Hellhole: Awakening (53 page)

“I’ve already instituted our plan,” Escobar said. “The virus will activate within hours of the surrender ceremony, and our ships will reel out of control and burn up in the atmosphere. The General will not have our fleet.”

Carrington lashed out at him. “The enemy won’t be able to use our warships, but neither will the Constellation fleet! Our forces will be crippled regardless, and we lose more than the enemy. We have the opportunity to hit back hard, and we can’t let it slip away. We are not without other options.”

Bolton and Escobar stared at her blankly.

Her face was stony. “If you complete the formal surrender ceremony, Redcom, the rebels will use it as propaganda throughout the Crown Jewels. We must deny them that. The General will surely broadcast the meeting to all of his followers. With what I have in mind, we can crush their spirit completely.”

“And how do you expect to accomplish that?” Escobar asked. “We’ve been hamstrung.”

Her voice had no sympathy, no forgiveness. “You two might be weaklings and cowards, but I am never defenseless, never defeated. I trained as one of Lord Riomini’s bodyguards, so I know more than five hundred ways to kill a person, using any possible weapon.” She shot Escobar a withering glare. “Or have you forgotten that I killed three of your best guards and crippled three more when they tried to sedate me?”

With a laugh, Escobar said, “If you intend to assassinate the General with your bare hands, let me be the first to wish you well.”

“I will take the opportunities available to me,” she said. “And you will cooperate.”

Bolton glanced at the chronometer on the wall. “We have to depart soon. There is no time to put a complicated plan in place.”

“I don’t need any time,” Carrington said. “I was prepared from the moment we boarded these ships on Aeroc.”

She reached up to her face and, as Bolton recoiled, sickened, the woman poked her slender fingers into her left eye, gouging, fishing around until she popped the eyeball out of its socket and held it in the palm of her hand.

“This is an artificial biological replacement, connected to my optic nerve system. I can see through the synthetic gel lens, and it’s not just an eye.” She held it up and smiled cruelly. “This is a concentrated organic explosive, undetectable by any scans. By squeezing it, I can arm and detonate it in the General’s presence. This should be enough to take out at least two decks of the flagship—and our greatest enemies at the same time.”

“All of us will die?” Bolton asked, stunned by the plan.

Carrington said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Yes, we’ll all die, but we’ll die knowing that we have removed the greatest threat in the history of the Constellation.”

To Bolton’s dismay, Escobar nodded, accepting what the woman was saying. “We’ll die with honor.”

81

In the bedroom of Edwond House, Ishop and Laderna made love again—a strange reminder of their relationship that he didn’t fully understand. She had come to understand and accept the political necessity of him marrying a noblewoman, but with the Enva Tazaar woman disgraced, sentenced, and a fugitive, Laderna seemed relieved.

He knew Laderna was fully dedicated to seeing him achieve his goal of being restored to the noble ranks, but neither of them were quite certain what would happen to her once he did achieve his rightful status. For now, Ishop was glad to have their relationship back to normal. That way, he could focus on his real priorities.

In four more days, he would appear before the Council, present his bold petition, and reclaim his family heritage.

Now in the early evening they lay together in silence, resting before the unusual mission they would face in a few hours. He studied Laderna’s pale face, met her brown eyes, and they both smiled with anticipation. They had so much in common. Even though they had finished the list (except for confirming a Duchenet victim), this would seem like old times. It was something they could do together, and do well.

With Enva Tazaar secretly taking sanctuary in the Deep Zone, Ishop was glad he had continued to spy on Lord Selik Riomini. Diadem Michella thought she had gotten rid of a single note of dissent among the nobles, but she had more major internal problems than she knew about. Ishop wouldn’t mind bringing down the Black Lord as well.…

At the appointed time, he and Laderna dressed in dark clothing and checked each other’s equipment before heading into the coolness of the night. They arrived at a rarely used access gate on the outskirts of the main Sonjeera spaceport, used passcodes Laderna had stolen from supposedly secure government databases so that they left no record of their passage. In shadows, they stood within view of the quarantined, resin-encased warehouse.

Lord Riomini was going to attempt something very unwise.

“This is the best place to enter the tunnels,” Laderna said. “We need to go five levels underground to make our way beneath the hangar. That’s where the diggers have been working.”

“So much for the Diadem’s defenses,” Ishop said. “She ordered all accesses permanently sealed.”

“Michella thinks that just because she orders something, it automatically happens. Riomini’s elite bodyguards worked for days to penetrate the tunnels. They did the hard part for us already. We just have to catch them at it.”

In defying the Diadem, the ambitious Black Lord had made a dangerous decision; worse, he had not been careful about covering his intentions. Sloppy! Ishop was going to enjoy this. If the man suffered enough disgrace—again exposed by the dutiful, attentive Ishop Heer—maybe Michella would grant Ishop the Riomini holdings as well as the Tazaar holdings. It seemed perfectly appropriate. Knowing his worth, the Diadem was sure to be generous in her reward. But he didn’t want to seem greedy by asking for too much.

Ishop broke the seal of a small access plate on the spaceport pavement, pried aside the covering, and then shimmied down a tube with Laderna. Once they were several meters belowground, they reached a thin metal ladder and followed green emergency lights to a larger subterranean passageway.

“From their previous movements, Riomini’s workers should be congregating directly under the quarantined hangar about now, boss,” Laderna said. “Drilling upward. I scouted it out, so I know the best place to observe.”

Ishop’s throat felt dry. “I’m almost ready to call in the Diadem’s guard. We need to do it before Riomini’s people breach the quarantine containment—can’t take any chances. But the closer they are to the danger zone, the more I’ll look like a hero.”

Finding a good place to conceal themselves, the two settled into the shadows and watched the immense, long-empty storage chamber several stories beneath the resin-encased hangar. Despite the protective layers of rock, the thought of being so close to the contaminated bodies of the oozing alien and the possessed humans sickened him.

When they heard female voices approaching, the two retreated farther into the darkness, pressing closer together. Laderna gripped his arm, and he could feel her warm breath on his neck. He focused his dark-adapted eyes ahead.

As the sounds grew louder, he discerned stealthy shapes that glided forward. In the light cast from their headlamps, Ishop spotted a hole they had burrowed through the ceiling on previous nights, excavating an access tunnel up into the sealed hangar from below. He recognized one of the voices, the unmistakable gravelly tones of Lora Heston, Riomini’s most trusted bodyguard.

The Black Lord must be so desperate to gain access to the alien specimens! In a logical sense, Ishop could understand his argument, that his scientists could learn vital information from the remnants sealed inside the passenger pod. But Riomini did not know what Ishop and Michella had seen. He was defying the Diadem’s explicit command, and Ishop had little doubt of Michella’s wrath when she found out.

Heston’s throaty voice carried over those of her companions as she instructed the group. The women moved in the low illumination, efficiently assembling components of an article of machinery. Soon, Ishop heard a whirring motor, and then the construction telescoped upward, chewing into the ceiling.

Months ago, he had stood beside the Diadem in the hangar above, both of them fearful of the strange aliens. They had been wise to quarantine the monstrosities inside the passenger pod. Using complete isolation procedures, she had ordered the pod sealed and filled with poison gas to eradicate everyone and everything inside. The hideous, sluglike monster had died with its companions, then decomposed into a pool of crawling slime that seemed to be still alive.…

Now, as Riomini’s machinery churned its way upward, Ishop felt the superstitious fear again, the deep chill that he might not be quick enough to protect himself. If these commandos did break into the encased hangar from below, the Diadem might decide to sterilize
him
as well—just to be safe. And Laderna. And the entire spaceport zone.

“We don’t dare wait any longer,” he whispered, hearing an edge of panic in his voice. “Let’s retreat—and call in the Diadem’s troops.”

Laderna gave him no argument. They slipped back through the tunnels and hurried toward the surface access. Ishop was perspiring heavily when they emerged into the open night air. He wanted to get away from the contaminated place.

One advantage of being such a trusted aide was that he had a direct codecall link to the Diadem, to be used under only the direst circumstances. Such as now.

He wiped sweat from his forehead, caught his breath, and activated the codecall. “Eminence, there is an emergency situation at the quarantined hangar. Someone is trying to break in from the catacombs below—I suggest you call in your guards before they break the seal.” He didn’t need to identify Lord Riomini as the culprit; the Black Lord’s guilt would soon be obvious enough.

He let out a long, slow sigh of relief and leaned against Laderna. “Now we wait.”

*   *   *

As expected, the Diadem did not underestimate the threat. More than a hundred members of her personal guard force met Ishop and Laderna at the edge of the security zone, then they swarmed down into the tunnels. Claiming that he did not want to interfere with their operation, Ishop declined to join them. He gladly allowed them to penetrate the catacombs on their own.

Ishop could hear muffled gunfire coming from below, and exchanged smiles with his assistant. On his own security codecall unit, he listened in on a barrage of reports and alarms from the assault squad, and soon people began to emerge from the tunnel access. Six bodies were brought up—four of the Diadem’s guards, two of Riomini’s—and then came the prisoners, each one bound and guarded by three of the Diadem’s troops. The casualties and the captives bore no identification, no familiar items of clothing, but they would be named soon enough.

He recognized a battered Lora Heston being forced toward a waiting airvan. She challenged the guards in her husky voice. “I outrank you. I serve the Supreme Commander of the Army of the Constellation. My authority extends—” Noticing Ishop as he stood there watching, she struggled to step toward him. “Ishop Heer! Inform these guards they are making a mistake.”

Keeping his distance, he merely smiled at her. “Yes, mistakes have been made. Diadem Michella gave explicit orders that this area is to remain sealed. I’m sure these guards will sort it out.” He turned to the captain. “Place all the prisoners in extreme quarantine. We don’t know how close they got to the danger zone, but we can’t be too careful.” In fact, he would recommend that all the Diadem’s guards be placed in biological isolation cells as well.

He turned to Laderna and whispered, “Let’s get ourselves away from here, too. Just to be sure.”

82

The day resonated with memories. Aboard the bridge of the
Jacob,
Adolphus blinked in morning sunlight as the flagship orbited around from Hellhole’s nightside. His old deep-blue uniform felt comfortable and
right.
Even after all these years the garment fit him like a second skin; it had always been a clear symbol of who he was.

More than sixteen years ago, he had been forced into his rebellion, when he and his fellow “second string” nobles were set up to be killed. Discovering the betrayal, Adolphus had rushed back to Qiorfu only to find his father conveniently dead and Riomini forces already occupying the Lubis Plain shipyards.

Disobedience had turned into outright rebellion, five years of bloody battles against the corrupt Constellation. The brave fight should have culminated in his conquest of Sonjeera and the defeat of the Diadem’s forces, but for his own moment of compassion, his moment of
weakness
. And General Adolphus had lost everything.

Now, standing aboard the flagship he had named after his father, he knew this was his second chance, and he intended to get it right this time.

Mulling silently, he recalled how Commodore Percival Hallholme had used rebel family members as hostages in that earlier battle, placed them as human shields aboard the Constellation battleships, where they would die if Adolphus opened fire. The ensuing seconds had been critical.…

Sophie said to him, “You waited a long time for this victory, Tiber.”

He tried to act dismissive. “This ceremony is just a symbolic gesture.”

She gave him a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t ask me to believe that for a second. I know how much it means to you.”

Keana Duchenet stood close to Devon and Antonia, the three of them bound together by their alienness. Keana also wore a dress made of the red-weed fabric, and she seemed nervous and very human. “Because this is such a personal matter for me, Uroa will stay in the background. But I … I still don’t understand why Bolton decided to come here.”

Devon and Antonia held hands. Seeing the two so happy, the General doubted even Sophie could object to how her son had changed.

“The Constellation shuttle is entering our docking bay, General,” said the comm-officer.

He nodded. “Mr. Jordan is there with the honor guard to welcome them?”

“He has a dozen armed soldiers, sir. Only three passengers are aboard the shuttle—they’re all cleared.”