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We dedicate this book to the many readers who enjoy our Dune novels, as well as this original series and our other books. Thank you for your years of support, interest, and enthusiasm, and all of your many letters and comments.
Acknowledgments
All of our books are complicated undertakings, and we cannot do them alone. As always and more than anything, we want to express our thanks and deep love to our wives, Janet Herbert and Rebecca Moesta, who provide more support in all ways than we can possibly say.
For Hellhole Awakening we are especially indebted to the tremendous support from Tom Doherty, our publisher at Tor, and the editorial work of Pat LoBrutto, Maxine Hitchcock, and Emily Husain, and the support of our agent, John Silbersack. Mary Thomson provided excellent transcription support.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Appendix A
Appendix B
Consolidated Glossary
Other Books by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson
About the Authors
Copyright
1
The growler storm rolled over the landscape of Hellhole, a riot of static discharges and blistering wind. The electric bursts etched glassy scars along the ground, scattered pebbles and dust, and splintered a spindly tree on the edge of the spaceport landing field.
High-resolution weather satellites had observed and followed the storm as it came over the hills toward Michella Town. The colonists took shelter in their reinforced homes, protected from the planet’s persistent violence. They were accustomed to the destructive vagaries of Hellhole’s weather, the frequent quakes and everyday shifts in wind. By now, they knew how to survive here.
On the outskirts of town, Elba, the large headquarters-residence of General Tiber Adolphus, stood armored against the storm: The sealed window plates and thick doors held firm, and the wind moaned with frustration as it pressed against the structure. Grounded lightning rods dissipated the repeated blasts.
Standing at the reinforced window plate, Adolphus stared out at the wind-whipped landscape. During the first desperate years of the Hellhole colony, growler storms had taken a high toll, but now the fury was just part of daily existence. Static discharges exploded in the sky like weapon blasts. He saw the weather as a metaphor, an apt one.
The storm is coming. The members of his strategy session were safe for the moment, but soon a far more destructive hurricane would arrive when Diadem Michella Duchenet sent her Army of the Constellation against the upstart rebels.
Sophie Vence brought him a cup of hot kiafa to drink before the strategy meeting resumed. “This is recently harvested, our best crop yet. Another step toward providing civilized amenities out here.”
He sipped the hot beverage and nodded. “Further amenities can wait until I secure our freedom.”
It was here, inside the meeting room of his headquarters, that he had conspired with a select group of like-minded planetary administrators to construct their own transportation network that did not rely on the old government. And they had done it right under the Diadem’s nose. Now that the isolated frontier worlds were connected by the new stringline network, they could become self-sufficient, without paying exorbitant tribute to the Diadem Michella.
Holding his cup of kiafa, Adolphus took a seat at the planning table. “The Constellation fleet will be coming—we can be certain of that. Sonjeera received our announcement more than a month ago and killed our ambassadors two weeks ago. We know Diadem Michella will respond.”
“We’ve been preparing for this all along, quietly building up our defenses. Each day, we get more and more ready.” Bony Craig Jordan, his security chief, was proud of the hodgepodge Hellhole military. A veteran from the first rebellion, he had been protecting the General for years in his exile. Now, during the rapid military preparations, Jordan managed part of Hellhole’s defensive army.
“The Army of the Constellation is a lumbering beast, widespread, mismanaged, hobbled by its own bureaucracy. That buys us a little time.” Adolphus tapped his fingers on the table. “Their fleet is being assembled, armed, loaded, and supplied right now—a gigantic operation for which they are ill prepared. The Diadem is impatient, but confident in her overwhelming strength. She will try to destroy everything on Hellhole, just to make an example of us.” He showed strength by maintaining a smile on his face. “I would prefer not to let that happen. Therefore, we have to outsmart them—that’s all there i
s to it.”
Jordan let out a boisterous laugh that carried more velocity than his frame seemed capable of delivering. “Diadem Michella has a habit of underestimating you, sir. When she exiled you to Hellhole, she didn’t expect you or our colony to survive, much less prosper.”
“We can hope she’s too old to learn any new lessons,” Sophie said, her voice laced with equal parts bitterness and sarcasm. She had been both his sounding board and lover for years. With gray eyes and wavy dark hair, she was beautiful without relying on elaborate makeup, hairstyles, jewels, or fashions. Although she owned a house in the heart of Michella Town, she spent most of her time with him at Elba these days. Not only was it practical to have her here at his headquarters when they had war planning to do, but she also made the place feel more like a home.
As if to express frustration, a tantrum of wind hurled itself at the house, but was unable to reach the people protected within. Adolphus turned to the other strategists in the room; they still looked windblown, although they had arrived before the storm struck in full force. None of them seemed bothered by the violent growler outside.
The exiled lordling Cristoph de Carre said, “No one disagrees with you, sir, but how do we ensure it? We should buy more time.” His face became angry, perhaps as he recalled the tragedies that had driven him out here. “I suggest we blow the stringline substations, cut ourselves off from the Crown Jewels, and just be done with it. It’s the only way to be sure.”
“That remains a final option.” Adolphus frowned. “But it’s a desperate one, and very costly to reverse.”
“If we cut all the stringlines,” Sophie said, “it’ll take years to reconnect, and possibly more iperion than we have.”
“But at least we’d be safe…,” Cristoph persisted.
“Unless it starts a civil war here in the Deep Zone,” the General pointed out. If he completely severed contact with the Crown Jewels, his fragile coalition might not survive the uproar. “We can’t afford the distraction.”
He knew that six DZ leaders had already voiced resentment over how his decisions placed their people in danger. They had never asked to become embroiled in a vast rebellion, but they had been swept up in it anyway. Though the frontier worlds overwhelmingly wanted independence, Adolphus had forced the matter. There was no turning back. When faced with retaliation from the Constellation, he worried that those surly administrators might turn against him. For security, he had stationed extra warships—ships he couldn’t spare—at those planets, ostensibly to help protect against the Diadem’s incursions.
Adolphus held up a hand before Cristoph could argue further. “We have other alternatives at the moment. Planning makes the reality.” The General had proved that time and again, achieving seemingly impossible military victories because he could see several moves ahead on the most complex of game boards. He expected to do it again.
Next to Cristoph de Carre, the Diadem’s tall, auburn-haired daughter spoke up. “And we have our telemancy. The Constellation fleet cannot be prepared for that.” Keana’s voice changed, becoming more flat and formal as her inner alien companion, Uroa, took control. “This is the Xayan homeworld, too. We will use our powers to protect it.”
As strange as it felt to allow Michella’s only child to participate in this planning meeting, Keana Duchenet was a powerful telemancer with the Xayan memories inside of her, capable of tremendous psychic powers. Worst case, she made a potentially valuable hostage.
The growler continued to cause havoc outside, moaning and scraping along the walls of the main house. A static discharge exploded in a geyser of sparks in the General’s yard. The house lights flickered, but came back on.
“No matter what, we can put up a hell of a fight—much more than the old bitch suspects.” Sophie rattled off the numbers without even consulting her data display. “We’ve had more than a month of full-bore military preparations across the Deep Zone, and plenty more already in place. Our factories are producing metals and equipment at breakneck speed. Right now, the DZ Defense Force has twenty-one military ships, and we’ve armed and refitted another seventy-five at Buktu. They’re on their way here now.”
In Michella Town, Sophie managed warehouses full of incoming goods and a set of productive greenhouses; at the distant outpost of Slickwater Springs, she also oversaw the settlement of “shadow-Xayan” converts, human volunteers who had merged their consciousnesses with ancient alien memories. She performed her work with extraordinary skill and had become one of the largest commercial brokers on the planet. Adolphus had made her his chief quartermaster, whose job was to prepare everyone on Hellhole for the lean times ahead.
Now, ignoring the building storm outside, the General looked at all of his advisers, waited for silence. “I don’t expect it’ll come to an outright military confrontation. I have a plan.” He smiled. “It’s a matter of timing and strategic use of information. I still have many loyalists in the Crown Jewels, and some of them even work for the military. Very soon now, I expect to receive details of the offensive operation Diadem Michella plans to send against us, the exact numbers of ships and crew, as well as the precise departure date. She wants to make a grandiose gesture—which takes time. Enough time for us to prepare a trap.”
Craig Jordan grinned. “A trap! Now that’s what I like to hear.”
“Don’t cut it too close, sir,” Cristoph warned.
“The General can make it happen.” Sophie had no doubt in her voice.
2
Red Commodore Escobar Hallholme monitored operations in the command tower of the fleet base, gazing across the sunlit military operations that stretched as far as he could see. A blond man in his thirties, Escobar drew a deep breath, let it out slowly to quell his impatience. This was maddening. He had envisioned charging off to battle on a moment’s notice, overwhelming the enemy of the Constellation, planting his flag in the history books.
Such a large military operation had turned out to be more preparation than action.
After General Adolphus’s heinous act, thousands of soldiers had responded to the call, rushing to the main base on the planet Aeroc. They were the finest troops in the Army of the Constellation, with the most advanced equipment and the best training. In the name of the Diadem Michella Duchenet, they would grind this new uprising to dust and defeat the rebel General once and for all. Escobar would recapture the planet Hallholme—which was named for his father, after all—and earn his own prominent place in history, perhaps even a greater place than old Commodore Hallholme’s. And why not, since he was finishing the job the old man had left incomplete.
Escobar studied the mounting tallies on an interactive admin-image in the air to his right, noted the shipments received and distributed, the materiel and personnel yet to be launched, the armed vessels arriving from other Crown Jewel planets still waiting to be installed aboard one of the giant haulers.
For weeks, Aeroc had been a beehive of activity as the massive military operation was mounted. Crews loaded upboxes full of munitions and supplies for the fleet; each day, dozens of upboxes launched into orbit, where they were transferred to the one hundred capital ships installed aboard five huge military stringline hauler frameworks. Soon, fifteen thousand uniformed fighters and support crew would shuttle up on troop transports to fill the great vessels. The fleet carried a higher than optimal percentage of officers, because every noble family wanted to claim that a son or daughter had participated in the glorious, final defeat of General Adolphus.
Yes, it was an impressive operation, yet daunting and unwieldy.
Two weeks ago, Diadem Michella had stood in the Council Hall and declared war. Because the General’s announcement had taken the Constellation completely by surprise, the Constellation fleet wasn’t ready.
Escobar was anxious to go. “This is too damned slow!” he said into the unit’s receiver.
“We can’t leave before everything’s loaded, sir,” the response came over his earadio. Logistics Officer Bolton Crais was a si
lver major in the fleet and the mission’s second in command—not because of military prowess or competence, but because his wife, the Diadem’s daughter Keana, remained a prisoner of the General’s. “A poorly planned mission is a disaster waiting to happen.”
Escobar sighed, wondering if his father had ever been forced to wait for weeks before he engaged his nemesis. The old Commodore told interminable stories, but rarely included bureaucratic details. “What excuses do you have for me today, Major? Are we at least on your revised schedule?”
“I’ll be right up, sir. We need to talk about this.”
Escobar made a sound in his throat halfway between a groan and a growl. At least the situation would advance his own military career. Having recently been promoted to the rank of Redcom for this assault, he intended to demonstrate the superiority of his skills as a decision maker and leader. If Commodore Percival Hallholme had killed Adolphus when he had the chance, the rebel General would not now be tearing apart the Constellation.…
He heard the machinery of the tower lift, and Major Bolton Crais stepped out, tall and slender in his gold-and-black uniform, with the silver rank insignia on his collar. Crais stepped up to the projected columns of numbers that hung in the air. “A shortage of upboxes has created a new bottleneck, sir. Our crews have to wait for the containers to come back before we can load them again. As I explained in my memo several days ago, we were forced to decommission an entire shipment of defective upboxes, all from one manufacturer.”
Escobar scowled. “You’re supposed to be the logistics expert. You should have tested all of the upboxes ahead of time.”
Crais did not let the criticism wash over him, as a lower-ranking officer should have. “Sir, you opted not to waste time testing the new deliveries. Time was of the essence.”
Escobar did not know how to direct his frustration. “Our task force is on a fast track, Major. The Diadem wants Adolphus’s head delivered to her on a platter, and Lord Riomini demands the swift and efficient deployment of the fleet. It’s been weeks already!”
“I understand, Redcom. You, and the Black Lord, have my apologies. Swift and efficient are often at odds, however. From the moment I became involved, I began to discover problems with the planning, not to mention unrealistic expectations. The Army of the Constellation has been weighed down with bureaucracy and nepotism for years, and the past decade of peace has made our soldiers soft and unprepared for war.”
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