Hellhole Inferno (20 page)

Then he heard a muted popping noise outside, followed by many more in the distance, like small staccato explosions. Maybe Sophie Vence's searchers had found them. In truth, he would much rather be back in the fenced camp—even ashamed and defeated—than eaten alive out here. But the hollow popping sounds were not like weapon fire.

The covering on the windows began to smear away, peeling loose and drifting off to allow the entrance of brighter light. Thousands of small cocoons studded the hull of the Trakmaster as well as the ground surrounding the vehicle. In a remarkably swift transformation, the cocoons were bursting open to unleash swarms of sharp-edged flying insects. Their wings were bright orange, but they looked more dangerous than beautiful. Each cocoon split open with a puff of spore-smoke that wafted around like heavy mist. The husks of the shriveled cocoons dropped away from the Trakmaster.

Bolton worked to start the engine again and finally heard the power levels hum on. Without performing any other checks, he engaged the rugged tracks and rolled forward, crunching across the field of still-hatching cocoons. He could barely see through the clusters that remained on the windshield, but he kept going anyway.

In the back, Vingh was sweating, and Yimidi looked ill. Yimidi coughed, said, “And the Constellation is fighting to get this rotten world back? Let the General damn well have it!”

“We're fighting because General Adolphus is our enemy,” the Redcom snapped. “He is a threat to our way of life. I'll have no defeatist attitudes! We
will
survive, men. We will make our way off this planet and get back home. That's our duty.”

The flurry of bright insects changed formation, drew together like a swarm of locusts, and then surged upward en masse. As the Trakmaster plowed ahead, Bolton realized that the thrumming, popping noises had gone blessedly quiet. He heard only the growl of the vehicle's heavy engine and the grinding of the treads over the rough rocks. He used built-in sprays of chemical solvent to clean the reinforced glass. He had already used most of the fluid two nights before in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the crawling algae. When he could finally see better, he increased speed.

Ahead, he could make out a line of dark brown hills with a lighter-colored ridgeline beyond, but the sluggish insects followed, settling like a blanket on the moving vehicle.

In back, Yimidi coughed, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat. “Are they flying, or just drifting like seeds on the wind?”

Again, the insects settled on the Trakmaster, clinging to the windshield and obscuring the view. Through gaps that provided limited visibility, Bolton saw the insects just floating along without twitching their wings or segmented legs, as if they were already dead, their bodies borne on the breezes.

“Zombie bugs,” Bolton said, with a shudder.

“Maybe we're all dead, too,” Vingh said, “and we just don't know it yet.”

Escobar hunched over the nav-system, but the screen remained a blizzard of static. “We've lost our calibration. Onboard guidance systems can't lock onto wherever we are with the terrain database. I think Yimidi's stealth system overloaded some of the satellite maps—not that they were much good anyway—and Major Crais didn't follow the original route we planned.”

“What does that mean?” asked Vingh.

“It means we're driving blind,” Escobar said. “We're lost.” He seemed to be blaming Bolton for going off a course that had never existed in the first place.

Yimidi was about to say something, but his words vanished in a quick coughing spasm. He forced out, “We don't dare uplink to a satellite, or they can detect us.”

“We should have made a better plan before escaping,” Vingh said, “just like Major Crais suggested.”

“We were better off back in camp,” Yimidi added.

“We need to work together to get to safety,” Bolton said. “I'm more interested in survival than recriminations.”

Stewing with obvious anger, Escobar sat in the front, studying the useless nav-system.

Bolton kept driving, finally managing to pull away from the drifting, lifeless insects. The hum of the Trakmaster's engine shifted slightly as the first of two backup fuel-pellet chambers switched into place.

Everyone would remember that it had been the Redcom's stubbornness that had led to their disastrous defeat in the first place, and the deaths of more than a thousand Constellation soldiers. It was Escobar's fault that they had been forced to surrender to General Adolphus. He was the commanding officer, and Bolton knew that if their misfortunes continued, the simmering resentment would build against Escobar.

The escape from the camp was yet another blunder, and this time Bolton didn't see any way out of it.

 

26

After launching their assault from Sonjeera, the Army of the Constellation arrived at Tehila without incident. Commodore Hallholme was still alarmed by the dramatic explosion in Council City just before their departure, but he had his own mission and very clear orders. The fate of the Deep Zone was at stake. Timing was critical.

Taken off guard when Diadem Michella unexpectedly insisted on joining the mission, the Commodore did his best to respond appropriately, and as always, he placed his personal feelings aside and did as the Diadem commanded. He needed to devote his full faculties to establishing a forward base on Tehila and then launching the final offensive against Hellhole. And he had to rescue Escobar.

Two gigantic military stringline haulers cruised up to Tehila's terminus ring. Ever since General Adolphus's current rebellion, the route to the distant DZ planet had been off-limits to traffic from Sonjeera, with the substations en route and the terminus ring booby-trapped for emergency destruction in the event of a Constellation advance. Thanks to Administrator Reming's purge, though, the Tehila line was secure. Hallholme could arrive without fear of being cut off.

Arriving at the planet, Percival dispatched an impressive battle group to guarantee there would be no resistance. The first military hauler docked at the terminus ring while the second hauler secured the ring connected to the Hellhole line. Hundreds of Constellation battleships dropped out of their docking clamps and filled Tehila's orbital lanes like a pack of guard dogs.

The Commodore didn't feel much like a conquering hero, though. The battle here had been over before his ships even left Sonjeera. By seizing the stringlines and arresting all known Adolphus loyalists, Reming had engineered a relatively bloodless coup, and Tehila was now back under Constellation control.

Step one, complete.

This was just a staging point, however—an entry into the Deep Zone network so he could launch his real offensive right down the General's throat. “It's a step in the right direction, Duff,” he said to his adjutant while standing on the flagship's bridge. “Have all my officers been briefed on how we'll establish control over the planet?”

“All briefed, Commodore. If the Tehila populace welcomes us and cooperates, as Reming promises, we could be ready to launch our main offensive within days. A week at the outside.”

Diadem Michella bustled onto the bridge deck nearly half an hour later. “Commodore, you should have delayed so I could announce our victorious arrival. We missed an opportunity.”

He flinched at being scolded in front of his crew. Had she expected him to halt the military haulers outside of orbit and wait for her? “Your pardon, Eminence. Time is of the essence, and I wanted to secure this rebel world with all possible speed.” He would have to find some tactful way to remind her that he was in command of the military operation. “Allow me to present the planet Tehila, newly restored to Constellation control.”

Looking at all the guardian ships in a bright, powerful stranglehold on Tehila, Michella was unabashed in her delight. “Congratulations, Commodore, on our first major conquest in the Great War of Reunification.” She stepped closer to the main bridge screen, as if to get a better view, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Be sure the ships perform appropriately impressive maneuvers. We'll use the footage when we write our history. Make the recapture of Tehila look like a grand battle.”

Percival struggled to keep a respectful tone in his voice. “There won't be any battle here, Eminence. Administrator Reming has already eliminated resistance and delivered the world to us.”

She waved a gnarled hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don't want to give him too much credit. He was one of the traitors who initially sided with the rebel General, after all.”

Michella's aide, Ishop Heer, appeared furtively behind her, as if he didn't belong here. The Diadem had dragged him along on her impulsive decision to accompany the fleet, but the man didn't seem pleased to be part of the operation. Percival had never liked Ishop Heer, had always found something slippery and unpleasant about his demeanor. During the stringline flight to Tehila, Ishop had been edgy, disconcerted. Although the Diadem seemed oblivious to his mood, Percival saw the sharp gazes and quickly hidden expressions of distaste Ishop shot in her direction when she wasn't looking.

That was none of Percival's concern. His only goal was to complete his operation successfully and swiftly. His career would culminate with the final defeat of General Tiber Adolphus, the release of all the Constellation prisoners of war, and an end to the Deep Zone Rebellion. Then he would go back home to his grapevines on Qiorfu, back to his grandchildren and a peaceful life. He had earned that long ago.

Adkins returned with a report. “Commodore, a diplomatic shuttle is on its way up from the capital spaceport. Administrator Reming wishes to present Tehila to us and reaffirm his loyalty to the Constellation.”

Diadem Michella interrupted. “By all means, bring him here. I will accept his surrender and assert a full Constellation crackdown. This unruly planet is now under military jurisdiction.”

Ishop Heer said, “I'm not sure that's how Administrator Reming views this situation, Eminence.”

She turned to him. “I don't care what he thinks. We are in control here. Commodore Hallholme has seen to that. When I need your political advice, Ishop, I will ask for it.” Her sharp tone surprised Percival. During their stringline voyage he had also noticed her belittling the aide at every opportunity. He glanced at Adkins, and they shared a look. Percival had never treated his loyal adjutant that way.

Michella turned her back on Heer, issuing commands as they awaited the arrival of the diplomatic shuttle. “Establish an iron grip here on Tehila, which will become our long-term base of operations, the springboard for reconquering the Deep Zone. First, Commodore, you must totally crush General Adolphus.” Her voice grew even harder. “I have given you chances before—I want no mistakes this time.”

Percival gave a slight bow, suppressing anger. “No one can guarantee that errors won't occur, Eminence, but I will devote the full extent of my talent and experience to assure the success of this operation.”

Michella didn't seem to hear him. She merely repeated, “No mistakes this time.”

A sentry force of armed destroyers surrounded each terminus ring, and Percival dispatched an armed squadron to each station to prevent any possible sabotage. As Michella watched the maneuvers, she nodded, obviously impressed. “If we control the stringline path back to Sonjeera, we can send a courier drone back to announce our success, correct? My people must be hurt and frightened after I saved them from the terrible danger of alien contamination. They need good news, and this comes at a perfect time.”

Percival cautioned, “Eminence, that would not be wise. We must keep this conquest secret from General Adolphus until we've established our base and launched our strike against him. No announcements.”

She was visibly disappointed. “Of course, Commodore. Besides, we should record Administrator Reming's surrender before we send a confidential message back to Sonjeera. I have no doubt Lord Riomini's taken it upon himself to manage the day-to-day affairs of the Constellation for me during my unexpected absence.”

Reming's diplomatic shuttle reached orbit, where it dodged among the military ships swarming into position. The administrator had some difficulty determining the flagship among the many ominous warships, so Percival dispatched a cluster of escort flyers to guide the shuttle into the appropriate docking bay.

In the meantime, Diadem Michella tasked Ishop with finding a suitable chamber to serve as her surrogate throne room. Duff Adkins had already suggested a small meeting chamber for the formalities, but the Diadem wanted something much showier.

Ishop seemed flustered by the assignment, which he must consider demeaning. “I am unfamiliar with the layout of these military ships. Perhaps—” He glanced at the Commodore, who obliged.

“The convocation auditorium where we induct new officers,” Percival suggested. “It is a place designed for ceremonies.”

“That will have to do,” Michella said, then frowned at her aide. “I'm sure you could have determined that yourself, Ishop.”

Adkins dispatched crew members to assemble a temporary platform and to take a captain's chair from the Commodore's private quarters to serve as the Diadem's makeshift throne. She had come aboard the flagship in such a rush that she had no formal trappings whatsoever, not even a change of clothes.

Percival's people did not disappoint him in their efficiency. They managed to turn the convocation auditorium into an impressive diplomatic reception chamber even before Administrator Reming had disembarked from his shuttle. Bright pennants of the Constellation, as well as the Duchenet family crest, dangled from the walls, while ribbons and streamers adorned the ceiling.

Percival pulled on his formal uniform jacket and went to stand at the base of the raised platform, shoulders squared, arms straight at his sides. He wished he could be directing the military consolidation of Tehila instead of this ceremonial nonsense.