Hellhole Inferno

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Ishop took great pleasure in unceremoniously dumping the old woman into the cargo container. He was practically capering with joy, pleased at how well their plan had gone. Only a few more steps. It should proceed like clockwork.

  “One more thing, Ishop,” Enva said. He turned to her and found himself staring down at the stunner. “I don’t trust you either. And just in case you need plausible deniability later—”

  When Enva blasted him, the big man collapsed perfectly into the cargo container, falling on top of Diadem Michella.

  32

  The unexpected purge and military crackdown on Tehila had created chaos, turmoil, and fear, but it also presented a range of opportunities to Tanja Hu and the Candela refugees. They had known they needed to move quickly or it would be too late to warn the General, but they didn’t have a plan.

  Even with all the reasons not to trust Enva Tazaar, the disgraced noblewoman gave them their best and perhaps their only realistic chance. The fact that they had to move that night meant that she and Ian Walfor didn’t have time to overthink their strategy.

  Now, Tanja wiped perspiration from her forehead and glanced at the chronometer. Minutes ticking down—they had to get going. “We’re in this up to our necks.”

  “Maybe so,” Walfor said, “but let’s try to be optimistic. I’m your knight in shining armor.”

  “Just be my pilot and get our ship out of here. That’ll be good enough.”

  With the Commodore’s massive fleet turning Tehila into a military base practically overnight, Tehila was in a frenzy. Too many people were giving orders, and many of the instructions were contradictory. The low-ranking soldiers were flustered, resigned, and dismayed. Enva Tazaar’s bold plan took advantage of that.

  Tanja and Walfor easily obtained militia uniforms, which were distributed widely in hopes of increasing the visible numbers of the militia. Tanja didn’t like wearing such a uniform, but it was an important element of her disguise. She plucked at the sleeves and tugged at the seams, but couldn’t make the blouse hang correctly. “This looks like it was made by a cut-rate costume shop.”

  “Probably was. The militia had to produce large quantities of them somehow.” Walfor brushed his own chest and lifted his chin as if to cut a striking, heroic pose. “Actually, I think it fits you rather well.”

  She shot him a sharp glance. “Let’s get to the spaceport. It’s time.”

  Full night had fallen, and the landing zone lights shimmered a harsh white. Tehila’s military-grade ships had already joined the fleet in orbit for scheduled departure the following day. Their window of opportunity was closing.

  As they approached the spaceport’s main guard gate, Tanja felt a knot in her stomach. Sensing her tension, Walfor reached over to squeeze her arm, but they had to maintain the appearance of two militia officers with a duty to perform. Tanja pulled away and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “You sure we can trust Enva Tazaar?”

  “No, but we’ll find out for sure soon enough.”

  Tanja Hu instinctively despised the noble families of the Crown Jewels, including the Tazaars. They were corrupt, ambitious, self-centered, and had run roughshod over the DZ colonists for years. But Tanja also knew that Enva had previously made secret overtures to General Adolphus; even before her disgrace, Enva had been clear in her desire to overthrow Diadem Michella. Tanja didn’t like being allied with such a woman, one of the corrupt nobles from the Crown Jewels, but she had to take the chance.

  With a cocky and impatient smile, Walfor stepped up to the spaceport guard. He showed his access credentials and paperwork. “Special assignment to prepare one of the civilian ships as a decoy for the military assault tomorrow.”

  The guard was a squarish, middle-aged woman who looked all muscle and no fat. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

  Walfor pushed the documentation in front of her. “You’re being informed now.”

  Instead of being suspicious, the woman let out a sigh. “Idiots. Approvals can’t come through this office. I’ve told them three times since yesterday.”

  Tanja stepped forward. “We have all the proper signatures and access prints.”

  The guard squinted down at the papers, read them twice. “Yes, you have official signatures and access prints.” She called to another guard, who sat inside a small shack, “Ched, do you know about this?”

  “Not a peep,” said Ched. “I try not to, though. My head is still spinning from all the other screw-ups today.”

  The female guard handed the paperwork back and grudgingly called up a map on a screen. “Yes, here it is. The ship is already cleared for takeoff. It looks like you have a delivery scheduled before departure, one cargo container. They’re bringing it in through the west gate.”

  “That’s part of the operation,” Tanja said, trying not to show her relief.

  The guard, who seemed anxious to have her gate quiet and empty again, waved them inside. “You know which ship it is?”

  Walfor scanned the impounded vessels inside the fenced area, locked his gaze on one. He had a special sparkle in his eyes. “Oh, I most certainly do.” He looked like a man seeing a lost lover after several years.

  “Is it all fueled and ready to go, per orders?” Tanja asked.

  The guard frowned, as if to emphasize that this wasn’t her business or responsibility. She flipped to another screen and said, “Yes, completely fueled—rationing’s been imposed, so most ships don’t get this much—but someone got around that for you. You’re all set.”

  Walfor hustled Tanja along. “We’re on our way, then.”

  When they reached the ship, he was grinning, eager to get to the controls, and Tanja was anxious to get away. Before walking up the ramp she scanned the paved area, saw other ships sitting silently under the harsh illumination. Maintenance crews moved about, but most of the preparations had been completed for the imminent launch of the fleet.

  She saw no sign of the arriving cargo container, however, nor of Enva Tazaar and her coconspirator. She frowned. If they didn’t arrive as planned, she and Walfor would have to escape anyway. It was imperative to warn General Adolphus, with or without the Diadem as a bargaining chip.

  Then Tanja spotted a low hauler humming across the landing area, weaving among the ships. The driver was obviously in a hurry, but didn’t seem proficient operating the vehicle. The hauler pulled alongside Walfor’s ship, towing a medium-size cargo box. Enva Tazaar swung out of the driver’s cab, wearing her bureaucrat’s uniform, which looked out of place in the loading area.

  “Help me get this aboard—it’s precious cargo.” She chuckled, hard and sharp. “Or maybe it should be marked ‘Hazardous Waste.’”

  The three moved quickly together to bring the container aboard the ship.

  Enva opened the lid of the cargo box. Inside, like two rag dolls, lay the unconscious forms of Ishop Heer and Diadem Michella Duchenet. Upon seeing the old woman, a sour taste rose in Tanja’s throat.

  “How long will they remain unconscious?” Walfor asked.

  “Another hour or two, enough time for us to tie them up.”

  “Enough time for us to fly out of here.” Tanja cast a suspicious glance around the spaceport. “You have the clearances?”

  “I’ve submitted them,” Enva said, “but it’s all a house of cards. Even so, incompetence and confusion are our friends now. The worst thing that could happen would be for us to blunder into people who know what they’re doing.”

  Patrol flyers cruised low over the spaceport. Enva glanced up at them and compared their flight patterns with her projected launch path. “Let’s hope they stay out of our way,” she said in a low voice.

  Walfor powered up the engines. Warning signals came in across the control deck—but no emergencies yet. The comm activated. “This is Spaceport Operations. We’re detecting an unauthorized departure. All ships, stand down and wait for our security staff to investigate.”

  “How very polite.” Tanja looked at the other woman. “Now
what do we do?”

  Enva switched on the comm. “This is an authorized departure. All flight paths and paperwork have been filed. Double-check your records, but do it quickly. We’re on a tight schedule here. The fleet is getting ready to launch.”

  The three of them sat tense, but Walfor didn’t wait. He continued to go through his prelaunch checklist. “This was a half-assed revolution anyway. I knew that if worse came to worst, I might have to break my ship out of here. Security patrols in this city are like a bunch of drunken gnats.”

  “But they can still cause problems,” Tanja said. Walfor was the best pilot she’d ever seen, but she hoped he wouldn’t have to demonstrate that now.

  Spaceport Operations came back on the comm. “We found a request and authorization, but it’s from Tehila Admin HQ. Groundside paperwork shows this ship is part of the military operation, which is under the jurisdiction of the Constellation forces in orbit. Please stand by while we check the irregularities.”

  Breathing faster, Enva responded in a clipped voice, “If you check my access code, you will find that my authority comes from the highest level, from the Diadem’s office. That overrides your traditional channels.”

  The spaceport operator answered in a cool voice, sounding unmoved. “With all due respect, Diadem Michella is not in charge of military operations here. Commodore Hallholme is the supreme authority. I’ve submitted a priority request to the flagship and dispatched a copy to Diadem Michella’s office. Thank you for your patience. Security has been tightened with the imminent departure of the fleet.”

  “We’ll stand by,” Enva said, sounding calm. She switched off the comm.

  “Now what do we do?” Tanja asked.

  Enva looked hard at Walfor. “We launch anyway. Now!”

  He grinned. He was already activating systems and increasing power to the takeoff thrusters. “Back to my original scheme, then.”

  “I don’t believe in a single-pronged plan,” Enva said. “And I’ve arranged another surprise at the terminus ring, for insurance.”

  Tanja called up the copilot’s screen, plotted their vector, and expanded the error bars to give them room to move. “If this had gone smoothly, we could have traveled to the terminus ring, slipped onto the Hellhole stringline, and been gone. Now we have to bypass the terminus entirely. Ian, are you sure you can find the iperion trail on your own?”

  He studied the controls, caressed a screen with his finger, as if for encouragement, and smiled at her. “Of course I can. I did extensive system mapping already, just like I did at Candela when I found your killer asteroids. The actual terminus ring is for amateurs who need training wheels.”

  Perspiring, Enva looked at the ship’s chronometer display. “Are we going to go?”

  “Without further ado.” Walfor punched the accelerator, and all the ship’s thrusters ignited at once, pushing them off the landing field with a great leap into the sky. Then the turbos kicked in and shot them toward orbit.

  Immediately, the alarm boards lit up. Spaceport security started squawking in contradictory shouts over the comm lines. Additional banks of lights flared like novas below. The low-flying airborne patrol ships veered in toward the ascending craft.

  “I didn’t think they would respond this quickly,” Walfor remarked, “but don’t worry. Everyone, lock down your safety straps. Is the cargo container with the hostages secured?”

  “Not really,” Tanja said. “They’ll be bounced around pretty badly if you make any extreme moves.”

  “Oh, well.” Walfor concentrated on his flying as he shot toward orbit, curving away from the main cluster of Constellation warships and the two stringline terminus rings that were under tight military control. He said with more boyish glee than concern, “Hang on.”

  33

  On the night before launching a major military operation, Commodore Percival Hallholme knew the wisdom of getting a good night’s sleep. He needed his mind fresh and thoughts clear, his reflexes and responses sharp.

  And yet, unfailingly, he was interrupted by a stream of last-minute details that no underlings could—or wanted to—solve themselves. Even when Percival was alone in his private stateroom with the lights dimmed, lying on his bunk with a strict “do not disturb” indicator on the door, he remained awake, his thoughts buzzing with a cascade of possible consequences, decision tree to decision tree.

  He had faced General Adolphus before, numerous times. Once the military haulers launched for Hellhole, they would have a five-day journey along the iperion path, and Percival had no doubt he would experience several more restless nights on the way.

  Sometimes, he just gave up on sleep, put his uniform back on, and went to the bridge. Now, as the massive fleet prepared to depart, the Commodore chided himself: He should have known better than to try to sleep.

  He put on a fresh uniform and prepared a cup of kiafa from his room dispenser. If he was going to be awake and restless, he might as well do so on the bridge where he could make certain all the preparations were completed to his satisfaction.

  Once more into the breach …

  His previous engagement with General Adolphus at Hellhole should have been a victory. His plans had been impeccable, his surprise approach on the abandoned Buktu stringline executed without a hitch. He did not underestimate his old nemesis, but the destructive alien attack had been a shock.

  Assuredly, he would face that invisible telekinetic blast again, and he could only hope that his ships’ additional shielding would protect them long enough to seize the stringline hub, defeat the rebel General, and free the Constellation prisoners—including his son. That would more than make up for Percival’s previous failure, and Escobar’s as well. Afterward, he could let Diadem Michella consolidate her rule throughout the Deep Zone, while he just went home for a well-deserved retirement.

  Resigned, Percival had accepted the distorted legend of his career. He had not wanted to reenter this fight, had never wished to face Adolphus again, a foe who had been so dishonorably treated by the Diadem. But he had chosen sides and sworn loyalty to a leader with feet of clay. And that loyalty was his only path to continued honor.

  Emerging from his stateroom, he was startled to see Duff Adkins rushing toward him. The faithful adjutant was just as surprised to see him awake. “Commodore, there’s a crisis!”

  “There’s always a crisis, Duff.” Percival picked up his pace, and the two walked briskly toward the bridge. “What is it this time?”

  “Someone stole a cargo ship from the Tehila spaceport.”

  “That’s a crisis? Send teams to intercept it.”

  “We’re trying, sir. But this pilot is extremely adept, and his engines have been enhanced. We checked—the ship has high-level authorizations, but they’re counterfeit. This isn’t just some impatient trader trying to get away—I think it’s a realistic threat, sir.”

  “How do we know it has anything to do with us?”

  “If not, then why take the risk of flying now? If the pilot just wants to slip away, he could easily wait for our fleet to depart. After tomorrow, he’d have a much easier time of it. But something forced his hand now.”

  They arrived on the bridge to find the crew scrambling from station to station. Screens showed the path of the escaping craft and the pursuit vectors of air patrols. Many small ships flitted about in space, but all the larger Constellation vessels, including the flagship, were firmly mounted in the huge hauler frameworks, ready to depart.

  Percival guessed what the fugitive ship was up to. “I think that pilot intends to warn General Adolphus.” He studied the screens, listened to the chatter. “Even if he gets away from the planet, our control of the terminus rings remains firm?”

  Adkins glanced at one of the tactical officers, a woman with short-cropped black hair. She answered, “Both stringline rings are under friendly control, Commodore.”

  Percival’s tension eased. “Then the pilot will never find the iperion line. The best he can do is to lose himself in th
is star system. If our fleet launches on schedule, we will get to the General long before any warning can possibly reach him.”

  An urgent communiqué broke through from Spaceport Operations. “I have vital information for Commodore Hallholme—an extreme emergency! Diadem Michella Duchenet is missing. We believe she’s been abducted from the administrator’s mansion.”

  The flagship’s comm officer glanced over his shoulder, watching the Commodore for a response. Percival had not wanted Michella Duchenet along on this operation at all, and any delay could compromise the mission. Trying to think of a reasonable explanation, he recalled the Diadem’s capricious moods. What had she gotten herself into now? “Why do you believe she’s been kidnapped? Make certain she hasn’t just toddled out to go observe a walump village under the stars.”

  Spaceport Operations reported, “A search is already underway, Commodore, but there is definite cause for concern. All security eyes in the headquarters mansion were conveniently blinded, just before the Diadem entered the area with her assistant Ishop Heer. When we backtracked the access, it appears the Diadem’s own assistant Ishop Heer was working with a low-level clerk named Enva Lien. Those names are also associated with the counterfeit documentation that provided launch clearance for the cargo ship that is currently fleeing Tehila. The connection is clear, sir. They have the Diadem.”

  Percival assembled the pieces in his mind and raised his voice to the bridge personnel. “All forces, pursue and intercept that ship! Apprehend and board only. Do not destroy it under any circumstances.”

  Suddenly the flagship’s deck lurched, and a resounding clunk echoed through the vessel. Artificial gravity was skewed severely off-norm for a few moments.

  “What happened?” Percival demanded.

  Adkins kept his balance by gripping the side of a tactical station. “We just dropped free from the docking clamp, sir. We’re drifting inside the hauler framework.”