Hellhole Inferno

by Brian Herbert

  The converts would push their human personalities to the fore in order to act as normally as possible, and they would keep their eyes averted so no one noticed the eerie spiraling shimmer that denoted the Xayan presence. He only needed to fool Komun for a short time.

  As she said good-bye to him on the screen, Sophie’s concern was clear. “They have powerful telemancy—but are you sure fifteen will be enough?”

  “Komun won’t allow any more than that as an escort,” Adolphus said. “We must take the chance, now or never. If the shadow-Xayans can perform their task, our fight will be on an even footing again.” He looked closely at her. “Don’t worry so much, it’ll be—”

  Sophie held up a hand. “Don’t tell me it’ll be all right.”

  “It’ll be whatever it has to be, then. Have faith that it will go well.”

  “All right.”

  He had already transmitted full instructions to Lieutenant Sendell on the Jacob. The flagship had been repaired, its weapons systems restored to full functionality. The other battered ships back from Tehila were also combat-ready, their angry crews itching to do something important. But Komun held them all at a standoff with his rigged explosives on the stringline hub. Time was on his side. The traitor knew that General Adolphus would have to surrender, and soon.

  Entirely preoccupied with the threat of the incoming asteroids, Rendo Theris wished him a “swift resolution” to the crisis. Before departing, Adolphus told the spaceport administrator, “Prepare for a complete planetary evacuation, no matter what happens at the stringline hub.”

  Adolphus marched out toward the shuttle, ready to go. The fifteen shadow-Xayans who would act as his escort waited for him on the spaceport landing field, resplendent in their uniforms; they would make a fine honor guard.

  As they boarded the shuttle, he glanced around and wondered if he’d be coming back to Hellhole. His honor guard took their seats in silence. Adolphus missed the joking and nervous camaraderie of brave soldiers who were about to go on a risky mission.

  After the rumbling launch was over, the General opened a channel to the stringline hub, using the wide-field imager so that George Komun could see the fifteen uniformed passengers. “We’re on our way, George. Myself and a small escort, as you demanded. We have to start the planetary evacuation immediately. I trust you’ll be true to your word.”

  Komun looked disheartened. “There was a time when you never would have doubted me, General. I give you my assurance that as soon as you surrender, we can start saving Hellhole’s people. I’ll make all of my ships available to take refugees as well.” He frowned. “I know you are true to your word.”

  Adolphus said, “I’m careful when I make my promises—that way I don’t have to worry about breaking them. But you’ve put me in an impossible position. So long as you’ve got explosives rigged throughout the stringline hub, I will take no action against you. You have the upper hand.”

  The shadow-Xayans, however, would change all that.

  After reviewing all available records of the Candela mass exodus, he had assigned teams to develop and implement evacuation orders for Hellhole. Tanja Hu had done a remarkable job in an exceedingly short period of time, hindered by a lack of ships and resources. Adolphus didn’t have that limitation, but he had many other stumbling blocks. Hellhole’s evacuation would be frantic, but should be more successful.

  First, however, he had to recapture the stringline hub.

  On the ride up to orbit, he transmitted to the Jacob. “Lieutenant Sendell, I want all your ships ready to commence a full-scale evacuation as soon as I finish my business with Administrator Komun. If all turns out well, he will not restrict your activities.”

  “Yes, General. Our ships are prepared to go.”

  “Komun knows that every delay cuts down on the number of people we can save,” Adolphus said. Sendell had his orders, but would wait for a signal from the General, which would determine how he was to proceed.

  The shuttle reached the commandeered stringline hub without incident. The Umber peacekeeper ships were docked at ten of the hub’s major stringline nodes, while five of them remained mobile and prepared for a space battle, weapons powered up and standing by. To maintain parity, Lieutenant Sendell flew the Jacob in close while coordinating sixteen battleships that General Adolphus had pulled together. Since George Komun was prepared to detonate his mines and destroy the hub, none of the General’s ships dared open fire.

  They docked at the orbiting hub complex, which was far smaller than the gigantic Sonjeera facility, but still a large and impressive station.

  When the General disembarked in the unloading bay, he was met by uneasy-looking security guards, private hires from Umber who didn’t even have formal uniforms. The Umber security team carried projectile sidearms as a formality, although they clearly didn’t expect a shootout. He gave them only a dismissive nod and walked past them, followed by his fifteen-member uniformed escort, all of whom appeared to be unarmed.

  The leader of the security team hurried to take control. “This way, General. We arranged a room for your surrender. We need a formal record of the event so Administrator Komun can show Diadem Riomini that he fulfilled the terms of their agreement.”

  Adolphus was impatient. “Just take me to George.” He intentionally used the familiar first name to emphasize that they had once been friends and allies.

  Following alongside in their rebellion uniforms, his escort remained silent. Adolphus thought Peter Herald and the others looked sleepy, their veiled, human-looking eyes half-lidded, as they went through the motions. But he knew their focus was elsewhere, their minds reaching out with telemancy.

  When the group arrived at a reception chamber, the guards frisked Adolphus and his companions before letting them inside. “Sorry about this, sir. We have to make sure you’re carrying no weapons.”

  He sounded indignant. “I gave my word I would bring none.” He was just glad they didn’t notice the transmitter he had hidden in a button on the cuff of his uniform shirt.

  Komun wasn’t there yet. The reception chamber was empty, so Adolphus had to wait. The traitor probably viewed his deliberate tardiness as a way of emphasizing control, an amateurish game that Adolphus had not expected. The delay worked to their advantage, though, because it gave his team a few more moments to prepare themselves. The secret shadow-Xayans continued to concentrate.

  When Komun finally arrived with his own guards, he looked at the General, then cast his eyes down. He seemed ashamed—as he should be. “General Adolphus, I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I’m glad you finally decided to be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable? I would define it more as being without options.”

  Komun frowned. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I needed to think of my own people and my world.”

  “That’s the difference between us, George. I’m thinking about all the worlds in the Deep Zone, including yours. As well as the Xayan race, who have been marked for genocide. I intend to evacuate my planet, and for that I need the stringline hub that ties our transportation network together. What else could I do? Let everyone on my planet die because of my pride? You forced me to do this.” While Komun struggled to find a justification, Adolphus glanced to his side, asking, “Mr. Herald, your report?”

  Beads of perspiration covered Herald’s forehead. All fifteen members of Adolphus’s escort crew were also sweating. At last, the veteran gave a slight nod. “It is done, General. We are safe.”

  “You are certain of this?”

  Komun was growing angry. “What are you talking about?”

  Peter Herald said, “Absolutely certain, General.”

  Adolphus touched the transmitter button at his cuff. “Lieutenant Sendell, this is General Adolphus. You may commence firing.”

  “What is this? What’s going on?” Komun demanded. His guards drew their sidearms.

  Sendell’s voice was tinny in the miniature speaker, but his excitement was plain. “Yes, sir! Congr
atulations, General.”

  Komun pulled out a small handheld transmitter from his pocket, raised it up. “I’m not bluffing, General! I will trigger the mines. One button, and I destroy all the stringline nodes.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Adolphus said calmly, as small blasts of telemancy flung the weapons from the hands of the guards. “But I think you’ll find them inactive.”

  External explosions rang out, muffled by the station bulkheads—but it was not the booby-trapped bombs Komun had threatened to trigger. Alarms began to sound throughout the stringline hub. The traitor received a chatter of reports. “We’re under attack! The DZDF ships have opened fire!” came over the comm system. There were screams, explosions; some of the transmissions cut off in static.

  Komun was outraged, and his eyes glistened with tears. He waved the transmitter. “General, you’re forcing me to do this. I wasn’t kidding—I will blow the stringlines!”

  “You no longer have that capability.”

  Komun’s look of despair shifted to furious determination. He pushed the button on the transmitter, but nothing happened. He pushed it again … nothing.

  The external bombardment against the Umber ships continued, the General’s coordinated attack hitting precise targets among the other vessels. He and Lieutenant Sendell had previously identified surgical strikes that would wipe out weapon batteries, but without damaging the vessels themselves unless absolutely necessary. Adolphus knew it wouldn’t take his combat-hardened fighters long to defeat these amateur rebels.

  Komun looked aghast. “We still have you, General. I—”

  Peter Herald and the other converts turned toward the Umber security guards, who were attempting to retrieve their sidearms. As the silent shadow-Xayans concentrated, the guards could not move their arms or legs, could not get to their weapons. The alien eyes now shone with an eerie, softly glowing spiraling effect.

  Unhindered now, General Adolphus stepped over to George Komun and pulled the useless detonation transmitter out of the man’s hands, tossing it aside like a discarded toy.

  Adolphus regarded him with an icy gaze. “George, you were with me from the beginning of our rebellion. As the war changed and circumstances changed, so did my tactics. I had to learn new fighting methods to take advantage of whatever was available to me. There are thousands of these shadow-Xayans in our ranks. You were here while we trained them to use their telemancy. You should have planned for that eventuality. I knew it would surprise the Diadem and Commodore Hallholme, but you?” Adolphus shook his head.

  Komun’s voice quavered. “I didn’t understand the extent of what they could do. All right, I … I surrender! I’ll have my people help you evacuate. You can still use my ships—”

  “My ships.” The General stepped over to one of the still-struggling Umber security men, bent over, and picked up the projectile weapon he had dropped. The converts used their telemancy to gather up the rest of the discarded weapons and fuse them together into a useless pile of metal.

  “George Komun, you are a traitor to the Deep Zone and to our independence. You decided to deal with the Constellation after we had already declared our independence. You tried to force my surrender, which would have brought about the downfall of all Deep Zone worlds and would certainly have resulted in my own execution.”

  He checked the firearm, activated the firing stud. “But worst of all, George, this worthless stunt of yours made us lose a day that we don’t have to spare, where we could have been evacuating people. That alone may have cost thousands of lives. I have more justification than I need, and I cannot afford any further distractions or betrayals. I have a planet to save. As the duly assigned planetary administrator of Hellhole, as well as the acknowledged leader of the Deep Zone, I pass your sentence.”

  “Please, General! I can—”

  Adolphus fired once in the center of the man’s forehead and then turned, not bothering to see Komun fall. His shadow-Xayan escort released the security team from their telemancy hold. The guards were in shock. Two of them ran to the dead administrator on the floor.

  Adolphus barked orders. “Now let’s move out! We have an evacuation to get underway.”

  55

  Ishop Heer awoke in a foul mood, still a prisoner. This austere, guarded bungalow was so far from what he’d known in the Crown Jewels that he could hardly bear to think about it.

  With constant jabs, insults, and humiliations, Michella had provoked his hatred of her. His initial reason for wanting to murder a Duchenet—any Duchenet—had been to avenge an ancient injustice; now, his hatred was personal, a new injustice that was as fresh as a new stab wound. The old bitch had killed Laderna! That had been the last straw. Back on Tehila, he had thrown in his lot with Enva Tazaar and her grand plans to destroy the Diadem, but she’d betrayed him at the first opportunity.

  Ishop still wanted to kill Michella, more than ever. Now that everything else had fallen apart—abandoned by the Constellation, stripped of their power and possessions, and now with asteroids hurtling toward Hellhole—he began to realize that murdering Michella must be an end unto itself.

  He faced the very real possibility that he might not get away from here, that he might perish on Hellhole—but he had been battered about enough. He had been stepped on, cast aside, but he refused to be defeated. If nothing else, he was determined to see the old crone dead before he died himself.

  Through the mesh-glass window in his bungalow, he watched Sophie Vence emerge from the adjacent building with old Michella. The deposed Diadem wore the same dress she’d been captured in, preferring it to the serviceable jumpsuit she’d been given aboard Ian Walfor’s ship. Michella looked not only angry, but helpless and pathetic.

  In contrast, Sophie stood strong and proud. What a dichotomy between the two women! Sophie had a grace, confidence, and a beauty that did not require makeup or fine gowns. On the other hand, when away from the protective trappings of Sonjeera, old Michella just looked like a hag.

  Both women appeared as troubled and dangerous as the low-hanging clouds closing in on the valley. When she noticed him staring through the bungalow window, Michella imperiously motioned for Ishop to come outside, and Sophie told the guards to let him out. The rest of the Slickwater Springs camp seemed in turmoil, people packing, preparing to evacuate, while even the converts seemed more agitated than usual.

  Sophie ushered the two of them, under guard, toward the main lodge building. Michella explained to him, as if she were still the leader of the Constellation, “Twenty asteroids will impact this planet in a matter of days. I must be taken to safety immediately.”

  “All of us need to evacuate,” Sophie corrected, “but we can’t do so, because a traitor seized control of our stringline hub.”

  “An unexpected loyalist,” Michella corrected. “He will let me join him up there.”

  “If he knows you are no longer Diadem, maybe he won’t be so eager to help you,” Ishop pointed out.

  Michella sniffed. “A temporary situation, easily rectified. I will have the Star Throne back, Ishop. And I will crush all these gadflies who insulted and injured me.” She gave Sophie Vence a withering but ineffective glare.

  Sophie urged them forward. “It’s out of your hands. The General is managing the situation on the stringline hub as we speak.”

  Alarmed, Ishop insisted, “We are political prisoners. You are obligated to keep me and Diadem Michella safe. I know what General Adolphus told you. You must make arrangements to get us away from this planet before the asteroids get any closer.”

  Arching her eyebrows, Sophie said, “The General made those promises when you were a valuable bargaining chip. Now you’re just an inconvenience. Michella Duchenet is worth no more than anyone else. Never was, if you ask me.” As they neared the lodge building, she looked up at the foreboding sky. “We’ve started preparations for planetary exodus, just in case, but satellites report that a heavy smoke storm is closing in on the valley, so there won’t be any outbound flights
for a while. We’d better all get inside our primary shelter—and I want Michella close to the comm-center, in case she has to issue orders against deluded individuals who still fight on her behalf.”

  The old woman sounded petulant. “I will not.” She seemed to expect that Ishop would applaud her defiant attitude. He could barely hide his scorn for her.

  “If you are so uncooperative, I’ll arrange for you to be the last one to evacuate the planet,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. “Or better yet, you can stay outside right now, see how you fare commanding the storm to respect your mightiness.” Ignoring the Diadem, Sophie spoke into an earadio, sending orders to resort staff as well as the nearby POW camp for everyone to secure what they could and hunker down for cover.

  When they were halfway to the lodge house, the ground shook so hard that Ishop staggered, barely able to stay on his feet. A strong quake. Michella managed to keep her footing, but Ishop could barely keep himself stable as the ground wrenched beneath their feet. The encroaching smoke storm descended into the Slickwater Springs valley like a living thing, with a leading edge of thick mist that curled around the buildings.

  Sophie nudged both Ishop and Michella toward the sturdy lodge building. “Inside! These structures are designed to provide shelter against whatever Hellhole throws at us.”

  People ran for cover, in all directions. As the quake intensified, cracks split the dry ground near the main building, and to Ishop’s surprise swarms of burrowing insects poured out from their buried nests beneath the lodge complex. The buzzing sound was even louder than the encroaching storm.

  As the shadow-Xayan guards rushed them toward the steps and the main entrance to the lodge, something stung Ishop’s arm, and he slapped at it, crushing a dark red insect. More live insects whistled past him, launching themselves like projectiles. Three more struck him like tiny hot bullets, and he slapped them away. He saw that they had no wings.

  Sophie swatted at her arms and shoulders as she ran. “Torpedo ants!” She ducked as several more sped past, but the cloud of emerging insects boiled up from the broken nests as if maddened by the quake, the smoke storm, and the moving people. “Get inside.”