Hellhole: Awakening (22 page)

Adolphus knew Tasmine was more than a household servant. She had told of the massacre the Diadem’s troops had imposed on Ridgetop, and her chilling tale had rallied many of the DZ worlds against the corrupt Crown Jewels.

Governor Goler showed Adolphus a polished rectangle of fused goldenwood planks the size of a coffin lid. Names had been laser-burned into the wooden surface, line after line, in a list of martyrs.

“These are the original Ridgetop colonists murdered so that the Diadem could make way for a more cooperative colony. Tasmine was the sole survivor.”

Respectfully, Adolphus read each name to himself, running his gaze down the list. Finally he turned to the old housekeeper. “Thank you for your bravery.”

“We’ll erect this as a memorial on the mass grave site, which we just excavated.” Goler ran his fingers down the names. He seemed anxious. “General Adolphus, I’ve risked everything to throw in my lot with you. Ridgetop is ready to fight for the independence of the Deep Zone. Scores of our people have volunteered to join your shadow-Xayan teams to help increase the telemancy defense … but do we really stand a chance? I have faith in you, but the Diadem already defeated you once.”

“The rules have changed since then,” Adolphus said. “And so have the odds. If we must destroy every connection and isolate the whole Deep Zone from the Crown Jewels, we’ll do so. But I’d much rather live in harmony with the rest of the Constellation.”

“The Diadem’s pride is going to be the greatest obstacle,” Goler said.

Tasmine looked as if she had swallowed a pebble. “The bitch would tear civilization apart rather than concede anything to you, sir.”

“She won’t have any say in the matter,” Adolphus said. “We’ve rendered a large portion of her fleet ineffective, and she can’t fight fifty-four separate battlefronts with her remaining ships. Before long, I’ll have their fleet commander hostage, with their ships turned over to us. Then we’ll have Michella Duchenet over a barrel.”

“I’d rather have her head on an executioner’s block,” Tasmine muttered.

“Diadem Michella is old, and it’s time for her to retire,” Goler said. “For more than a decade, people have been calling for her to surrender the Star Throne to someone else. The nobles are circling like hungry predators, and she can’t last long. If you captured most of her fleet, that’ll be her death knell.”

Adolphus ran his fingers along the column of names etched on the goldenwood memorial. “That’s why I need you, Governor. It’s the main reason I came to Ridgetop.”

He looked surprised. “What do you need from me, General?”

Adolphus glanced at Tasmine, but the housekeeper showed no intention of leaving them in private. Goler said, “I trust her, sir. She kept the secret of the Ridgetop Recovery longer than I would have imagined possible.”

The General allowed himself to relax. “It’s my military training.” He took a sip from his second cup of priniflower tea, nodding to the old woman, then focused on Goler. “I want you to be my liaison. Travel back to the Crown Jewels and deliver our terms—our
ultimatum
. Diadem Michella Duchenet must step down from the Star Throne, and I want a guarantee that the Crown Jewels will cease all hostilities against the Deep Zone. Every one of our stringlines to Sonjeera has been mined, and we can blow the substations whenever we like. Use your political connections, Governor. Michella won’t listen, but someone among the nobles will. Make the case that we are willing to be independent from the Crown Jewels, for better or for worse. If the Diadem sends any ships to attack our worlds, then we’ll cut ourselves off completely, simple as that, and no bluffing about it.”

Goler looked very pleased. A lantern-jawed man with heavy eyes, he had always seemed a bit of a misfit, not liked in the Crown Jewels and not entirely trusted on the eleven frontier planets he administered.

Tasmine hurried off to answer a signal at the door to the governor’s residence, leaving them alone for a moment, and Adolphus saw that Goler had tears in his eyes. “I’d be honored to do as you ask, sir. I’ve never been a soldier, but if I can negotiate peace terms, we’ll have saved countless lives.”

Tasmine returned from the foyer with a packet in her hands, her brow furrowed. “It’s from one of the black-market couriers,” she said. “A small ship just arrived by stringline from Orsini, slipped through from Sonjeera and came here.” She glanced at Adolphus. “It’s for the General.”

“Then why did it come here?” Goler asked. “Who knows he’s on Ridgetop?”

“They don’t, exactly. They wanted you to take him the message, Governor. When I told the courier that General Adolphus was already here, he nearly fell over.” She chuckled.

“Well, I’ve saved you the trouble of delivering it,” Adolphus said. “What does it say? Why would anyone from Orsini contact me?”

Goler took the packet and used his thumbprint to unseal the security tab. “Shall I open it?” Adolphus nodded, and Goler removed the document, skimmed it. “It’s the crest of the Tazaar family. From Lady Enva Tazaar herself.”

Adolphus placed the name. “The daughter of Azio Tazaar, new ruler of Orsini. She’s an artist, correct?” Tazaar was one of the more powerful families; not quite as important as the Riominis, but on a par with the Crais family and the Hirdans. What could she want from him? He had never met the woman.

As Goler and Adolphus read the document, the governor drew in a quick breath. Adolphus was amazed to see the bold proposal; it was so unexpected and blatant it rang true. Tasmine pressed close, eager for the news.

“Lady Enva wants to be the next Diadem,” Goler said aloud. “She has done the same math and come to the same conclusion as we did. The best way to thrive is for the Deep Zone and the Crown Jewels to cooperate.”

Enva Tazaar’s letter was like a business résumé and proposal for a commercial alliance. She suggested, quite reasonably, that Diadem Michella was the roadblock to resolving the conflict. Lady Tazaar offered her assistance to remove the Diadem internally on Sonjeera; if General Adolphus threw his support behind her as the next occupant of the Star Throne, she would promise a solid and smooth transition, not only nonaggression with the breakaway worlds, but also a commercial alliance that would strengthen both governments.

“I do prefer coexistence to mutual destruction,” Adolphus said. “This is quite a surprise—assuming it’s not a trick.”

“It is a very interesting offer,” Goler said, “but I don’t know if we can trust her. Enva Tazaar might not be the worst of the lot, but she’s as bad as most of them.”

“I like the part about the Diadem being taken down,” Tasmine said.

The General knew the old servant had every reason to despise Michella, but he couldn’t let such reflexive hatred color his decision. “I won’t respond just yet. Once I announce that we have the Constellation fleet, then our bargaining position will be infinitely better.”

31

Percival Hallholme was not an expert vintner, but he did enjoy walking the rows of rootstock vines that undulated along the Qiorfu hills. His enemy’s father, Jacob Adolphus, had been a skilled winemaker from the time he was a young man, and had planted several varieties of grapes. His firstborn son Stefano had been much less interested in the craft, while his other son Tiber went off to the Constellation military academy—and ultimately became the most determined foe of the Constellation.

Percival was glad to be making wine at the old Adolphus estate again.

Some new planetary administrators would have erased every mark of a defeated enemy, but Percival refused to sink to that level. He had studied the Adolphus family history as if it were his own, and he left the hallmarks intact, despite Escobar’s grumblings. Percival knew the former administrators were well liked here on Qiorfu.

After his victory, the old Commodore hadn’t had any choice but to accept the confiscated Adolphus holdings from the Diadem as a reward for his military service, but Percival refused to rule this planet with an iron fist. Not only was that ruthless and immoral, it was also exhausting, and he was retired now. He just wanted a quiet life. The things Diadem Michella had forced him to accept in battle had made him callous, and although his gestures here on Qiorfu did little to assuage the guilt he felt for what he’d done to General Adolphus, he was finished with making compromises when it came to his own honor.

Under the warm afternoon sunlight, the old man knelt to inspect a cluster of hard green grapes, which would ripen over the ensuing weeks. Finding blight on one bunch, he looked closely from vine to vine and saw that the rot was spreading. These hardy vines had thrived for a century, and he couldn’t allow the disease to spread. He marked the row and section, making a mental note to call an agricultural specialist right away. Percival didn’t recognize the particular blight, but if necessary he would uproot and burn this entire row to keep it from spreading to the rest of the vineyard. Another hard, but necessary, decision.

He heard a rustle of leaves, then giggles and the youthful shouting of high-pitched voices as his two grandsons hid in the vineyard, calling out as they tried to find each other. Emil played grudgingly, thinking himself too old for the game; Coram giggled and did a poor job of concealing himself, though he was small enough to duck under the vines or climb through the wires where his brother could not go.

Percival heard his daughter-in-law calling out, “Father, are you out there?”

He raised his voice and waved his hand. “The boys are over here, Elaine.” Then he saw she wasn’t alone. His daughter-in-law hurried between the rows of vines leading two uniformed Constellation officers, one officious-looking man wearing a colonel’s insignia and—somehow more intimidating—a narrow-faced young woman in black, with short dark hair, eyes like a bird of prey’s, and a threatening muscularity that her garb could not conceal. One of the Black Lord’s personal bodyguards. He straightened to attention out of reflex, though he outranked both of these visitors.

Elaine looked tense and worried. “Father, these officers are here to speak with you. They have a private dispatch from the Diadem herself.”

Percival’s heart fell. “Something about my son? I told him not to underestimate General Adolphus.”

Crashing through the leaves, his grandsons bounded toward him. Coram collided with his grandfather, and Percival grabbed the boy’s shoulders to steady him. Both children were laughing, but they fell silent when they saw the strangers.

The man in the colonel’s uniform said, “We have a private message for the Commodore’s ears only.”

Elaine gathered up the boys, obviously fighting back tears. “I should hear it, too.”

“I’m afraid not.” The female bodyguard brushed a clump of pollen fuzz from her black uniform. “The Diadem gave strict instructions. This message is eyes-only for Commodore Percival Hallholme.”

Elaine looked as if she intended to argue the point, but Percival gestured her away. “We’ll all know the answer sooner if we let these officers speak, Elaine. Please take the boys back to the main house.” Frightened, she led her now alarmed sons in a brisk march along the rows of grapes.

Percival remained standing stiffly as he addressed the visitors. “So this isn’t a social call. I should remind you that I am retired, have been for a decade.”

The female bodyguard introduced herself as Lora Heston in a harsh and gravelly voice, as if her vocal cords had been damaged; the colonel identified himself only as “Ricketts.” Colonel Ricketts withdrew a sheaf of official papers from his breast pocket. Percival could see the Duchenet stamp and the Star of the Diadem embossed on the seal. “Commodore, the Constellation is once more in need of your services. Diadem Michella is hereby reactivating your commission.”

Ricketts handed over the papers, and Percival accepted them with great reluctance. “As I said, I am retired.” His protestation impressed neither of the two visitors.

Heston lowered her voice, though they were alone in the vineyards. “This is not common knowledge, sir, but the Constellation fleet sent against the rebel General Adolphus … There have been difficulties.”

She had his full attention now. “What difficulties?”

“Not for us to say. The Diadem will brief you in full. She requests your presence on Sonjeera immediately for an important tactical meeting.”

“Has the fleet been captured or destroyed? What’s happened?” Percival insisted. “Any word about my son?”

“We have no further information for you, sir,” Colonel Ricketts said. “Our instructions are to take you to Sonjeera immediately.”

Percival could tell it was not a request. His shoulders slumped. “I request that my adjutant, Duff Adkins, accompany me. He has given me valuable advice for most of my career.”

The colonel deferred to Riomini’s bodyguard. Lora Heston showed no reaction at all. “Your adjutant may join us, provided he is ready to depart immediately.”

“He’ll be there,” Percival said. “I need two hours to gather my uniform and pack.”

“We leave in one hour, Commodore,” said Colonel Ricketts.

He sighed, knew it was no use arguing. “As with any mission, I shall operate within the designated parameters.”

*   *   *

In the private wing of the old manor house, in the suite set aside as Percival’s own quarters (because Escobar didn’t want the old man hovering around more than necessary), the Commodore unlocked the wooden cabinet where he stored a part of his life that he had intended to keep locked away.

Shelves lined the interior. On one of them sat a polished silver plate bearing his rank clusters, the enameled metal bars and gaudy awards that made him look like a peacock when he wore them. Though he had never desired the accolades, the Diadem had thought to keep him happy by awarding more medals. The cabinet smelled musty, the contents sealed away as if in a museum case. His old uniform hung there, vacuum-sealed in polymer film, gold and black with wide sleeves, thick cuffs—a costume entirely unfit for combat. Lord Riomini’s bodyguards would never wear such a ridiculous uniform that would inhibit their freedom of movement.

Percival unsealed the polymer wrap and pulled out the uniform blouse. He ran his fingers along the fabric, then examined the jacket, the braid, the stiff epaulets. He had not played his military role in a decade, although the Diadem pestered him to attend her festivals and receptions as a living legend, a showpiece as her daughter Keana had been. But Percival Hallholme was no decoration, and the Diadem had already used him more than he’d expected, or
wanted.
And he had to live with it.