Hellhole: Awakening (26 page)

Lord Riomini broadcast, more for the historical record than for any effect it might have on the doomed people below, “In the Diadem’s name, we are here to secure Theser for the Constellation and punish those who have committed treason against the lawful government.”

The first wave of incendiaries ripped through the city like an incandescent flood. The open codecall speakers filled with shouts, screams, and pleading from below, but no word from Administrator Frankov. He had pinpointed her governmental center from archival images, and had issued strict instructions that her offices be left intact until the end. He wanted Frankov to witness the destruction of everything around her.

Before he could bask in success, however, an urgent message interrupted him. “My Lord, we surrounded the illegal stringline terminus ring, but … sorry, sir. There was some sort of self-destruct mechanism. Station personnel there blew it up before we could take control.”

His throat went dry. “We need that terminus to get on the DZ stringline!”

“They sacrificed themselves, sir. The explosion took out all personnel aboard, four of their own ships, and … and two of ours.”

Riomini’s pulse pounded in his ears. Quick access to Hellhole was gone, not to mention two of his warships. So much for a perfect, clean operation. “Submit yourself for a reprimand at the end of this operation, Captain.” He drew two deep breaths, then focused his attention on the flames below. Releasing his anger, he said, “Commence second bombing run.”

As the explosions continued, the comm-officer said, “My Lord, Administrator Frankov is on the codecall. She begs to speak with you.”

“Let her watch the flames a little longer. I want her to hear more screams.”

To the people on the ground, the incendiaries pouring down on the city must have looked like Armageddon. Several ships tried to lift off from the crater floor, but the Constellation forces shot them down before they could gain altitude. So many bombs rained down into the crater that nothing could survive down there.

And nothing did.

The fires melted or vaporized everything in their path, swept across the ground in a manifestation of the anger Diadem Michella felt toward the Deep Zone rebels. No discussion, no pity, no remorse—just the eradication of everything on Theser. The smaller settlements around the cratered planet didn’t matter; he would advance on them in due time, at his leisure. Theser would be no more than an afterthought in the universe.…

After a ten-hour blitzkrieg, at the dawn of a new day, the Constellation fleet landed in smoldering Eron, and Lord Riomini disembarked. The air smelled of burned buildings, roasted scrubtrees, and charred bodies, the detritus of life and industry that no longer existed.

His own shuttle set down halfway up the rim of the crater, where the bombardment had left a section of buildings untouched: Sia Frankov’s admin center and the laboratories of the spacedrive engineers.

“It’s time to call upon the planetary administrator,” Riomini said. “I wonder what she’ll have to say for herself.”

“Does it matter, sir?” Lucinda Ekova asked.

“Not in the least.”

He accompanied Ekova and a force of his guards up the blackened slope to where a group of shocked and wailing people stood outside the remaining buildings. He recognized the thin, red-haired Sia Frankov from her dossier photos, as well as a group of the tall, inbred spacedrive engineers.

He did not see Territorial Governor Undine; if the political prisoner hadn’t been held in one of the surviving buildings, then Undine was already a martyr, an example of the barbarity of the Deezee rebels. The Black Lord didn’t really care.

Frankov looked so broken and devastated she could barely summon outrage. “I presume you are here to take my engineers prisoner, Lord Riomini? You didn’t need to destroy everything to get to them. We … we would have surrendered them to you.”

He chuckled. “But surrenders are so heartrending. I have no interest whatsoever in your engineers. We have plenty of our own, and we can always train more if we need them.”

One of the engineers took a step forward, his face contorted in rage. Riomini gave a quick hand gesture, and his accompanying bodyguards shot all the scientists in a barrage of weapons fire, splattering blood on Frankov.

To her credit, the administrator did not cringe, though she could not conceal her trembling. “So it’s me you’re after? That’s a great deal of trouble for one prisoner.” Frankov swallowed hard.

“Oh, I have no intention of taking you prisoner. I just wanted to save you for last.” He was delighted to see her eyes widen in surprise before Ekova fired two quick and precise shots—one in each eye.

Surrounded by bodies, Riomini raised his arms. “On to Sonjeera! We return victorious!” It was an incomplete victory, but he would put a spin on it to minimize the loss of the other stringline terminus.

37

While riding aboard the passenger pod from Qiorfu, Commodore Percival Hallholme had polished his shoes and fiddled with the colorful ornaments of his numerous medals. During the six-hour journey, he had played card games with Adkins, and both men avoided the issue at hand.

Finally, after their third round (Adkins lost all three), his old friend threw down the polished playing cards. “So what do you think the Diadem really wants, sir? Why has she summoned us to Sonjeera, and why wouldn’t they give us a full briefing en route?”

Percival did not let himself grow perturbed. “We’ll find out soon, Duff.”

After delivering their orders to the Commodore, Colonel Ricketts and Lora Heston chose to sit in separate compartments of the passenger pod, isolating themselves from the two men. Adkins considered it an affront. “Not a very warm welcome. Why are they avoiding us?”

Percival understood, though. “They don’t want to have to deal with questions that they’re not allowed to answer.”

“It doesn’t mean they have to be rude,” Adkins said. “They could have joined us for a game or two. We’d have more fun with four players.”

Percival picked up the cards and dealt another hand. “We know why we were summoned to Sonjeera—the Diadem wants my help against General Adolphus.”

Adkins wasn’t convinced. “She already sent a whole fleet to take care of the matter. Isn’t a hundred ships enough?”

Percival looked at the cards in his hand. “We both know that General Adolphus poses more of a challenge than others expect. Escobar may be in over his head.”

Adkins glowered. “So she wants us to clean up her mess.”

“The Diadem wants us to follow her instructions, Duff. And since she reactivated our commissions, that is exactly what we’re going to do.”

*   *   *

With Duff Adkins marching crisply at his side, the Commodore returned to the Diadem’s palace. Both of them wore their old uniforms, which Percival much preferred to the new designs. They strode past the chamber guards and functionaries, chins held high, gazes forward, as if this were a training drill; Percival had taken enough painkillers to mask the ache of his limp. He had never expected, nor wanted, to come back here.

The floor was so polished that the reflected lights from above shone like pools of sunshine. His military boots sounded like gunshots in a precise rhythm that was echoed by his adjutant’s steps as they walked in tandem. Moments later, the sergeant at arms saluted and regarded the old military hero with a measure of awe.

Percival presented himself. “Commodore Hallholme reporting to the Diadem, as ordered.”

“This way, sir.”

Diadem Michella Duchenet appeared flustered as she sat at her immense desk, her gray hair arranged in a bun, her face powdered, her expression haggard. She had been engaged in a private meeting with her shadowy assistant Ishop Heer, whom Percival had seen in the background of many formal images, as if he didn’t like to be caught by the news media. She glanced up, saw the Commodore, and a smile split her face, like a small seismic event.

“Ishop, leave us. I have business with Commodore Hallholme.”

The furtive assistant gathered papers, appearing to keep every piece in order; Percival thought the man had predatory eyes. “If you allow me to stay, Eminence, I could provide suggestions.”

“I said
no,
Ishop. Leave us alone.” Looking annoyed, the man scurried away.

“Eminence, this is my adjutant, Duff Adkins,” Percival said. “I value his advice. If you intend to give me new orders, I ask that he be allowed to stay.”

The Diadem’s voice was honey-sweet. “Of course, Commodore. I rely on your judgment—and I need it now more than ever. The Constellation is in crisis, as you undoubtedly know, but the general public does not understand the magnitude of treachery General Adolphus inflicted on us.”

Percival stood at attention with Adkins at his side, equally formal. The Diadem waved her spidery ringed hand. “Please sit,
sit,
both of you! This isn’t an army review.” Adkins pulled out a chair for the Commodore and took a seat himself. Both looked intently at Michella.

Percival spoke up. “Eminence, your representatives provided no explanations. Is there news of my son Escobar? By now he should have had sufficient time to subdue the rebellion.”

“According to the plan, he
should
have. Unfortunately, his fleet has gone missing. Five fully loaded stringline haulers, one hundred battleships, and your son—they’ve all vanished without a trace.”

Percival tried to cover his alarm. Missing? “Do you think the General captured them?”

“We don’t know yet, but the stringline to planet Hallholme was severed, which prevents us from obtaining more information. Initially we thought—we
hoped,
perhaps—that a substation had blown by accident. But on further investigation, we feel that it was intentional. Our scouts have located anchor buoys in place on our side of the blown substation that keep the stringline from wandering. We know it wasn’t anything the line builders originally installed, so that madman Adolphus had to do it.”

“We’re not dealing with a madman, Eminence,” Percival said carefully. “He’s operating under a well-thought-out plan.”

She grimaced. “Our scout drones have found no trace of our fleet along the entire segment of the path, and they’re still looking in space around the blown substation, and beyond. The five military haulers have been cut off somehow. I pray that they were able to continue to planet Hallholme and complete their mission. Regardless, your son has not managed to send word back.”

Concerned, Percival looked at Adkins, then ran his thumb along his chin, pondering. “As a defensive measure, it would have made more sense for Adolphus to cut the stringline
before
the fleet moved, which would have forced Escobar to return to Sonjeera. But if our fleet had already passed before the substation blew, then the General would have ensured his own defeat by trapping them on his side of the stringline. It would have been like locking a vicious attack dog in the room with him.” He raised his eyebrows in a sudden thought. “Unless he cut the stringline in two places and trapped them out there.”

The Diadem paled. “That would have required extremely careful timing. And very thorough information of our plans.”

“We are dealing with General Adolphus, Eminence.” Percival tapped his fingers together. “What does Lord Riomini have to say about this?”

“We have too little information to make a full assessment. Meanwhile, Commodore, I called you back to duty because your son’s fleet represents a significant percentage of our military. Those hundred warships are more than a match for anything the Deezees could cobble together. So what has the General done to our task force? Where are they? I’m counting on you—fix this! Find me answers. Rescue the lost fleet if necessary and come up with an alternative way to capture General Adolphus, crush the rebellion. If anyone can do it, you can.” Anger made her voice rise.

Percival’s thoughts spun. Escobar had always been overconfident, not satisfied with a slow route to a successful career. He didn’t believe he had to earn it, and yet he resented any suggestion that his promotions were due to having a war hero for a father.

Nevertheless, Escobar was his only son, and Percival would have to save him from himself—and defeat General Tiber Adolphus in the process.

“You ordered me out of retirement for this, Eminence, but Lord Riomini commands the Army of the Constellation. He should be involved closely in any military planning. Perhaps he should lead this operation?”

“Don’t you worry about the Black Lord,” Michella said, trying to sound sweet, but there was a brittle snap to her voice. “He is currently engaged out in the Deep Zone. He’s not back yet from his mission to Theser.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. “Theser? What is he doing there?”

“That’s not your concern right now. I place my confidence in your abilities because I believe you’re the only one who can defeat that awful man. I should have put you in charge of the fleet in the first place. When everyone thought Sonjeera was lost in the last rebellion, you stopped Adolphus in his tracks—I only wish you’d blown him up in orbit during the attack. That would have solved a lot of problems.”

“He surrendered, Diadem. I was honor bound to take him alive and grant safe passage to his crew.”

“As you say,” she responded, not sounding the least bit convinced. “But we would have suffered far fewer headaches if you’d finished the job then and there.” She sighed. “But I bear the blame for giving Adolphus a second chance. By sending him to a hellish planet, I thought he would perish, but in the back of my mind I was allowing him to redeem himself. But neither of those things have happened, and he’s a threat once more.”

Percival maintained a neutral expression, though he could sense Adkins stiffen next to him. He knew full well that Diadem Michella had sabotaged vital shipments to General Adolphus in the colony’s early years. She had meant for the DZ colonists to fail, and many of them would have died if
Percival
hadn’t surreptitiously slipped in additional supplies. Adolphus did not suspect that his secret benefactor was also the man who had defeated him. Nor would he ever know.