The package opened by itself, and ten round white objects emerged to float in the air, while the shell dropped in pieces to the pavement. The white spheres spun to show the intricate tracery on the curved surfaces, like dense, folded snowflakes.
“With these, we can observe from all directions,” Lodo said. “Other shadow-Xayans can view through them simultaneously and keep watch.”
“They’ll detect any threat from the Army of the Constellation as well?” Adolphus asked. “We have more enemies than just the Ro-Xayans.”
Keana-Uroa nodded. “Yes, General, but even my mother will be the least of our concerns if the Ro-Xayans come against us.”
Cristoph studied the glistening spheres. “They look too fragile to survive the stresses of a standard launch.”
Lodo sounded amused. “This is not a standard launch.”
The alien lifted his soft-fingered hands skyward, as did the shadow-Xayans. In smooth silence, with only the rushing sound of displaced air, the satellites streaked up through Hellhole’s atmosphere, spreading out in different directions. Without engine exhaust or any chemical means of propulsion, they left no plumes trailing across the sky.
When the group of satellites had vanished high out of sight, the converts lowered their hands. From the flyer’s open cargo hold, Lodo levitated a silver hemisphere, which sparkled and hung in front of his large alien eyes. Cristoph recognized it. “That’s another item you removed from the vault.”
“It was necessary. I did not want to abandon items that might help us, no matter what Encix requested. That device will help them operate properly.” He peered into the curved surface. “Yes. All of our sensor probes have safely reached orbit.”
Rendo Theris still looked harried. “So … now can we get back to regular launches and landings? We’ve got commercial ships backed up at the stringline hub.” He seemed more flustered than was warranted, as he usually did.
Lodo gave a slow nod. “Yes. Everything is clear now.” They all headed toward the headquarters building, where they discussed how many shadow-Xayans would need to remain at Ankor to monitor the orbiting sensor probes. The General noticed that Lodo conversed often with Keana-Uroa, who was becoming the de facto leader of the converts.
Adolphus was interrupted by a priority communication from Sophie. She had sent the message directly to the spaceport, and she knew not to interrupt his mission unless it was extremely important. He immediately felt alert, ready to respond to whatever she needed. When he took the transmission, Sophie looked beautiful but grave on the screen. “Four prisoners escaped from the camp, Tiber. They’re missing.”
He was alarmed, angry, and concerned. “Where the hell do they expect to go? How long have they been gone?”
“It happened two nights ago, but we just discovered it. They stole a Trakmaster and supplies, then drove off into the uncharted landscape.” She hesitated. “It was Escobar Hallholme, Bolton Crais, and two others.”
Feeling disturbed, Adolphus focused on the problem—Hallholme and Crais were the most valuable POW bargaining chips. “They can’t hope to survive without preparations out there. I thought they were smarter than that.”
Her gray eyes flashed. “Redcom Hallholme does not seem to be a man who thinks about consequences. I knew he would cause more trouble.” Sophie had little respect for the man after he had broken his word during the surrender ceremony, which resulted in so many deaths. “We should have executed him for all the bloodshed he caused.”
He fought down his anger, knowing he had to deal with this crisis, which might have serious repercussions if he ever faced the Constellation military again. “I gave my word those soldiers would be kept safe, and unlike a Hallholme, I keep my word. It’s the only way I will lead.”
Sophie looked disappointed in herself for the suggestion. Then she said, “Fools don’t survive long on Hellhole.”
Keana interrupted, “Bolton is not a fool. He’s acting out of honor.” Her pretty face was filled with concern. Despite their marital separation, it was obvious that she still cared about him.
Adolphus shook his head. “We have to track them down. If the Commodore’s son dies—even from his own stupidity—the blame will still fall on me. I will not let that happen.”
“I sent out search teams,” Sophie said, “but these four don’t want to be found. And it seems like a lot of trouble for a group of murderous fools.”
“We have to get them back before this planet kills them.” Adolphus needed the best person to lead the search. After signing off, he looked around the busy Ankor control center, and his gaze fell on Cristoph de Carre, who was chatting with Lodo. The General called him over.
“Mr. de Carre, I have a new assignment for you.”
25
For two days, Bolton had continued driving over the rough terrain, alert for pursuit, moving the Trakmaster mostly after dark, trying to remain hidden from observers. He didn’t know how long it would take Sophie Vence to realize that prisoners had escaped—likely they were already being hunted down. He hoped Yimidi’s makeshift camouflage system would hide them from searches.
Exhausted, lost, and stressed, Bolton had finally pulled the rig to rest near a set of lumpy rock protrusions. They seemed safe and sheltered for the time being, but still tense. He fell into a restless sleep.…
Out in the raw and unwelcoming Hellhole wilderness, Bolton awoke to sounds that were unlike the normal, fitful breathing he’d heard during the night. His three fellow escapees were still asleep inside the Trakmaster; Escobar slumped over in the front seat next to him, while the other two huddled in the back. Bolton rubbed his eyes, guessing by the low yellow illumination coming through the windows that it must be almost dawn. He couldn’t see outside.
Something smelled bad, like decaying bodies and sour vegetation.
Now, while his companions slept fitfully in various uncomfortable positions, Bolton blinked groggily in the sickly light that filtered through the Trakmaster’s windows. A low, whispering sound filled the cab, and he realized that the daylight had an eerie, unnatural cast—it seemed to be vibrating, squirming. To his horror, he realized that the windows and the vehicle itself were covered with thousands of finger-length larvae. Three of the imagers were dark, but the fourth showed a mass of larvae encrusting the Trakmaster, all of them spinning cocoons like hairy blisters attached to the walls.
Bolton shouted for the others to wake up, while he stared at the control screen, trying to get a view from the external cameras.
In back, Yimidi woke and started shouting, but his words were garbled by a long fit of coughing. Escobar and Vingh also scrambled awake, while Bolton tried to start the vehicle’s engine, powering it up from the shutdown.
When the engine thrummed as Bolton tried to activate it, the outside noise of the larvae increased to a buzzing, skittering sound. Escobar pressed his face close to the window, trying to discern the myriad swarming creatures. “They’re going into a frenzy.”
“They want to keep us from escaping,” Vingh said. “We have to move!”
Bolton kept working the controls, but the engine refused to start. Larvae must have infested the mechanical components as well. “We may have to abandon the vehicle.”
“And go outside?” Yimidi said in disbelief, then coughed so hard he doubled over.
“Is that worse than staying in here?” Vingh asked.
The four escapees ransacked the Trakmaster for anything they could use to defend themselves, found a repair torch, a flare launcher, and a projectile weapon, but Bolton couldn’t guess how any of that would prove effective against so many squirming creatures.
“We can hole up, hope they go away,” said Yimidi.
“I don’t want to stay trapped here. What if they nest around the Trakmaster?” Escobar asked. “Major Crais, get this vehicle moving!”
Bolton kept trying, but without success. “They may have ruined the engine, sir.” The unnerving scratching, squirming noise became so loud that it drowned out all con
versation.
Then he heard a muted popping noise outside, followed by many more in the distance, like small staccato explosions. Maybe Sophie Vence’s searchers had found them. In truth, he would much rather be back in the fenced camp—even ashamed and defeated—than eaten alive out here. But the hollow popping sounds were not like weapon fire.
The covering on the windows began to smear away, peeling loose and drifting off to allow the entrance of brighter light. Thousands of small cocoons studded the hull of the Trakmaster as well as the ground surrounding the vehicle. In a remarkably swift transformation, the cocoons were bursting open to unleash swarms of sharp-edged flying insects. Their wings were bright orange, but they looked more dangerous than beautiful. Each cocoon split open with a puff of spore-smoke that wafted around like heavy mist. The husks of the shriveled cocoons dropped away from the Trakmaster.
Bolton worked to start the engine again and finally heard the power levels hum on. Without performing any other checks, he engaged the rugged tracks and rolled forward, crunching across the field of still-hatching cocoons. He could barely see through the clusters that remained on the windshield, but he kept going anyway.
In the back, Vingh was sweating, and Yimidi looked ill. Yimidi coughed, said, “And the Constellation is fighting to get this rotten world back? Let the General damn well have it!”
“We’re fighting because General Adolphus is our enemy,” the Redcom snapped. “He is a threat to our way of life. I’ll have no defeatist attitudes! We will survive, men. We will make our way off this planet and get back home. That’s our duty.”
The flurry of bright insects changed formation, drew together like a swarm of locusts, and then surged upward en masse. As the Trakmaster plowed ahead, Bolton realized that the thrumming, popping noises had gone blessedly quiet. He heard only the growl of the vehicle’s heavy engine and the grinding of the treads over the rough rocks. He used built-in sprays of chemical solvent to clean the reinforced glass. He had already used most of the fluid two nights before in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the crawling algae. When he could finally see better, he increased speed.
Ahead, he could make out a line of dark brown hills with a lighter-colored ridgeline beyond, but the sluggish insects followed, settling like a blanket on the moving vehicle.
In back, Yimidi coughed, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat. “Are they flying, or just drifting like seeds on the wind?”
Again, the insects settled on the Trakmaster, clinging to the windshield and obscuring the view. Through gaps that provided limited visibility, Bolton saw the insects just floating along without twitching their wings or segmented legs, as if they were already dead, their bodies borne on the breezes.
“Zombie bugs,” Bolton said, with a shudder.
“Maybe we’re all dead, too,” Vingh said, “and we just don’t know it yet.”
Escobar hunched over the nav-system, but the screen remained a blizzard of static. “We’ve lost our calibration. Onboard guidance systems can’t lock onto wherever we are with the terrain database. I think Yimidi’s stealth system overloaded some of the satellite maps—not that they were much good anyway—and Major Crais didn’t follow the original route we planned.”
“What does that mean?” asked Vingh.
“It means we’re driving blind,” Escobar said. “We’re lost.” He seemed to be blaming Bolton for going off a course that had never existed in the first place.
Yimidi was about to say something, but his words vanished in a quick coughing spasm. He forced out, “We don’t dare uplink to a satellite, or they can detect us.”
“We should have made a better plan before escaping,” Vingh said, “just like Major Crais suggested.”
“We were better off back in camp,” Yimidi added.
“We need to work together to get to safety,” Bolton said. “I’m more interested in survival than recriminations.”
Stewing with obvious anger, Escobar sat in the front, studying the useless nav-system.
Bolton kept driving, finally managing to pull away from the drifting, lifeless insects. The hum of the Trakmaster’s engine shifted slightly as the first of two backup fuel-pellet chambers switched into place.
Everyone would remember that it had been the Redcom’s stubbornness that had led to their disastrous defeat in the first place, and the deaths of more than a thousand Constellation soldiers. It was Escobar’s fault that they had been forced to surrender to General Adolphus. He was the commanding officer, and Bolton knew that if their misfortunes continued, the simmering resentment would build against Escobar.
The escape from the camp was yet another blunder, and this time Bolton didn’t see any way out of it.
26
After launching their assault from Sonjeera, the Army of the Constellation arrived at Tehila without incident. Commodore Hallholme was still alarmed by the dramatic explosion in Council City just before their departure, but he had his own mission and very clear orders. The fate of the Deep Zone was at stake. Timing was critical.
Taken off guard when Diadem Michella unexpectedly insisted on joining the mission, the Commodore did his best to respond appropriately, and as always, he placed his personal feelings aside and did as the Diadem commanded. He needed to devote his full faculties to establishing a forward base on Tehila and then launching the final offensive against Hellhole. And he had to rescue Escobar.
Two gigantic military stringline haulers cruised up to Tehila’s terminus ring. Ever since General Adolphus’s current rebellion, the route to the distant DZ planet had been off-limits to traffic from Sonjeera, with the substations en route and the terminus ring booby-trapped for emergency destruction in the event of a Constellation advance. Thanks to Administrator Reming’s purge, though, the Tehila line was secure. Hallholme could arrive without fear of being cut off.
Arriving at the planet, Percival dispatched an impressive battle group to guarantee there would be no resistance. The first military hauler docked at the terminus ring while the second hauler secured the ring connected to the Hellhole line. Hundreds of Constellation battleships dropped out of their docking clamps and filled Tehila’s orbital lanes like a pack of guard dogs.
The Commodore didn’t feel much like a conquering hero, though. The battle here had been over before his ships even left Sonjeera. By seizing the stringlines and arresting all known Adolphus loyalists, Reming had engineered a relatively bloodless coup, and Tehila was now back under Constellation control.
Step one, complete.
This was just a staging point, however—an entry into the Deep Zone network so he could launch his real offensive right down the General’s throat. “It’s a step in the right direction, Duff,” he said to his adjutant while standing on the flagship’s bridge. “Have all my officers been briefed on how we’ll establish control over the planet?”
“All briefed, Commodore. If the Tehila populace welcomes us and cooperates, as Reming promises, we could be ready to launch our main offensive within days. A week at the outside.”
Diadem Michella bustled onto the bridge deck nearly half an hour later. “Commodore, you should have delayed so I could announce our victorious arrival. We missed an opportunity.”
He flinched at being scolded in front of his crew. Had she expected him to halt the military haulers outside of orbit and wait for her? “Your pardon, Eminence. Time is of the essence, and I wanted to secure this rebel world with all possible speed.” He would have to find some tactful way to remind her that he was in command of the military operation. “Allow me to present the planet Tehila, newly restored to Constellation control.”
Looking at all the guardian ships in a bright, powerful stranglehold on Tehila, Michella was unabashed in her delight. “Congratulations, Commodore, on our first major conquest in the Great War of Reunification.” She stepped closer to the main bridge screen, as if to get a better view, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Be sure the ships perform appropriately impressive maneuvers. We’ll use the foo
tage when we write our history. Make the recapture of Tehila look like a grand battle.”
Percival struggled to keep a respectful tone in his voice. “There won’t be any battle here, Eminence. Administrator Reming has already eliminated resistance and delivered the world to us.”
She waved a gnarled hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t want to give him too much credit. He was one of the traitors who initially sided with the rebel General, after all.”
Michella’s aide, Ishop Heer, appeared furtively behind her, as if he didn’t belong here. The Diadem had dragged him along on her impulsive decision to accompany the fleet, but the man didn’t seem pleased to be part of the operation. Percival had never liked Ishop Heer, had always found something slippery and unpleasant about his demeanor. During the stringline flight to Tehila, Ishop had been edgy, disconcerted. Although the Diadem seemed oblivious to his mood, Percival saw the sharp gazes and quickly hidden expressions of distaste Ishop shot in her direction when she wasn’t looking.
That was none of Percival’s concern. His only goal was to complete his operation successfully and swiftly. His career would culminate with the final defeat of General Tiber Adolphus, the release of all the Constellation prisoners of war, and an end to the Deep Zone Rebellion. Then he would go back home to his grapevines on Qiorfu, back to his grandchildren and a peaceful life. He had earned that long ago.
Adkins returned with a report. “Commodore, a diplomatic shuttle is on its way up from the capital spaceport. Administrator Reming wishes to present Tehila to us and reaffirm his loyalty to the Constellation.”
Diadem Michella interrupted. “By all means, bring him here. I will accept his surrender and assert a full Constellation crackdown. This unruly planet is now under military jurisdiction.”
Ishop Heer said, “I’m not sure that’s how Administrator Reming views this situation, Eminence.”
She turned to him. “I don’t care what he thinks. We are in control here. Commodore Hallholme has seen to that. When I need your political advice, Ishop, I will ask for it.” Her sharp tone surprised Percival. During their stringline voyage he had also noticed her belittling the aide at every opportunity. He glanced at Adkins, and they shared a look. Percival had never treated his loyal adjutant that way.
Hellhole Inferno Page 15
