Hellhole: Awakening

by Brian Herbert

  After checking, the engineer said, “Eleven of the twelve platforms are still functional, though their charges were diminished by the initial fight. We never had a chance to reload and reconfigure. We have fighter craft, too, but they’re busy trying to keep the captured fleet from burning up.”

  Adolphus knew he had ten of his own DZ warships with full weapons systems, but their crews were minimal and he didn’t know how much benefit they would be in a fight against such a skilled opponent. He folded his hands together as his mind raced through the worrisome details. At least he had something left. “I’ll make the most of the few shots we have in our arsenal. Keep me linked with the firing crews for the weapons platforms.”

  The Commodore’s battle group closed in, demanding his surrender. These unexpected reinforcements could not have arrived at a worse possible time, but maybe his old nemesis did not know how bad Adolphus’s situation was. The Commodore could see confusion in the ranks, scattered ships, vessels burning up in the atmosphere. Hallholme could draw his own conclusions.…

  Nevertheless, Adolphus would do his best to bluff. He was good at it. “Cover up our repair activities on the bridge. Put the imagers tight in on me, then respond to the Commodore’s codecall.” He mastered the emotions on his face, fell into his well-practiced routine.

  One of the engineers made a quick adjustment. “Go ahead, General.”

  Adolphus said, “Commodore Hallholme, greetings from your son’s flagship. I’m surprised to see you here at my planet. I don’t believe I extended an invitation.”

  As he stared at the old man, he could not push aside the resonant memories from the last time, when he’d faced this man’s vile tricks over Sonjeera. Adolphus had been in a much better position then, his ships far outnumbering the opposing fleet. The Diadem’s forces had been backed into a corner, and that battle should have been their last stand.

  Now the old Commodore stared back at him. His hair was silver now, his muttonchop whiskers bushier, and his eyes looked more tired than Adolphus remembered them. “Diadem Michella gave me orders to finish the job, General. You’ve tested her patience enough, and she has authorized me to end this conflict by any means necessary.”

  General Adolphus scoffed. “Any means necessary—as Lord Riomini did to Theser? As you yourself did to me on Sonjeera?” He made a sound of disgust. “What helpless hostages will you cower behind this time?”

  On the screen, Hallholme looked queasy, as if he had bitten into a large sournut. “I do have … human leverage with us, General—as before—if you force me to use it. The success of my mission is paramount.” Hallholme’s face looked grave. “I apologize for the tactic, but this is war.”

  On the screen, he displayed a group of captive colonists from Buktu, two hundred workers from the shipyards, ice fields, and fuel-processing facilities. Adolphus recognized Erik Anderlos. He remained rigid and cold.

  “We captured Buktu,” the old Commodore continued. “The facilities remain intact for the most part, and these hostages are unharmed. But you know what I am willing to do.”

  “Yes, I know, Commodore. Your lack of honor is deeply troubling. You are as bad as your son.”

  A flush of anger rose on Hallholme’s face, but before he could reply the comm-network on the Diadem’s Glory showered sparks. The Commodore’s image flickered to static and went blank. Adolphus yelled over his shoulder, “I need him back!” He had not wanted to let his rival see the damage to the Constellation flagship; unfortunately, that part of the bluff would no longer be effective.

  When the old man again stared back at him on the screen, Adolphus said, “Sorry for the interruption, Commodore—we had a brief technical difficulty. Your son’s flagship suffers from … maintenance issues.”

  “You should take better care of the Diadem’s ships,” Hallholme said. “I shall order full diagnostics and refurbishing after you surrender them.”

  Adolphus leaned forward on his command chair, his face a mask that belied the tense situation. “You taught me an entirely new set of tactics, Commodore Hallholme, so I’m sure you will appreciate the turnabout I have for you.” He glanced over at the young, harried-looking software technician who had jury-rigged the comm-system. “Pipe up our images from the prisoner-of-war camp. Show the Commodore exactly who we have in our custody.”

  Although the new comm-officer took longer than expected, Adolphus continued to focus his gaze on Percival Hallholme. Finally the images streamed across the screen, showing the hastily erected tents and prefab shelters, and the crowds of crewmembers from the battleships he had captured. “Thousands of Constellation soldiers have surrendered to us, Commodore, including Major Bolton Crais. Eleven thousand prisoners, give or take. Oh, and we have your son Escobar.”

  The images showed gaunt and severely malnourished captives standing about in the dusty, miserable camp. One image even showed Escobar Hallholme, who stood outside one of the tents, looking defeated. Although the soldiers were starving when they’d been captured, the Commodore would assume that Adolphus had held them in squalid conditions for months. Let the old man draw his own frightening and incorrect conclusions; they made for a better negotiating position.

  Adolphus did not react when a software tech, sweating over the half-dismantled weapons control panel, held up a display board on which he had scrawled: “WE HAVE TWO SHOTS—NO MORE.”

  The eleven automated weapons platforms were in position, ready for a surprise broadside, along with the ten original DZ warships, manned by skeleton crews. Adolphus would use the flagship’s weapons only as a last resort, if Commodore Hallholme fired upon him. The desperately wounded Diadem’s Glory could not endure the pounding for more than a minute.

  * * *

  When Percival saw the images, the thunder of his own pulse echoed in his ears. After Escobar’s fleet vanished months ago, the Commodore feared Adolphus had done something terrible. Now he knew that the rebel General was willing to ignore the line he had previously refused to cross—and the Commodore couldn’t blame him.

  “Sorry, sir,” Adkins said after silencing the codecall line; they were alone.

  Percival felt incredibly weary. “Are you going to advise me to open fire anyway, Duff?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of instructing the most talented commander I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

  Percival stared at the screen. “Your advice, please.”

  “Honestly, sir, I can’t think of anything to do. We’ve never faced anything like this. They have your son, so I must defer to whatever you think is best.”

  “In other words, I’m on my own.”

  “I will support your decision, whatever it is, sir,” his old friend said. “We all will.”

  In the harsh prisoner-of-war camp, the gaunt Constellation soldiers were obviously being mistreated. The old Commodore was surprised Adolphus would stoop to such appalling levels … but he himself had tortured civilian family members in front of the General, so he could not claim the moral high ground. He should have learned his own lesson from the General’s previous failure. His decision should be clear.

  But he has my son hostage!

  Percival could never face the Diadem if he refused to do what was necessary, if he failed this crucial test. He needed to win, regardless of the cost. But how could he ever look at Elaine and his grandsons if he simply threw away Escobar’s life as the cost for victory?

  “Prepare to fire,” he said. “Target the flagship—it looks damaged. But also prepare to cut loose a full barrage on those other ships. We outnumber them, and they don’t appear to be in any shape to stand up to a heavy pounding.”

  “The General may just be tricking us,” Adkins muttered.

  “If so, it’s a pretty damned sophisticated trick.” When Adkins opened the codecall line again, the Commodore addressed his rival once more, “You should know one more thing, General. Call it a confession of sorts.” Smiling, he exuded calm confidence. “During the Battle of Sonjeera, Diadem Michella obligated
me to use barbaric tactics, and for that I am not proud. After she exiled you, however—when she sabotaged your supplies and equipment and tried to make you fail—my bruised and scarred conscience could not tolerate that. So I arranged secret deliveries to help you make it through that first year. Your colony might not have survived without me.” He sat in silence for a long moment, letting the astounding news sink in. “General, I am your benefactor.”

  * * *

  Adolphus reeled at the revelation. He’d never known who had secretly padded the shipments, sending lifesaving equipment and vital foodstuffs that kept them alive during those first months. That act of kindness had enabled his exiled refugees to survive until their residences were built and their greenhouses became functional, until their crops produced enough to feed the people. Commodore Hallholme’s assistance had saved their lives.

  Then he felt strengthened by a rigid determination. “And you think that will stay my hand? Once you have lost your honor, Commodore, you can’t buy it back in a fit of conscience.” He muted the audio and barked over the secure channel, “Ground crews, launch the first salvo from the weapons platforms! Thirty seconds after that, I want all DZ warship crews to open fire.”

  He saw a flurry of fire from the small unmanned defensive stations in orbit, and seizing his advantage, he turned to the engineer who had become the de facto weapons officer. “Fire our two shots now—and make them count.”

  The young officer didn’t hesitate and launched the projectiles directly toward Hallholme’s flagship.

  But even before the shots struck, before the General could see whether he had dealt a crippling blow to his enemy, a ripple of feedback explosions cascaded around the bridge of the Diadem’s Glory. The weapons station, comm-station, and navigation panels geysered with sparks as if small explosives had been planted deep within the workings. The bridge viewscreen went dead and black, and then the flagship lurched downward again, plunging toward the atmosphere.

  “What just happened?” Adolphus demanded. “Did our shots hit? Did the Commodore return fire?”

  Frantically his officers struggled at the controls, but every system had been deactivated. “That wasn’t return fire, sir—at least not yet.”

  In a leaden voice, the software engineer said, “It was another computer virus—tied into the weapons systems. One shot, and now this whole ship is dead, every system fried.”

  The flagship had been barely functional, held together with a string of jury-rigged emergency repairs. Now the deck rocked and trembled as the atmosphere buffeted the vessel, and it plunged back toward Hellhole again.

  “We’re going down, General. We have no control whatsoever.”

  92

  The guards around the prisoner-of-war camp remained tense as the battle continued overhead, concerned that the captives would stage an uprising. On the ground they had only hints of the drama skittering through the atmosphere, but everyone understood what was at stake, both the people of Hellhole and the captives from the Army of the Constellation. The prisoners had given their word not to resist when they thought they had no other chance, but now, knowing that legendary Commodore Hallholme had come to rescue them, many of them reconsidered.

  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.