Hellhole: Awakening

by Brian Herbert

  “How are they moving? I thought their engines were destroyed.”

  “No engine signatures at all, Commodore,” reported the weapons tech. “Something else is happening—it’s scrambling our sensors.”

  Then the psychic wave struck Percival’s warship as well. Telemancy waves from the surface slapped the Commodore’s battle group—but instead of scattering and pushing them out of the way, this psychic blast burned out their weapons systems, melted down the gun ports. The artillery batteries belowdecks exploded.

  Alarms whooped throughout his ship and emergency signals came in from the other vessels in his battle group. With difficulty, Percival struggled to his feet. “What the hell is going on? What was that weapon?”

  Adkins turned pale as he looked at the preliminary readings. “Our defenses, our shields, our weapons—all neutralized, sir. We’re unarmed and helpless.”

  Then Percival knew. “The aliens did this! Do we have any functional weapons? Can we open fire at all?”

  “None, sir.” His aide seemed nonplussed and added with a splash of dry humor, “You didn’t think victory would be easy, did you?”

  “I never believed that, Duff, but the rebel ships are in disarray, the General’s forces are about to collapse … and now we have no weapons?”

  While his engineers scrambled with the systems, ripping out panels, trying to reroute, Percival had a feeling that there would be no simple fix. The initial report was as bad as he feared. “The weapons ports are completely melted, sir. There’s no way we can reset them, no reprogramming. They’re useless.”

  His voice was quiet. “And we are as defenseless as babes.”

  On the few remaining bridge screens, alarms began to signal. “Two big stringline haulers just came in, sir! Large vessels, military-capable—eleven of them are battleships.”

  “Where did the General get more ships?” Adkins asked.

  Percival did not know the answer.

  93

  When General Adolphus saw the large haulers arrive, he jumped to his feet on the flagship’s bridge. The man at the battered comm-station couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “They’re from Candela, sir!” He scrambled to clear the static from the signal on the damaged codecall system. “Loaded with refugees, requesting safe haven and assistance.”

  “They are also warships, fully armed and ready to fight,” Adolphus said. He had dispatched the ships himself to guard Tanja Hu’s planet against an attack—and they were a very welcome sight now. Sophie had already informed him that the shadow-Xayans had neutralized Commodore Hallholme’s weapons. “Connect me with the ship captains and the two hauler pilots.” He coughed and rubbed his eyes from the stinging smoke in the air as he called the freshly arrived vessels to prepare for battle.

  “But, sir!” one of the captains squawked on the secure channel. “We’re crowded deck after deck with refugees! We can’t go into military maneuvers!”

  “If you don’t, then you’re going to have to ask Diadem Michella for sanctuary instead,” Adolphus said. “The enemy can’t fire back—all their weapons are offline. Time to make our move.”

  As the Candela refugee ships closed in, several more of the General’s DZ Defense Force ships came around the planet’s rim, their hulls glinting as they emerged from the shadow.

  One of the remaining engineers on the bridge laughed. “The skeleton crews have finally rallied, sir.”

  The General smiled. “It looks that way.”

  The crowded Candela refugee vessels began taking potshots at the Commodore’s damaged attack fleet, hammering with all the weapons they had, not asking questions. Hallholme’s own flagship hung dead in orbital space, although the Diadem’s Glory was in no better shape.

  At least the General could use his own vessel, wounded though it might be, as a command center from which he could direct the still-functional ships. The automated weapons platforms managed another round of shots at Hallholme’s strike force before their energy reserves were depleted.

  He steepled his fingers and leaned over to watch, sensing a possible win despite the chaos. Finally, releasing a long breath, he sat up and activated the codecall to his opponent’s flagship. “Commodore Hallholme, my aliens have demonstrated their capabilities. They rendered your weapons useless, but they could just as easily have shut down your life-support systems or even blown your ships apart. You have been defeated. Cease hostilities, and I will accept your sword.” He paused, then added mildly, “I believe you’re familiar with the proper surrender ceremony?”

  “Let me get back to you on that, General Adolphus,” the old man said in a clipped tone. “Thank you for your patience.” The Commodore terminated the transmission.

  * * *

  “Immediate report,” Percival demanded. “Does anyone have weapons? I need to know our ability to fight back.”

  The grim answers flooded in from the other stunned vessels. Duff Adkins stood at the Commodore’s side, a sour expression on his ruddy face. “Nothing, sir. Every weapons system on every one of our ships is inoperative. No alternates available.”

  “How long until repairs are complete?” He tried to think of how he could stall. “Can we fix this?”

  Adkins frowned at him. “No, sir. Our guns are … ruined. Lumps of slag.”

  The unexpected ships from Candela closed in, their weapons systems glowing as they prepared to fire. The scattered and mostly empty Deep Zone defense ships had begun to rally, also closing in.

  “The Buktu hostages are the only gambit we have left, sir,” Adkins suggested. “How would Adolphus react if we threatened to execute them one by one?”

  A chill went through the Commodore’s chest. He stared at the oncoming warships, and when he didn’t answer, his adjutant pressed, “Last chance, sir. Shall I have Erik Anderlos brought to the bridge? He can be the first.”

  Slowly, Percival shook his head. “Not this time. I won’t do it.”

  “The Diadem would demand that you do everything necessary,” Adkins said. Each person on the bridge turned to the old Commodore, waiting for his decision.

  “Michella Duchenet is not the one sitting in the command chair, Duff. The Star Throne is very far from here.”

  “Sir! You can’t be contemplating surrender!”

  Percival knew what he had to do. After a tense moment of silence, he rose to his feet, not thinking about his aching body. “Tell the stringline pilot to power up the engines of the hauler. Our weapons systems may be inoperative, but our engines still function perfectly well. Transmit my orders to every ship in the battle group: Return to your designated docking clamps with all possible speed. We will retreat immediately along the iperion line back to Buktu.”

  The armed ships from Candela continued to close in, and he raised his voice. “Do it, now!”

  Like a released bowstring, the crew threw themselves into their assigned activities. The Commodore’s thirty impotent ships pulled away from orbit and retreated to the stringline hub, where the empty hauler waited for them.

  “I have never surrendered before, Duff, but I’ve never retreated either.”

  Percival knew all the logical reasons why he didn’t dare let General Adolphus capture him, even if it meant leaving his son behind. The great Commodore Hallholme could not be taken prisoner by the rebels! He could not allow Adolphus to capture his thirty ships, in addition to whatever the rebel leader salvaged from Escobar’s fleet. Surely, the General would turn them loose upon the Constellation.

  Adkins remained silent, although the bridge crew continued to bustle around them. After a long moment, the aide cleared his throat and said, “I agree that escape is preferable, sir. You can report back to the Diadem and fight another day.”

  “Believe me, this is not over.” He vowed to find some way to rescue Escobar and all the captured Constellation soldiers in the Hellhole prisoner-of-war camp, but he could not do it now.

  As the Commodore’s ships began to retreat, General Adolphus shouted orders across the o
pen channel. The refugee battleships from Candela raced in toward him, attempting to cut off his escape.

  “We can’t fight,” Percival said. “We have to outrun them—all possible speed!”

  They closed in on the giant stringline hauler, and the framework began to pull away along the iperion line where it had waited after dropping off the battle group. Now all those weaponless vessels raced back, trying to reach the hauler as the Deep Zone military accelerated after them.

  Percival said over the fleet channel in a maddeningly calm voice, “I would prefer not to leave any ship behind. Therefore, I’m counting on all of you not to make that necessary.”

  The outlying ships reached the stringline hauler, and with admirable precision they all linked up to the docking clamps. Just like a well-choreographed exercise. Percival was impressed by their efficiency, even though they had never drilled for such a speedy and large-scale retreat.

  Two guards arrived on the bridge of the flagship escorting Erik Anderlos in cuffs. The Buktu deputy looked rumpled, having worn the same clothes since Percival’s raid on the frozen planetoid, but he no longer seemed tired and defeated. Apparently he understood that the attack on Hellhole had failed.

  “So you’re running back to Buktu,” he said. “Why don’t you leave us behind? The General might be more lenient with you.”

  “No time for that, I’m afraid,” Percival said. “Adolphus is already after us, and I need to be out of here as swiftly as possible.”

  The flagship docked in its clamp on the stringline hauler. One by one, his warships acknowledged they were secure and ready for departure. “All vessels aboard, Commodore,” the hauler pilot transmitted.

  Closing in, the refugee ships from Candela fired, trying to damage the giant framework vessel.

  “Get us out of here!”

  Weapon strikes began to pepper the stringline hauler as it lumbered along the iperion path, accelerating until the hellish planet and the General’s defense ships blurred in the distance and vanished. At unimaginable speed, the Commodore’s ships headed back up the line toward Buktu. Percival suspected that General Adolphus would be on their heels as soon as he could rally his ships.

  The old Commodore sat back in his command chair, feeling sick with the taste of defeat.

  94

  Tanja chose to ride away from Candela with Ian Walfor, since his ship was one of the last to depart as the pair of deadly asteroids bore down on their collision course. Jacque, who had been held safely at the hub, came aboard the vessel after it docked, giving Tanja a long, wordless hug. Now the boy stood silently at a porthole, his eyes wide in horrified fascination.

  The first impact would occur within hours.

  In the chaos of mass evacuation, she had initially insisted that he go with the first loads of refugees down the stringline to Hellhole, but she wanted him at her side instead. She had agreed to allow Jacque to be with her when the asteroids struck. It was something he would never forget, something she couldn’t deny him. The death of a planet.

  And being with the boy made her feel strong, too. The two of them had lost so much, and now they were like life preservers for each other. Besides her growing affection for him, Tanja saw the ten-year-old as an anchor to her humanity. Maybe it would drown out the other nightmare that haunted him.

  Also aboard Walfor’s ship was the recovered, though still damaged, Original alien Tryn and the only surviving shadow-Xayan from the seed colony. The two of them wanted to witness the final hours of Candela as well. Twisted and bent over, Tel Clovis had difficulty moving, but he had leaned on the one-eyed Tryn as they boarded the craft together. They would all be the last witnesses.

  Thanks to the extra ships General Adolphus had sent from Hellhole, shuttle after shuttle had loaded with passengers. Evacuees were packed aboard every possible vessel, using every drop of fuel that could be scrounged from Candela. Each person barely had room to move, and there wasn’t enough food or other supplies for so many. But they would have to last only a few days until they all got back to the Hellhole stringline hub.

  The operation never stopped. Another loaded stringline hauler headed down the iperion line; the last few shuttles continued to climb up from orbit bearing the final refugees. That was all—no one else was going to escape. She had done her best.

  Despite all her efforts, thousands of people remained down there, trapped. Many out in the frontier had no idea of the imminent disaster. Perhaps they were the lucky ones. The whole planet would be their graveyard.

  The asteroids were still on course to strike, close enough to be visible in space.

  The last fully loaded iperion cargo ships reached orbit and headed toward the partially assembled stringline hub with its lines to Cles and Theser. A dozen loads of the rare mineral substance had been launched from the mines; the workers had scrounged every possible scrap before abandoning the operations six hours earlier.

  Walfor was sweating. “We’re cutting this close. Less than an hour until the first asteroid strikes, and the other one will hit before the end of the day.”

  “After the first strike, it doesn’t matter,” Tanja said, shaking her head. “An impact of that magnitude won’t leave anything for the second asteroid to destroy.”

  They stood in grim silence, and Walfor reached out to squeeze her hand. “You saved most of the people, Tanja. I never would have bet you’d rescue as many as you did. No one could have done better.”

  She couldn’t feel good about her supposed accomplishment. Even so, she knew the credit was not all hers. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Ian.” Her eyes burned, and she closed her eyes to block the view, but forced them open again to make sure she watched every last second of her beautiful, pristine planet. “You might think our effort would matter … and it should. But rather than thinking of everyone who will survive because we led the rescue operation, I can’t ignore those thousands who are unaccounted for. We’ll never know how many we left behind.” Tanja looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I failed them either way.”

  Moving with her unsettlingly soft gait, the malformed Tryn came into the small piloting deck, accompanied by limping Clovis. The Original alien waved her drooping, retractable feelers in the air while Tel leaned against her. “It is almost time.”

  Walfor switched the ship’s comm-system to play the flurry of reports over the speakers. “All but five loaded ships have departed on the stringline. One hauler is left, waiting for the last evacuees.”

  “They may as well stay and bear witness, as long as they’re safe.” She shook her head. “It’s not as if I can command them anymore.”

  “You’re still the planetary administrator.”

  “Not for much longer, without a planet.”

  Jacque came to her side, and he was shaking with fear. She put her arm around his shoulders, but the trembling did not subside. On the screen, satellite sensors displayed the two incoming asteroids, which were clearly visible against the starfield. Compared to the size of a planet, they were tiny pebbles; nevertheless, each terrible impact would send reverberations through the crust.

  The shock wave alone would kill most creatures—just like on Hellhole. Forests would be leveled, engulfed in flames; earthquakes would rip the continents apart. Cubic miles of the surface would be vaporized, saturating the atmosphere with ash. Nothing would be able to live on the devastated world for centuries. It would be a mortal wound, no doubt about it.

  The misshapen Original alien made a low humming sound, saddened and disturbed. “When Xaya faced a similar asteroid impact, five of us had already sealed ourselves in the museum vault. We never observed the end of our planet. And I am deeply saddened to witness this one.”

  “Here comes the first asteroid,” Walfor said.

  On the far right edge of the screen, one of the gigantic rocks rolled in, a cratered irregular lump almost a hundred kilometers in diameter. The asteroid looked graceful, even casual, as it tumbled toward its target.

  “It’s moving so
slowly,” Jacque said.

  “Just a matter of perspective,” Tanja answered. “It’s heading for Candela at fifty kilometers per second.” Much faster than any natural piece of space debris. The second asteroid was farther out, coming from a slightly different direction, aimed at the bull’s-eye of her world.

  “Candela … I built a home here.” She stared down at the familiar continents, the wispy clouds, the patches of green, the coastlines. “It was a new hope for us, a place where we could live by our own means and build a society that was our choice. I never expected it to be easy, but who could have anticipated a disaster of this scale?”

  Jacque looked up at her with his big brown eyes. His trembling had diminished. “Will General Adolphus find us a new home?”

  “Yes.” Tanja tried to sound as confident as possible, but the dread was suffocating her. Why was this happening? Two asteroids coming in like bullets from a celestial firing squad—it had to be the work of an intelligence she could not fathom.

  The first asteroid sailed along through the vacuum, then grazed Candela’s atmosphere and tunneled a hole through the sky. Burning its way to the surface, it struck with a slow-motion impact. Scarlet and orange shock waves rippled along with hot jagged fissures as the dissipating energy set the atmosphere on fire, carved an enormous crater in the crust, and shouldered aside mountain ranges.

  Tanja caught her breath. Even Walfor let out a shocked sound. Beside her, Jacque wept.

  In that one instant, everyone who had remained behind, everyone who had missed the evacuation call, was now dead. The impact had leveled every structure the colonists of Candela had ever built. The majestic floating towers in Saporo Harbor, the villages in the hills, the shadow-Xayan seed colony, the rich iperion mines.

  A thrumming ripple echoed through Ian Walfor’s ship. Tanja couldn’t believe it was a feedback or shock wave from the asteroid strike, but then she realized it was a telemancy echo, a vibration of despair emitted by Tryn and Clovis. “Exactly like what happened to Xaya five centuries ago,” the Original said in a quiet, throbbing voice.