Hellhole: Awakening (60 page)

Before they could applaud, he continued in a rush. “Along with my title, I therefore petition for holdings appropriate to my status. The best and obvious solution, since it is available, would be to grant me the planet Orsini and the former holdings of Enva Tazaar.” He looked at Michella and added, “Subject to the payment of proper taxes to the Diadem, of course.”

Exuberant, he stood awaiting thunderous cheers of approval. Instead, the Council members just stared, either stunned or smiling disdainfully. Then, after a moment of silence, he heard chuckles, which gradually built into outright laughter.

In disbelief, he looked at Diadem Michella for help, but she gave him an indulgent smile tinged with impatient dismissiveness. “We’ll discuss this further when there is time, Ishop.” She glanced at her ornate personal chronometer. “That’s the end of your ten minutes.”

Ishop stood frozen at the podium.

“Next item of business,” Michella said, addressing the assemblage. “Investigating the escape of Enva Tazaar. It is vital that we determine how best to root out any additional Adolphus loyalists who may be lurking among us.…”

Reeling, Ishop made his way back to his seat, unable to believe what had just happened.

91

For years, Tiber Maximilian Adolphus had dreamed of facing Percival Hallholme again. But not now, not like this.

Although he had saved the
Diadem’s Glory
from burning up in the atmosphere, the General remained hamstrung, the bulk of his fleet gone, his captured warships out of control. He tightened his grip on the flagship’s command chair, as if he meant to break off the padded arm. “Weapons systems?”

The distraught engineering teams looked up at him. One woman shook her head. “None, sir.”

“How about propulsion?”

“Barely,” said a second engineer. “Enough to keep us above the atmosphere, but we’re not going anywhere. We can’t escape Commodore Hallholme’s ships.”

“I don’t intend to run away,” Adolphus said. “I just want to know how much maneuverability we have.”

The chief engineer lowered his chin. “Not much, sir.”

His mind spun. According to a preliminary analysis, Commodore Hallholme’s ships had come in on the stringline from
Buktu
! But how? The decommissioned iperion path from Sonjeera should not have supported any travel whatsoever, but the old Commodore was resourceful; Adolphus didn’t doubt that. He wondered if the Buktu facilities had been captured or destroyed. An aggressive commander would have left scorched earth behind him, destroying all the enemy’s resources and advantages. Or had he captured them for the Diadem?

“Do we still have the weapons platforms?” he asked. “Can they open fire?”

After checking, the engineer said, “Eleven of the twelve platforms are still functional, though their charges were diminished by the initial fight. We never had a chance to reload and reconfigure. We have fighter craft, too, but they’re busy trying to keep the captured fleet from burning up.”

Adolphus knew he had ten of his own DZ warships with full weapons systems, but their crews were minimal and he didn’t know how much benefit they would be in a fight against such a skilled opponent. He folded his hands together as his mind raced through the worrisome details. At least he had something left. “I’ll make the most of the few shots we have in our arsenal. Keep me linked with the firing crews for the weapons platforms.”

The Commodore’s battle group closed in, demanding his surrender. These unexpected reinforcements could not have arrived at a worse possible time, but maybe his old nemesis did not know how bad Adolphus’s situation was. The Commodore could see confusion in the ranks, scattered ships, vessels burning up in the atmosphere. Hallholme could draw his own conclusions.…

Nevertheless, Adolphus would do his best to bluff. He was good at it. “Cover up our repair activities on the bridge. Put the imagers tight in on me, then respond to the Commodore’s codecall.” He mastered the emotions on his face, fell into his well-practiced routine.

One of the engineers made a quick adjustment. “Go ahead, General.”

Adolphus said, “Commodore Hallholme, greetings from your son’s flagship. I’m surprised to see you here at my planet. I don’t believe I extended an invitation.”

As he stared at the old man, he could not push aside the resonant memories from the last time, when he’d faced this man’s vile tricks over Sonjeera. Adolphus had been in a much better position then, his ships far outnumbering the opposing fleet. The Diadem’s forces had been backed into a corner, and that battle should have been their last stand.

Now the old Commodore stared back at him. His hair was silver now, his muttonchop whiskers bushier, and his eyes looked more tired than Adolphus remembered them. “Diadem Michella gave me orders to finish the job, General. You’ve tested her patience enough, and she has authorized me to end this conflict by any means necessary.”

General Adolphus scoffed. “Any means necessary—as Lord Riomini did to Theser? As you yourself did to me on Sonjeera?” He made a sound of disgust. “What helpless hostages will you cower behind this time?”

On the screen, Hallholme looked queasy, as if he had bitten into a large sournut. “I do have … human leverage with us, General—as before—if you force me to use it. The success of my mission is paramount.” Hallholme’s face looked grave. “I apologize for the tactic, but this is war.”

On the screen, he displayed a group of captive colonists from Buktu, two hundred workers from the shipyards, ice fields, and fuel-processing facilities. Adolphus recognized Erik Anderlos. He remained rigid and cold.

“We captured Buktu,” the old Commodore continued. “The facilities remain intact for the most part, and these hostages are unharmed. But you know what I am willing to do.”

“Yes, I know, Commodore. Your lack of honor is deeply troubling. You are as bad as your son.”

A flush of anger rose on Hallholme’s face, but before he could reply the comm-network on the
Diadem’s Glory
showered sparks. The Commodore’s image flickered to static and went blank. Adolphus yelled over his shoulder, “I need him back!” He had not wanted to let his rival see the damage to the Constellation flagship; unfortunately, that part of the bluff would no longer be effective.

When the old man again stared back at him on the screen, Adolphus said, “Sorry for the interruption, Commodore—we had a brief technical difficulty. Your son’s flagship suffers from … maintenance issues.”

“You should take better care of the Diadem’s ships,” Hallholme said. “I shall order full diagnostics and refurbishing after you surrender them.”

Adolphus leaned forward on his command chair, his face a mask that belied the tense situation. “You taught me an entirely new set of tactics, Commodore Hallholme, so I’m sure you will appreciate the turnabout I have for you.” He glanced over at the young, harried-looking software technician who had jury-rigged the comm-system. “Pipe up our images from the prisoner-of-war camp. Show the Commodore exactly who we have in
our
custody.”

Although the new comm-officer took longer than expected, Adolphus continued to focus his gaze on Percival Hallholme. Finally the images streamed across the screen, showing the hastily erected tents and prefab shelters, and the crowds of crewmembers from the battleships he had captured. “
Thousands
of Constellation soldiers have surrendered to us, Commodore, including Major Bolton Crais. Eleven thousand prisoners, give or take. Oh, and we have your son Escobar.”

The images showed gaunt and severely malnourished captives standing about in the dusty, miserable camp. One image even showed Escobar Hallholme, who stood outside one of the tents, looking defeated. Although the soldiers were starving when they’d been captured, the Commodore would assume that Adolphus had held them in squalid conditions for months. Let the old man draw his own frightening and incorrect conclusions; they made for a better negotiating position.

Adolphus did not react when a software tech, sweating over the half-dismantled weapons control panel, held up a display board on which he had scrawled: “WE HAVE TWO SHOTS—NO MORE.”

The eleven automated weapons platforms were in position, ready for a surprise broadside, along with the ten original DZ warships, manned by skeleton crews. Adolphus would use the flagship’s weapons only as a last resort, if Commodore Hallholme fired upon him. The desperately wounded
Diadem’s Glory
could not endure the pounding for more than a minute.

*   *   *

When Percival saw the images, the thunder of his own pulse echoed in his ears. After Escobar’s fleet vanished months ago, the Commodore feared Adolphus had done something terrible. Now he knew that the rebel General was willing to ignore the line he had previously refused to cross—and the Commodore couldn’t blame him.

“Sorry, sir,” Adkins said after silencing the codecall line; they were alone.

Percival felt incredibly weary. “Are you going to advise me to open fire anyway, Duff?”

“I wouldn’t dream of instructing the most talented commander I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Percival stared at the screen. “Your advice, please.”

“Honestly, sir, I can’t think of anything to do. We’ve never faced anything like this. They have your son, so I must defer to whatever you think is best.”

“In other words, I’m on my own.”

“I will support your decision, whatever it is, sir,” his old friend said. “We all will.”

In the harsh prisoner-of-war camp, the gaunt Constellation soldiers were obviously being mistreated. The old Commodore was surprised Adolphus would stoop to such appalling levels … but he himself had tortured civilian family members in front of the General, so he could not claim the moral high ground. He should have learned his own lesson from the General’s previous failure. His decision should be clear.

But he has my son hostage!

Percival could never face the Diadem if he refused to do what was necessary, if he failed this crucial test. He needed to
win
, regardless of the cost. But how could he ever look at Elaine and his grandsons if he simply threw away Escobar’s life as the cost for victory?

“Prepare to fire,” he said. “Target the flagship—it looks damaged. But also prepare to cut loose a full barrage on those other ships. We outnumber them, and they don’t appear to be in any shape to stand up to a heavy pounding.”

“The General may just be tricking us,” Adkins muttered.

“If so, it’s a pretty damned sophisticated trick.” When Adkins opened the codecall line again, the Commodore addressed his rival once more, “You should know one more thing, General. Call it a confession of sorts.” Smiling, he exuded calm confidence. “During the Battle of Sonjeera, Diadem Michella obligated me to use barbaric tactics, and for that I am not proud. After she exiled you, however—when she sabotaged your supplies and equipment and tried to make you fail—my bruised and scarred conscience could not tolerate that. So I arranged secret deliveries to help you make it through that first year. Your colony might not have survived without me.” He sat in silence for a long moment, letting the astounding news sink in. “General,
I
am your benefactor.”

*   *   *

Adolphus reeled at the revelation. He’d never known who had secretly padded the shipments, sending lifesaving equipment and vital foodstuffs that kept them alive during those first months. That act of kindness had enabled his exiled refugees to survive until their residences were built and their greenhouses became functional, until their crops produced enough to feed the people. Commodore Hallholme’s assistance had saved their lives.

Then he felt strengthened by a rigid determination. “And you think that will stay my hand? Once you have lost your honor, Commodore, you can’t buy it back in a fit of conscience.” He muted the audio and barked over the secure channel, “Ground crews, launch the first salvo from the weapons platforms! Thirty seconds after that, I want all DZ warship crews to open fire.”

He saw a flurry of fire from the small unmanned defensive stations in orbit, and seizing his advantage, he turned to the engineer who had become the de facto weapons officer. “Fire our two shots now—and make them count.”

The young officer didn’t hesitate and launched the projectiles directly toward Hallholme’s flagship.

But even before the shots struck, before the General could see whether he had dealt a crippling blow to his enemy, a ripple of feedback explosions cascaded around the bridge of the
Diadem’s Glory.
The weapons station, comm-station, and navigation panels geysered with sparks as if small explosives had been planted deep within the workings. The bridge viewscreen went dead and black, and then the flagship lurched downward again, plunging toward the atmosphere.

“What just happened?” Adolphus demanded. “Did our shots hit? Did the Commodore return fire?”

Frantically his officers struggled at the controls, but every system had been deactivated. “That wasn’t return fire, sir—at least not yet.”

In a leaden voice, the software engineer said, “It was another computer virus—tied into the weapons systems. One shot, and now this whole ship is dead, every system fried.”

The flagship had been barely functional, held together with a string of jury-rigged emergency repairs. Now the deck rocked and trembled as the atmosphere buffeted the vessel, and it plunged back toward Hellhole again.

“We’re going down, General. We have no control whatsoever.”

92

The guards around the prisoner-of-war camp remained tense as the battle continued overhead, concerned that the captives would stage an uprising. On the ground they had only hints of the drama skittering through the atmosphere, but everyone understood what was at stake, both the people of Hellhole and the captives from the Army of the Constellation. The prisoners had given their word not to resist when they thought they had no other chance, but now, knowing that legendary Commodore Hallholme had come to rescue them, many of them reconsidered.