“If his ruse worked in the first place,” Percival said. “Everything is predicated on his being able to commandeer and hold that station.”
Adkins populated the simulation with the General’s own battleships. “We don’t know how many vessels our opponent has. We can extrapolate from what he brought against us at Tehila, but I doubt if he would have withdrawn all of his ships from there.”
Percival turned away from the projections. “Duff, we’ll just have to plan as soon as we see for ourselves. But this”—he waved his hand through the projection, distorting the images in the air—“is all a pretty fiction. We can plan all we like, but the real scenario never matches what we expected. We have to be swift, adaptable, reactive—and we have to be better at it than the General is.”
The bridge signaled that the hauler was starting its deceleration. Duff stood up, ready to march off to the command bridge, but Percival told him to stay. “Not just yet, old friend. As I said, we have to do this right.” He unlocked a cabinet beneath his desk and withdrew a bottle of the finest brandy from the Qiorfu vineyards. He recognized the irony of toasting with such a vintage, but saw no disrespect in the fact that this particular brandy had been distilled by Jacob Adolphus, their adversary’s father. Percival snagged two small crystal glasses, set them on the desk, and poured two fingers in each. He handed one to Duff, who dutifully accepted the brandy but didn’t seem to know what to do.
Percival clinked his glass against his companion’s. “Since this seems to be a day for citing old quotes—” He took a sip of brandy, then quaffed the rest in one warm delicious gulp. “Once more into the breach.”
As soon as they returned to the bridge and Adkins took the deputy command station, Percival addressed all the ships that were connected to the hauler framework. “This is more than a rematch against our archenemy. This is—this must be—an end to the matter. History will view the battle we are about to commence as a watershed in the future of the Constellation. All ships, prepare to disengage from docking clamps the moment we drop off the stringline.”
Lord Riomini had equipped all of his new battleships with unorthodox weapons, old projectile guns with high-speed ultra-dense shells, hot scattershot bombardments, and destructive chaff. Percival continued, “I know you all haven’t had much time to drill with the new artillery, but General Adolphus will not be expecting them at all. Our enhanced shields should protect us better—they proved their worth at Tehila. Thus, we have the elements of victory in our hands, and you are the major element.”
The hauler pilot transmitted from his dome high on the framework, “Arriving now, Commodore.”
Percival leaned forward to finish his address. “Now let’s find out what’s waiting for us.”
The haulers fell off the stringline and decelerated toward planet Hallholme. Active scanners sent out probe beams, and signals returned at the speed of light to paint a picture of the scene. The seventy Constellation warships disengaged from their docking clamps, fired up their engines, and raced in toward their target.
As images reassembled from the multiple sensors, Percival recalled the best-case projected scenario that Duff Adkins had just shown him in the ready room. What they saw was nothing like what they’d planned for. Nothing at all.
The stringline hub was a flurry of activity. All thirteen ships from Umber were identified—some severely damaged, others still moving. Additional vessels—cargo ships, civilian transports, large and small military craft—were in disarray. Lines of shuttles rose from both the Michella Town spaceport and another launch complex on the opposite side of the continent. Some of the arriving shuttles were taken aboard the large battleships, while others docked at the stringline hub. Even more shuttles were parked in orbit, holding for a docking node to clear. The activity looked frantic, desperate. No one seemed to be paying any immediate attention to the Army of the Constellation fleet.
Commodore Hallholme’s ships swarmed in, easily outnumbering the Deep Zone warships. One of his pilots transmitted, “Commodore, which targets should we choose? There are so many civilian ships.”
Percival couldn’t understand what was going on. He turned to his weapons officer. “What is the status of the DZDF vessels?”
“They don’t seem prepared to defend or attack, sir. They’re … preoccupied.”
Percival expected a scrambled consolidation of defenses in reaction to his arrival, but the General’s vessels contniued their own urgent missions.
Piloted by impatient and aggressive captains, two Constellation ships launched rapid explosive projectiles at a pair of outlying DZDF vessels. The weapons struck home, destroying engines in the rebel craft. A flurry of outraged transmissions filled the comm channels, but the General’s vessels did not round about and engage in a defensive attack; rather, the unusual activity continued unabated.
“This doesn’t feel right to me.” Percival sat on the edge of his command chair, wrestling with his decision. “We could turn this into a massacre.” He had not forgotten that Diadem Riomini gave explicit orders for him to lay waste to the entire planet, killing not just the General’s loyalists, but all civilians. According to his orders, Percival should just mow down every ship in front of him.
But no, that wasn’t right—no matter what the Diadem had said.
“Hold your fire,” he commanded. “We don’t know who’s in control there. Every ship, be prepared to launch full volleys at my signal—but not until I give the word.”
On the secure military comm, he tried to reach Administrator Komun on the prearranged channel, but got no response. Percival had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but his fleet was committed to the plan, and he had to proceed.
As his ships closed in around the stringline hub, he switched to the common frequency used by commercial traffic. He inhaled a deep breath. “General Adolphus, this is your old friend Commodore Hallholme. As you have no doubt already conceded to George Komun, I now assert control of the stringline hub and all your ships. I have won.”
A flurry of chatter ricocheted across the comm channels. General Adolphus took several minutes to respond, but finally he appeared on the screen, standing on the bridge of the Jacob. Adolphus looked both harried and annoyed—but he did not look like a defeated political prisoner.
His voice had an impatient edge. “Frankly, Commodore, you are the least of my problems right now. I have to evacuate this planet, with very little time to do so.”
Percival was surprised. “Explain yourself.”
Adolphus allowed himself to show a slight predatory smile. “George Komun has been defeated and summarily executed.” The smile slipped quickly. “And all of us will be dead, if we don’t keep to the evacuation schedule. I control Komun’s ships and the stringline hub, and all of our resources have been turned to saving my population.”
Percival stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Damn the man’s infernal luck and tactical brilliance! He gave a quick once-over to the vessels clustered at and moving around the hub. He saw little or no damage to either the hub or the DZDF ships.
On-screen, the General turned to acknowledge a shouted report from one of his bridge crew. Percival’s pulse raced, and a too-familiar and unwelcome tendril of uncertainty threaded its way through his confidence. This was far too elaborate to be a ruse. “General, what is your crisis?”
Adolphus gave instructions and sent an officer away, then turned back to face the Commodore, his smile gone. “You’re aware of what happened at Candela. At this very moment, twenty killer asteroids are inbound, directed by an enemy race of aliens who intend to destroy this entire planet. Use your long-range scanners and see for yourself. Those asteroids will all strike in a matter of days.”
60
Selik Riomini had not intended to commit mass murder today. He didn’t wake up that morning in anticipation of slaughtering all of those people. Nevertheless …
He was a leader to be respected and even feared—that was the image he wanted to project as the
new Diadem—but he didn’t consider himself a monster. Firm, yes, and never to be defied—but not a monster.
Even so, there were times when a lot of people had to die to make a point. Theser came to mind. And now Vielinger.
He arrived at the entrance to the iperion mine, responding to the news of the flooding disaster. The trip from Sonjeera by direct stringline had taken only a few hours, and as Diadem he could commandeer any transport he liked. During the flight, his anger had not abated.
Iperion was not only one of the key sources of his personal wealth, it was also an extraordinarily vital strategic resource. Without a steady supply of iperion, the Constellation could not hope to maintain the stringline network that connected the Crown Jewels, much less hold the far more extensive Deep Zone network. The fact that such an accident had occurred in one of the few remaining productive mines on Vielinger was a blow he could neither ignore nor forgive.
The Buktu prisoners must have sabotaged the operation. The answer was so obvious, he did not need a costly and time-consuming investigation.
Riomini was accompanied by an entourage of advisers and his ever-present female guards. Lanny Oberon rushed out of the mine office to meet him. His boyish features looked drawn, his eyes reddened. “My Lord, I just received word of your arrival. Thank you for coming to inspect the site of the accident. It is a terrible tragedy.”
The stocky maintenance foreman, Jando Knight, was with him. “Sir, we installed safety barricades, and are pumping out the flooded chambers. Bodies are still being recovered. We’ll get back to production as soon as possible.”
“How much can we salvage?” Riomini asked.
Oberon said, “We managed to save over a hundred of the work crew—”
“I don’t care about enemy saboteurs. What about the equipment? Iperion extraction requires expensive, specialized machinery, and we need to maintain production or we’ll have to start shutting down some of the stringlines.”
Knight seemed more nervous than usual. “We are … still assessing and taking inventory of the damage, my Lord.”
“Now that I am Diadem, the proper form of address is Eminence.”
“Yes, Eminence.” Knight flushed. He wiped his eyes as perspiration dripped from his forehead.
Oberon stepped aside and allowed Knight to lead the way. Both men devoted their full attention to Riomini, barely noticing the entourage that followed.
As they descended by rock stairway and tunnel into the deeper shafts, Riomini heard the roar of running water echoing through the walls. The maintenance foreman explained, “We are trying to divert the underground river, but we don’t know if the dams will hold. We’re rebuilding and reinforcing them as quickly as possible.”
They guided Riomini to a railing-protected opening that showed the flooded main cavern. Crewmen in sealed blue suits hung on slings throughout the chamber, operating remote-controlled machines that dipped in and out of the rushing water. Cranes lowered heavy pieces of construction material from suspended platforms.
Knight’s voice cracked as he said, “We almost have a section sealed and holding, Eminence. Pumps will drain the work chambers to expose the active iperion inclusions again.”
Scowling, the Black Lord looked at Oberon. “And the saboteurs? Where are they?”
He blinked. “You mean the prisoners, sir?”
“Obviously, they are the ones who caused this disaster.”
“Eminence, I witnessed the crisis myself. There was no sabotage—a temporary dam broke, releasing a swollen aquifer.” Oberon glanced at Knight, since that was the maintenance man’s area of responsibility.
“That dam has exhibited maintenance problems for some time now,” Knight said, his face glistening with sweat. “But I thought we had it under control.”
Riomini frowned. “I find an accident highly unlikely, and I’m disappointed that both of you were so easily duped. Those captives are militant members of the rebellion intent on destroying the Constellation. An opportunity presented itself, and someone found a way to wreck our operations.”
The mine supervisor kept shaking his head. “That’s simply not true, Eminence. So many of their own died—”
Riomini scowled. “I’m sure they think they’ve made martyrs of themselves. I will not let them benefit from their ruthless sabotage. Mine operations have ground to a standstill, and the Buktu captives must be punished.” He wondered if perhaps his enemies among the noble families were in collusion with General Adolphus to bring about this catastrophe, or if the prisoners had acted on their own initiative. Either way, this was no accident.
He looked at Knight. “The money saved by using a prison work crew—you reported to me that you had devoted those funds to improving maintenance.”
“Oh, yes sir, I certainly did everything possible to keep the mines in top order.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Oberon was still unconvinced about the sabotage. “Eminence, we can’t blame the prisoners without evidence. I will organize a team for a full investigation.”
Riomini’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t like the way you’re protecting vicious enemy prisoners.”
“With all respect, Eminence, we never should have brought prisoners of war here in the first place. Experienced workers are needed for such a dangerous, challenging job.”
“Are you faulting me for this, because I assigned the prisoners to do labor?”
Oberon didn’t change his expression, but remained calm, irritatingly calm. He’d always been a highly competent man, but he spoke his mind too much. “I didn’t say that, Eminence. Mr. Knight already made it plain that the faulty dam had numerous maintenance issues. No doubt he did what he could under the circumstances, but until we have the results of an investigation we won’t know what really happened.”
Riomini was finished with the conversation. “So long as this mine is not producing iperion, an emergency exists in the Constellation.” He looked around. “Where are the prisoners? March them out here. I want to talk with them.”
Soon enough, the dozens of men and women captured by Commodore Hallholme at Buktu were marched out in front of the grotto’s open deck and ordered to stand against the railing. They faced Diadem Riomini, impertinently angry and grieving at the deaths of their comrades. All along, this group had been more trouble than they were worth, and Riomini wished the old Commodore had never bothered to capture them in the first place. What did he think the Constellation would do with them? They left much to be desired as workers, too, although as saboteurs they seemed to be quite effective.
Riomini told his guards to stand watch. “Keep your weapons trained on them. They have already proved to be dangerous.” Oberon frowned as he and Knight stood together on one side, both of them ill at ease. The guards pointed their shoulder weapons in the direction of the enemy prisoners. “Who speaks for them?” Riomini asked.
Oberon identified a blond man, Erik Anderlos. Riomini ordered him forward. “I know you and your fellow prisoners were responsible for the disaster. Whether from direct sabotage or negligence, you played a part.”
Anderlos looked defiant. “I wish that were true, but none of my people were anywhere near the dam. These mines are in such bad shape they don’t need any help from us to fall apart.”
“And maybe you didn’t report any flaws you encountered because you wanted these operations to fail.”
Anderlos didn’t flinch. “I did report everything I saw to Mr. Oberon and Mr. Knight, on a daily basis. I admit that my loyalty remains with General Adolphus, but I would never have done anything to endanger my people.”
Wearing a troubled expression, Oberon turned to Riomini. “He is correct, Eminence. The prisoner reported numerous issues to me and to the maintenance foreman.”
“And my crew worked tirelessly to keep everything operable,” Knight interjected. He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Now we’ve brought in outside contractors on an emergency basis, and they’re working round the c
lock to restore operations.”
Riomini frowned. “I will reward the contractors when they are finished. And I know you and Oberon have been running these operations for years, so I will assume that both of you did your best.” He faced the line of sullen Buktu prisoners. “As for all of you prisoners, I have considered your employment record, and have come to a decision.”
Reaching over to one of his female guards, he removed her projectile rifle and shot Anderlos in the face. The momentum pushed him over the railing, and he tumbled into the still-churning water below. The swift current carried the body away.
Then, as if a different kind of dam had burst inside of him, Riomini started firing at the prisoners. At a signal from him, the rest of his guards finished the job with a deafening fusillade. The trapped prisoners were mowed down in a matter of seconds.
As silence returned, his chief guard, Rota Vindahl, said, “Nicely done, Eminence.”
Lanny Oberon and Jando Knight stared in horror, unable to speak. The functionaries and entourage members also observed, most of them too terrified or sickened to turn away.
Vindahl walked calmly from body to body, verifying that each one was dead, adding another shot for three who still groaned. When finished, she asked, “What would you like done with the corpses, sir?”
“Just haul them away. If we dump them all down into the mines, they might clog up the operations just as we’re trying to recover.” He felt hot, flushed. “But first, I want images of all this. Previously, we showed the Constellation what I did to distant Theser as a warning. But this is closer to home.”
When he had a file of images, he commanded that they be copied and distributed widely. The most important package had to be sent immediately by courier out into the Deep Zone, via the Umber stringline. “I want Commodore Hallholme to see this. He needs a bit of encouragement to succeed.”
61
The largest of the twenty asteroids aimed toward Hellhole contained a microcosm of Xaya—a preserved bubble that replicated life on the once-pristine planet. This habitat was more than a museum—it was real, a true remnant of the ancient paradise that the rebel alien faction had destroyed in the first impact five centuries earlier.
Hellhole Inferno Page 35
