts of

terrain. He was not supposed to be so obviously intimidated by endless square miles of trees.

Jasak turned away from his troopers to distract himself (and his mounting frustration) while Garlath

tried to get his command squared away. He stood with his back to the brisk, northern autumn and gazed

back through the portal at the humid swamp they had left behind. It was the sort of sight with which

anyone who spent as much time wandering about between universes as the Second Andarans did

became intimately familiar, but no one ever learned to take it for granted.

Magister Halathyn's tone had been dismissive when he described the portal as "only a class three."

But while the classification was accurate, and there were undeniably much larger portals, even a "mere"

class three was the better part of four miles across. A four-mile disk sliced out of the universe . . . and

pasted onto another one.

It was far more than merely uncanny, and unless someone had seen it for himself, it was almost

impossible to describe properly.

Jasak himself had only the most rudimentary understanding of current portal theory, but he found the

portals themselves endlessly fascinating. A portal appeared to have only two dimensions—height, and

width. No one had yet succeeded in measuring one's depth. As far as anyone could tell, it had no depth;

its threshold was simply a line, visible to the eye but impossible to measure, where one universe stopped .

. . and another one began.

Even more fascinating, it was as if each of the universes it connected were inside the other one.

Standing on the eastern side of a portal in Universe A and looking west, one saw a section of Universe B

stretching away from one. One might or might not be looking west in that universe, since portals'

orientation in one universe had no discernible effect on their orientation in the other universe to which they

connected. If one stepped through the portal into Universe B and looked back in the direction from

which one had come, one saw exactly what one would have expected to see—the spot from which one

had left Universe A. But, if one returned to Universe A and walked around the portal to its western

aspect and looked east, one saw Universe B stretching away in a direction exactly 180° reversed from

what he'd seen from the portal's eastern side in Universe A. And if one then stepped through into

Universe B, one found the portal once again at one's back . . . but this time looking west, not east, into

Universe A.

The theoreticians referred to the effect as "counterintuitive." Most temporal scouts, like Jasak,

referred to it as the "can't get there" effect, since it was impossible to move from one side to the other of

David Weber & Linda Evans - Hells Gate

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