Hellhole: Awakening (61 page)

Sophie was bitter as she looked at the restless captive soldiers and heard the increasing murmurs of their private conversations. Hadn’t they caused enough pain already? It was time to put an end to this conflict.

After Lodo and Encix sent their telepathic summons, droves of shadow-Xayans began arriving in a matter of minutes, levitating themselves and flying swiftly from their ever-growing settlement. The Constellation prisoners of war stared in amazement while groups of people flew in from over the surrounding hills. As they stared, the alien-possessed crowds floated in the air and arrived in silence. They stood together, and their numbers continued to grow.

Sophie watched Escobar Hallholme, disgusted with him. He was arrogant, unrepentant, and now that he knew his father had arrived to rescue him, he had recovered his dignity and arrogance. With a sniff, the Redcom turned away from the eerie shadow-Xayans, and said, “Your General should just surrender now.”

Sophie responded with a laugh and a snort. “You don’t know Tiber Adolphus very well.”

“I know the situation he’s in.” Escobar flashed a glance at Bolton. “Tell them, Major Crais.”

Bolton looked at Keana, his expression apologetic. “The engine-shutdown virus is only the first part. As soon as anyone tries to fire a shot from our captured ships, an automatic feedback will destroy the weapons systems and melt down the engines.
Permanently.
There’s no returning from that. If General Adolphus opens fire, even once, his flagship is wrecked.”

Before she could warn Adolphus, Sophie heard a codecall report in her earadio, and any confidence she had vanished. A male voice said, “Too late. The General’s ship has no power—the engines are destroyed. They were barely staying aloft as it was, and now the flagship is going down with all hands.”

Bolton looked grave and said in a quiet voice, “I wanted to prevent our own ships from being used to open fire upon Constellation targets. Normally, the shutdown would have merely left the flagship helpless in space, but they were already in a low orbit.”

Sophie whispered into her codecall, closing her eyes and trying to picture herself on the bridge next to him. “You’ll get out of this, Tiber. I can’t wait to hear about your brilliant solution when you’re back home and safe.” A tear trickled down her face.

Beside her, Keana straightened. “It is time for our telemancy.”

*   *   *

Inside her mind, Keana felt Uroa awaken again, and the two of them joined together. All the shadow-Xayans had trained for this eventuality, too, and knew how to exert their power.

Lodo and Encix joined their primary telemancy and used it as a catalyst to guide the thousands of converts. Together, they all sent out a powerful, thrumming summons that sounded like a taut, plucked string. The shadow-Xayans standing in ranks outside the prisoner-of-war camp straightened in unison. They had already demonstrated their abilities when they released the seismic pressure from the planet’s crust.

Keana did not allow any twinges of fear to divert her own contribution with Uroa. This would be a grand display of their mental abilities, and a major step toward
ala’ru.
Stronger and stronger.

Lodo and Encix stood at the forefront of the converts, raising their pale arms into the air, guiding the psychic impulses.

Escobar Hallholme looked puzzled, but still arrogant. “Your rebellion is finished.”

Keana took control of her voice and turned to look at him. “No, Redcom, we are not done yet.”

*   *   *

Adolphus held on as the deck tilted at a steep angle, and caustic smoke swirled through the bridge, making him cough. The engines had exploded, the weapons systems had melted down. The
Diadem’s Glory
was now just a smoldering projectile that tumbled into the atmosphere.

The General commanded the computer specialists and engineers to crowd into the flagship’s evac pods.

“We have a seat for you too, sir,” said one of the software engineers. “You’re more important than any of us—you need to get away.”

Adolphus shook his head. “This flagship is going down, and Commodore Hallholme will seize the rest of the ships, take over Hellhole, and impose Constellation rule. Even if he shows some glimmer of honor for my people, the rest of the Constellation will not. The only question is whether he will choose to execute me here or send me back to Sonjeera, where I’ll be made into a public spectacle. I’m dead anyway. At least you all have a chance to live.”

The viewscreen flickered back to life with a trickle of emergency power, although they still had no control over the flagship’s engines. Commodore Hallholme’s image appeared, wreathed in static. The flurry of shots from the weapons platforms and a few of his lightly manned DZ warships had damaged several of the Commodore’s ships, but it was not enough.

Even Hallholme didn’t seem to know what had caused the sudden shutdown of all systems on the
Diadem’s Glory.
“General, if I could find a way to rescue your remaining crew, I would. My people are discussing options right now, but I doubt I’ll be able to send a rescue craft in time.”

Adolphus leaned into the field of view, hardening his expression. “You skipped a step, Commodore—I haven’t surrendered.”

When Sophie contacted him from the surface, he switched to the private channel and talked with her, ignoring the shuddering explosions, the buffeting blasts from the atmosphere. “I’m glad I didn’t bring you aboard, Sophie. See if you can manage without me. Look up in the sky—I’ll try to make a memorable flash as I go down.”

“Save that for another time, Tiber,” she said. “Let’s see if our shadow-Xayan friends can pull off a miracle.”

Before he could ask what she meant, an unseen force wrapped itself around the flagship and
shoved
against it like a hurricane wind.

One of his engineers yelped. “We’re not doing anything, General!”

“It’s telemancy.” He smiled. “We still have no engines and no control, but we’re gaining altitude.”

Around them, on the few functioning screens, Adolphus saw dozens of doomed Constellation battleships being nudged away from their decaying orbits, lifted above the atmosphere, like an invisible hand moving game pieces on a board.

Increased acceleration pushed the bridge crew back against their seats, and Adolphus could feel the flagship rising above the fringes of Hellhole’s atmosphere until finally, in a sudden stillness, the vessel hung in space, with the damaged planet far below. For a moment he felt safe, peaceful, and protected in an invisible cocoon, although sparks continued to sputter from the control panels. Although they were coughing, the remaining crewmen cheered.

Adolphus didn’t point out, however, that now the old Commodore’s ships would just round them up and capture every one of them.

*   *   *

Commodore Hallholme watched his son’s flagship plunging toward the planet, burning out of control … and then he saw it
rise up,
along with all the other ships that had been spiraling into the atmosphere.

“How are they moving? I thought their engines were destroyed.”

“No engine signatures at all, Commodore,” reported the weapons tech. “Something else is happening—it’s scrambling our sensors.”

Then the psychic wave struck Percival’s warship as well. Telemancy waves from the surface slapped the Commodore’s battle group—but instead of scattering and pushing them out of the way, this psychic blast burned out their weapons systems, melted down the gun ports. The artillery batteries belowdecks exploded.

Alarms whooped throughout his ship and emergency signals came in from the other vessels in his battle group. With difficulty, Percival struggled to his feet. “What the hell is going on? What was that weapon?”

Adkins turned pale as he looked at the preliminary readings. “Our defenses, our shields, our weapons—all neutralized, sir. We’re unarmed and helpless.”

Then Percival knew. “The aliens did this! Do we have any functional weapons? Can we open fire at all?”

“None, sir.” His aide seemed nonplussed and added with a splash of dry humor, “You didn’t think victory would be easy, did you?”

“I never believed that, Duff, but the rebel ships are in disarray, the General’s forces are about to collapse … and now we have no weapons?”

While his engineers scrambled with the systems, ripping out panels, trying to reroute, Percival had a feeling that there would be no simple fix. The initial report was as bad as he feared. “The weapons ports are completely
melted,
sir. There’s no way we can reset them, no reprogramming. They’re useless.”

His voice was quiet. “And we are as defenseless as babes.”

On the few remaining bridge screens, alarms began to signal. “Two big stringline haulers just came in, sir! Large vessels, military-capable—eleven of them are battleships.”

“Where did the General get more
ships
?” Adkins asked.

Percival did not know the answer.

93

When General Adolphus saw the large haulers arrive, he jumped to his feet on the flagship’s bridge. The man at the battered comm-station couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “They’re from Candela, sir!” He scrambled to clear the static from the signal on the damaged codecall system. “Loaded with refugees, requesting safe haven and assistance.”

“They are also warships, fully armed and ready to fight,” Adolphus said. He had dispatched the ships himself to guard Tanja Hu’s planet against an attack—and they were a very welcome sight now. Sophie had already informed him that the shadow-Xayans had neutralized Commodore Hallholme’s weapons. “Connect me with the ship captains and the two hauler pilots.” He coughed and rubbed his eyes from the stinging smoke in the air as he called the freshly arrived vessels to prepare for battle.

“But, sir!” one of the captains squawked on the secure channel. “We’re crowded deck after deck with refugees! We can’t go into military maneuvers!”

“If you don’t, then you’re going to have to ask Diadem Michella for sanctuary instead,” Adolphus said. “The enemy can’t fire back—all their weapons are offline. Time to make our move.”

As the Candela refugee ships closed in, several more of the General’s DZ Defense Force ships came around the planet’s rim, their hulls glinting as they emerged from the shadow.

One of the remaining engineers on the bridge laughed. “The skeleton crews have finally rallied, sir.”

The General smiled. “It looks that way.”

The crowded Candela refugee vessels began taking potshots at the Commodore’s damaged attack fleet, hammering with all the weapons they had, not asking questions. Hallholme’s own flagship hung dead in orbital space, although the
Diadem’s Glory
was in no better shape.

At least the General could use his own vessel, wounded though it might be, as a command center from which he could direct the still-functional ships. The automated weapons platforms managed another round of shots at Hallholme’s strike force before their energy reserves were depleted.

He steepled his fingers and leaned over to watch, sensing a possible win despite the chaos. Finally, releasing a long breath, he sat up and activated the codecall to his opponent’s flagship. “Commodore Hallholme, my aliens have demonstrated their capabilities. They rendered your weapons useless, but they could just as easily have shut down your life-support systems or even blown your ships apart. You have been defeated. Cease hostilities, and I will accept your sword.” He paused, then added mildly, “I believe you’re familiar with the proper surrender ceremony?”

“Let me get back to you on that, General Adolphus,” the old man said in a clipped tone. “Thank you for your patience.” The Commodore terminated the transmission.

*   *   *

“Immediate report,” Percival demanded. “Does anyone have weapons? I need to know our ability to fight back.”

The grim answers flooded in from the other stunned vessels. Duff Adkins stood at the Commodore’s side, a sour expression on his ruddy face. “Nothing, sir. Every weapons system on every one of our ships is inoperative. No alternates available.”

“How long until repairs are complete?” He tried to think of how he could stall. “
Can
we fix this?”

Adkins frowned at him. “No, sir. Our guns are …
ruined.
Lumps of slag.”

The unexpected ships from Candela closed in, their weapons systems glowing as they prepared to fire. The scattered and mostly empty Deep Zone defense ships had begun to rally, also closing in.

“The Buktu hostages are the only gambit we have left, sir,” Adkins suggested. “How would Adolphus react if we threatened to execute them one by one?”

A chill went through the Commodore’s chest. He stared at the oncoming warships, and when he didn’t answer, his adjutant pressed, “Last chance, sir. Shall I have Erik Anderlos brought to the bridge? He can be the first.”

Slowly, Percival shook his head. “Not this time. I won’t do it.”

“The Diadem would demand that you do everything necessary,” Adkins said. Each person on the bridge turned to the old Commodore, waiting for his decision.

“Michella Duchenet is not the one sitting in the command chair, Duff. The Star Throne is very far from here.”

“Sir! You can’t be contemplating surrender!”

Percival knew what he had to do. After a tense moment of silence, he rose to his feet, not thinking about his aching body. “Tell the stringline pilot to power up the engines of the hauler. Our weapons systems may be inoperative, but our engines still function perfectly well. Transmit my orders to every ship in the battle group: Return to your designated docking clamps with all possible speed. We will retreat immediately along the iperion line back to Buktu.”

The armed ships from Candela continued to close in, and he raised his voice. “Do it, now!”

Like a released bowstring, the crew threw themselves into their assigned activities. The Commodore’s thirty impotent ships pulled away from orbit and retreated to the stringline hub, where the empty hauler waited for them.

“I have never surrendered before, Duff, but I’ve never retreated either.”