Simon R. Green - Deathstalker Prelude 03 - Hellworld

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Hellworld by Simon R. Green

HELLWORLD

The sleep of reason brings forth monsters.

CHAPTER ONE

Broken Men

The starship Devastation dropped out of hyperspace and moved into orbit around Wolf

IV. The planet's surface was hidden from view by the swirling atmosphere. It looked

much like any other planet; a drop of spit against the darkness. The ship's sensor spikes

shimmered briefly as it scanned Wolf IV, and then the cargo-bay doors swung open. A

slender Navy pinnace emerged, sleek and silver, and drifted away from the huge bulk

of the starship. The pinnace fell into its own orbit, and the Devastation disappeared

back into hyperspace. The pinnace slowly circled the storm-shrouded planet, a

gleaming silver needle against the star-speckled night.

Captain Hunter gnawed at the insides of his cheeks as he ran his hands over the control

panels. It looked like he was going to have to pilot the ship down after all. This far out,

the onboard computers were all but useless. They didn't have enough information to

work with. Hunter shrugged. What the hell; it had been a long time since he'd had to

fly a ship by the seat of his pants, but some things you never forget. Particularly if your

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life depends on them.

For a moment, the old overpowering uncertainty was suddenly back with him; the

familiar panic of not being able to choose between alternatives for fear of doing the

wrong thing. His breathing and heartbeat speeded up, and then slowed again as he

fought grimly for control. He'd done this before, he could do it again. He ran through

the standard instrument checks, losing himself in routine. The control panels blazed

with steady, comforting lights. He checked that the pinnace's orbit was still stable, and

then released the sensor drones. Hunter watched them fall towards the planet on his

viewscreen. The sensor probes had better tell him what he needed to know the first

time; the odds were he wouldn't get a chance to launch a second series. It wouldn't be

long now before the pinnace's orbit began to decay, and then he'd have to power up the

engines, ready or not. The ship's batteries only had so much power, and he was going

to need most of it for the landing.

Captain Scott Hunter was an average-looking man in his late twenties. Average height,

average build, perhaps a little leaner than most. Dark hair, and darker eyes. There were

never more than 500 Captains of the Imperial Fleet; the best of the best. At least, that

was the official version. In reality, the only way to become a Captain was through

money, power, or family influence. Hunter was a Captain because his father had been

one, and his father before him. Scott Hunter, however, was one of the few who'd

earned his position by virtue of training and ability. Which made it even harder to

understand why he'd panicked during a rebel encounter above one of the Rim worlds,

and lost his ship and half his crew as a result.

If he had died in the encounter, no one would have censured his behaviour. He would

have been posthumously promoted to Admiral, and his Clan would have honoured his

memory. But he'd survived, and so had enough of his officers to point the finger of

blame. He could have resigned his commission, but he'd had enough pride left that he

couldn't do that and shame his family. High Command asked him to explain his

conduct, but he couldn't do that either. He didn't understand it himself. In the end, he

was told he could either volunteer for the Hell Squads, or be cashiered. He chose the

Hell Squads.

It wasn't much of a choice.

The pinnace's drones hurtled down through the turbulent atmosphere, absorbing what

punishment they could and ignoring the rest. The probes weren't expected to last long

anyway. Their sensor spikes glowed crimson from the increasing heat, but did not wilt.

Information flowed back to the pinnace's computers in a steady stream as the drones

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fell endlessly through the thickening atmosphere.

Hunter tried to ease himself into a slightly more comfortable position in his crash

webbing. He'd never cared much for webbing. There was no doubt it offered extra

protection during rough landings, but he could never get his balance right. He'd never

been any good in a hammock, either. He scowled unhappily, and clung surreptitiously

to the control panels with one hand, while the other channelled incoming data through

the navigational computers. He glanced across at his co-pilot.

"Get ready for data flow. I'm patching in our comm implants."

"Understood, Captain. Ready when you are." The Investigator's voice was calm and

even, but then it always was.

Investigator Krystel was a striking-looking woman. She was barely into her mid-

twenties, but her eyes were much older. She was tall and lithely muscular, and her

sleek dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, accentuating her high-boned face

without softening the harsh lines. Her occasional lovers thought her handsome rather

than pretty. Krystel rarely thought about it. She was an Investigator, trained by the

Empire since childhood to be loyal, efficient, and deadly. Her job was to study newly

discovered alien species and determine how much of a threat they might pose to the

Empire. Depending on her findings, the aliens would then either be enslaved or

exterminated. There was never any third option. Investigators were cold, calculating

killing machines. Unofficially, they were often used as assassins in inter-Clan feuds.

Hunter wasn't sure how he felt about Krystel. He'd never worked with an Investigator

before. Her training and experience would make her invaluable when it came to

keeping the Squad alive on the new planet, but he didn't know if he could trust her.

There were those who claimed Investigators were as inhuman as the aliens they

studied. Because of who and what they were, Investigators were allowed a hell of a lot

of leeway in the Empire. Hunter didn't even want to think what Krystel must have done

to merit being banished to the Hell Squads. He didn't think he'd ask. Investigators

weren't known for their openness. There was a soundless chime in his head, and he

closed his eyes and leaned back in his webbing as the ship's computers patched him in

with the probes.

Bright flashes of light and color filled his eyes, and wind and static roared in his ears.

The comm implant tied directly into his optic and auditory nerves so that he could see

and hear firsthand what the probes were picking up, but it took time before he and the

computers could sort out the useful information from the garbage. Hunter's mind

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meshed with the computers, and his thoughts flowed among the surging information at

inhuman speed, sifting and examining the rush of raw data. Brief glimpses of cloud

and sky were interspersed with drop velocities and wind speeds. Weather projections

were crowded out by flashes of sea and land impossibly far below. Shifting landing

probabilities flared and guttered like candles in a wind. Hunter concentrated, shutting

out everything but the bare essentials. The computers were recording everything, and

he could replay the rest later.

He sensed the Investigator beside him in the computer net; a cold, sharp image that

reminded him of a sword's cutting edge. He wondered fleetingly what he looked like to

her, and then concentrated on the probes as they fell past the cloud layers and started

showing him detailed views of the land mass below. At first, they formed a confusing

mosaic of overlapping images, but Hunter quickly relearned the knack of concentrating

on each image for the split second it took to register, and then passing on to the next.

Wolf IV had one huge continent surrounded by storm-tossed oceans. The land was

composed of endless shades of green and brown and grey, stained here and there with

ugly patches of yellow. There were towering mountain ranges and vast lakes. Volcanic

activity filled the air with ash, and molten lava burned crimson and scarlet against the

broken earth, like so many livid wounds in the planet's surface. There were large areas

of woodland and jungle, though the colors were all wrong, and huge stretches of open

grassland. Hunter focused in on one of the larger open areas. It looked as good a place

as any to land, and better than most.

"Not a very hospitable world, Captain." The Investigator's voice was sharp and clear in

his ear, rising easily over the probes' input.

"I've seen worse," said Hunter. "Not often, I'll admit, but then it's not as if we have a

choice in the matter. Hang on to your webbing, Investigator. I'm taking us down. Probe

seventeen, sector four. See it?"

"Looks good to me, Captain."

Hunter shut down his comm implant, and surfaced abruptly from the computer net.

The dully lit control deck replaced the probes' visions as his eyesight returned to

normal. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. The landing site had looked good. It wouldn't

have hurt his confidence any if Krystel had sounded a little more enthusiastic, but

perhaps that was expecting too much from an Investigator. He squeezed his eyes shut

for a moment. Direct input always gave him a headache. It was purely psychosomatic,

but the pain felt real enough. He opened his eyes and stretched uncomfortably, careful

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of his balance in the webbing. After the sweeping views the probes had shown him, the

control deck seemed more cramped and confined than ever.

Hunter and the Investigator lay in their crash webbing in the middle of a solid steel

coffin. Dark, featureless walls surrounded them on all sides, with barely enough room

for them both to stand upright. Presumably the designer's idea was that if the pinnace

crashed on landing, all you had to do was bury it where it fell. Hunter pushed the

thought firmly to one side and ran his hands over the control panels again. The main

engines sent a low, throbbing note through the superstructure, and the pinnace began

its long fall towards the planet.

The ship shook and shuddered violently as it entered the turbulent atmosphere, held on

course only by the unrelenting thrust of the engines. Hunter swung from side to side in

his webbing, but his hands were sure and steady on the controls. There was no trace

now of the treacherous panic that at times overwhelmed him, and he ran confidently

through the routines as old skills and memories came back to him. He tapped into the

navigational computers through his comm implant, and the ship came alive around

him. The pinnace's sensors murmured at the back of his mind, feeding him a steady

flow of information, enabling him to anticipate and outmanoeuvre the worst batterings

of the storm winds. Down below, the probes were dying one by one, burning up in the

atmosphere or shattered by the storms. Hunter watched sympathetically as, one after

another, their lights went out on the control panels. They'd been useful, but he didn't

need them anymore. They'd served their purpose.

Outside the pinnace, the winds shrieked and howled. Warning lights flared on the

control panels. The pinnace had lost some of its sensor spines, and the outer hull was

breached somewhere back of the stern. Hunter keyed in the auxiliary systems for more

power to the engines, and hoped they'd last long enough to get the ship down. It was

going to be a near thing. He patched briefly into the probes again, but most of them

were gone now. The few remaining drones hurtled towards the ground like shining

meteors. Hunter braced himself instinctively as the ground rushed up towards him, and

winced as one by one their transmissions suddenly shut down. He dropped out of direct

input and studied the control panels. He'd have to rely on what was left of the pinnace's

sensors to get him down now. Assuming they lasted long enough. He patched into

them again via the navigational computers, and quickly located the wide-open space

he'd chosen earlier. The details were blurred now by the pinnace's speed, but it didn't

look anywhere near as inviting as it had from orbit. Desolate bloody area, in fact. Still,

it would have to do. There wasn't time to choose another one. The ship lurched wildly

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as the winds hit it from a new angle, and Hunter fought to keep the descent steady.

There was a shriek of tortured metal as another of the pinnace's sensor spines was

ripped away.

"Attention in the rear! Brace yourselves!" Hunter yelled through his comm implant.

"We're going in!"

He split his attention between the sensors and the controls, and fought to keep his feel

of the ship alive. It wasn't enough to just work the controls; he needed to feel the ship

as a part of himself and react accordingly, his instincts making decisions faster than his

mind ever could. And then the ground came leaping up to meet him, and the pinnace

hit hard, shaking and jarring the cabin. The landing gear howled as it strove to absorb

the impact, and then everything was suddenly still and quiet. Hunter and the

Investigator hung limply in their crash webbing. The control deck lights faded and then

brightened again. Hunter waited for his heart and breathing to slow down a little, then

reached out a shaking hand and hit the disconnects, powering down the engines. Might

as well hang on to whatever power they had left. He sat up slowly and looked around

him. The ship seemed to have come through intact, and the Investigator looked as calm

and unshakable as ever.

"All right," Hunter said hoarsely. "Systems checks and damage reports. Give me the

bad news, Investigator."

"Outer hull breached in three, four places," said Krystel, studying her panels. "Inner

skin still secure, air pressure steady. Landing gear . . . battered but intact. The sensors

are out. We lost too many spines on the way down. Apart from that, systems are

running at eighty percent efficiency."

"One of my better landings," said Hunter. "Switch to the backup sensors. See what

they have to tell us."

Krystel nodded, and her hands moved surely over the panels before her. Hunter

patched into the comm net again. At first, there was only static, and then the outside

scene filled his eyes. A patchy fog seethed around the pinnace, milky and luminous in

the ship's outer lights. Beyond the light there was only darkness, an endless, unrelieved

gloom without moon or stars. For as far as the sensors could show, the pinnace stood

alone on an empty plain. Hunter dropped out of the comm net and sat thoughtfully in

silence for a moment. It should be light soon. Perhaps their new home would look

more attractive in the daylight. It could have looked a lot worse. Somehow, the thought

didn't cheer him as much as he'd hoped. He looked across at Krystel. The Investigator

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was rerunning the records from the probes on the main viewscreen, and making

extensive use of the fast-forward and the freeze frame. Hunter decided to leave her to

it. He leaned back in his webbing and activated his comm implant.

"This is the Captain. We're down, and more or less intact. Everyone all right in the

rear?"

"We're all fine, Captain. Just fine." The warm and reassuring voice belonged to Dr.

Graham Williams. Hunter had met him briefly before the drop. Dr. Williams had an

impressive record, a confident manner, and a firm handshake. Hunter didn't trust him.

The man smiled too much. "The trip down was a trifle bumpy, but nothing the crash

webbing couldn't handle. What does our new home look like, Captain?"

"Bleak," said Hunter. "Esper DeChance, run a standard scan of the area. If there's any

living thing within a half-mile radius, I want to know about it right now."

There was a brief pause, and then the telepath's voice murmured calmly in his ear.

"There's nothing out there, Captain. Not even any plant life. From the feel of it, you've

dropped us right in the middle of nowhere."

"I've just had a great idea, Captain." That was one of the marines, Russel Corbie. His

voice was sharp and hurried. "Let's turn this crate around and tell the Empire the whole

damned planet was closed for renovations."

"Sorry, Corbie," said Hunter, smiling in spite of himself. "We pretty much drained the

ship's batteries just getting down here. There's no way she'll ever be lifting into orbit

again."

"So we're stuck here," said Corbie. "Great. Just bloody marvellous. I should have

deserted when I had the chance."

"You did," said Hunter. "That's how you ended up in the Hell Squads."

"Besides," said Lindholm, the other marine, "even if we got upstairs again, what good

would it do us? You don't suppose the Devastation is still there waiting for us, do you?

She's long gone, Russ. We're on our own now. Just like they said."

The marine's words seemed to echo ominously. No one else said anything. The quiet

seemed strange, almost eerie, after the chaos of the trip down. Now there was only the

slow ticking of the cooling metal hull, and the occasional quiet murmur from the

computers as the Investigator studied the main viewscreen. Hunter stretched slowly in

his webbing, scowling unhappily as he tried to get a grip on what he should do first.

There were any number of things he should be doing, but now that the moment had

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come he found he was strangely reluctant to act, as though by committing himself to

any one action, the marooning of the pinnace would suddenly become fixed and real.

Hunter had had a lot of time to get used to the idea of being abandoned on Wolf IV,

but somehow it had never seemed real before. Even on the morning before the drop,

he'd still been half expecting a reprieve, or a standby, or something to happen that

would mean he didn't have to go. But there was no reprieve, and deep down he'd

known there wouldn't be. His Clan had turned its back on him. As far as they were

concerned, he was already dead. Hunter bit his lower lip as the implications came

home to him with new force.

There wasn't going to be any backup. The only high tech the Squad had was what

they'd brought with them, and that would last only as long as the energy crystals that

powered it. If anything went wrong, there was no one they could call on for help. They

were alone on Wolf IV. The first colonists wouldn't be on their way for months, even

assuming Wolf IV checked out as habitable. Long before then, the Hell Squad would

either become completely self-sufficient, or they would all die.

On the other hand, there was no one here to interfere, either. For the first time in his

career, Hunter had a completely free hand. On Wolf IV, there were no stupid rules and

regulations to work around, no more having to bow and scrape to fools in high office.

Hunter felt a little of the tension go out of him. He could cope. He always had, in the

past. And the blind, unreasoning panic that had robbed him of his career and his future

was just another obstacle he'd learn to overcome in the days ahead. He believed that,

with all his heart. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable. He cut that line of

thought short. He'd known what he was getting into when he volunteered.

The Hell Squads were one-way planet scouts. They landed on newly discovered

worlds, searched out the good and bad points, and decided whether or not the place

was colonizable. And learned how to stay alive while they were doing it. The Squads

had a high mortality rate, which was why they were made up of people who wouldn't

be missed. The expendable. The losers. The failures, the rebels, the outcasts, and the

damned. Broken men and forsaken heroes. The people who never fitted in. Whatever

happened on the world they went to, there was no way back. The new world was their

home, and would be for the rest of their lives.

Hunter turned to Krystel, who was scowling at one of her monitor screens. "Tell me

the bad news, Investigator."

"A lot of the details are still unclear, Captain, but I think I've got the general picture.

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There's been a lot of volcanic activity around here in the recent past, and it's still going

on in some places. The air is full of floating ash, but it's breathable. It's too early yet to

start worrying about long-term effects on the lungs, but it might be advisable to rig up

some kind of masks or filters before entering the worst areas. Apart from that, all in all

the signs look good. Air, gravity, and temperature are all within acceptable limits, as

promised. Not a particularly pleasant world, but habitable."

"What can you tell me about the immediate vicinity?" said Hunter, frowning.

"Anything to worry about there?"

"Hard to say, Captain. The sun won't be up for another hour or so, and there's some

heavy mists. This planet has three moons, but none of them are big enough to shed

much light. We'll have to wait till morning, and then go outside and look for

ourselves."

"That isn't proper procedure," said the marine Corbie quickly, his voice breaking in

through the comm net. "First man out is a volunteer job; always has been. And I want

to make it very clear that I am not volunteering. First rule of life in the Service: never

volunteer for anything. Right, Sven?"

"Right," said Lindholm.

"Keep the noise down," said Hunter. "I'm going to be the first man out."

He shook his head ruefully as the others fell silent. He should have made sure he was

out of the comm net before discussing the situation with the Investigator. Not that

Corbie's attitude had been much of a surprise. He'd better keep an eye on that one. He

was going to be trouble. Hunter sighed, and clambered awkwardly out of his webbing.

Might as well take a look now. He'd feel better once he was actually doing something.

There was just room enough to stand up straight without banging his head on the

overhead, and a few steps brought him to the arms locker. Krystel got out of her

webbing to help him, and the two of them manoeuvred carefully in the confined space

of the control deck.

First man out meant a full field kit. The steelmesh tunic went on first. Heavy enough to

stop or turn a blade, but still light enough to let him move quickly and easily when he

had to. Next came the gun and holster. Hunter felt a little easier with the disrupter on

his right hip. The familiar weight was a comfort. The sword and its scabbard went on

his left hip. The disrupter was a far more powerful weapon, but the sword was more

reliable. The gun's energy crystal took two minutes to recharge between each shot. A

sword never needs recharging. Next came a leather bandolier that crossed his chest,

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carrying half a dozen concussion grenades. Nasty things, particularly in a confined

space. Hunter had always found them very useful. And finally, he snapped a force

shield bracelet round his left wrist. He was now ready to face whatever the planet had

to offer. In theory, anyway.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, getting used to the change in his weight. It had

been a long time since he'd had to wear full field kit. Normally a Captain stayed safely

in orbit, while his shock troops got on with the rough stuff down below. Rank hath its

privileges. Hunter smiled briefly, and shifted the heavy bandolier into a more

comfortable position. How are the mighty fallen . . . Still, he'd always intended to be

first man out on the new planet. Willingly or not, he'd come a long way to see his new

home, and it was a moment he didn't intend to share with anyone else. He nodded

briefly to the Investigator, and turned round to face the airlock door. Krystel leant over

the control panels, and the heavy metal door hissed open. Hunter stepped carefully into

the airlock, and the door closed firmly behind him.

The closet-sized airlock was even more claustrophobic than the control deck, but

Hunter didn't give a damn. Now that the moment had come to actually face the

unknown, he felt suddenly reluctant to go through with it. A familiar panic gnawed at

his nerves, threatening to break free. Once the airlock door opened and he stepped

outside, he would be face to face with the world he would never leave. While he was

on board the pinnace, he could still pretend . . .

The outer door swung open. Thin streamers of mist entered the airlock, bringing the

night's chill with them. Hunter raised his chin. Once outside, he'd be the first man ever

to set foot on Wolf IV. The history books would know his name. Hunter sniffed. Stuff

the history books. He took a deep breath and stepped gingerly out into the new world.

The great hull of the pinnace loomed above him, brilliant in its coat of lights. Mists

swirled all around the ship, thick and silver-grey, diffusing the ship's lights before they

were swallowed up by the night. Hunter moved slowly away from the airlock, fighting

an urge to stick close to the ship for security. The air was bitter cold, and something in

it irritated his throat. He coughed several times to clear it. The sound was dull and

muted. The ground crunched under his feet, and he knelt down to study it. It was hard

to the touch, but cracked and broken from the pinnace's weight. Pumice stone, perhaps;

hardened lava from the volcanoes. Hunter shrugged and straightened up again. He

knew he should move further away from the ship, but he couldn't quite bring himself to

do that yet. The gloom beyond the ship's lights was utterly dark, and intimidating. He

let his hands rest on his gunbelt, and activated his comm implant.

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