Hellhole Inferno (53 page)

He looked at the estimated arrival time of the accelerated planet-killer asteroids. Only two days. Because the people of Hellhole were even more independent than the colonists on most DZ worlds, they weren't confined in neat cities, nor were they traceable by a census. The evacuation effort would simply have to lift off as many as possible, shuttle load after shuttle load. They would do what they could, focusing on the numbers they rescued rather than the ones they lost.

As the operations continued, he received a surprise message. “Commodore, there's a diplomatic drone coming in on the stringline from Umber. Someone's in a hurry to get a message to you.”

“Intercept the drone and bring the message to me. I'll view it privately.” He wasn't sure he even wanted Duff Adkins to accompany him. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head as he rose from the command chair. “Mr. Adkins, take the bridge.”

In less than fifteen minutes, the drone had been brought aboard the flagship and its message transmitted along a secure channel to the private screen in the Commodore's ready room. Diadem Riomini's face filled the screen. The man looked both angry and immensely pleased, as if the anger itself brought him joy.

“Commodore, by now you will have secured the rebel stringline hub and control access to the entire Deep Zone. Time to consider the next phase. I don't have to tell you this is a tumultuous time for the Constellation. Dissidents are like hyenas, sensing weakness, and they attack everywhere. We have no choice but to react sternly for the stability of the Crown Jewels as well as the Deep Zone. That is the only way we'll stop the turmoil.

“For far too long, the Constellation festered at its core and crumbled on the outer edges. History will remember me as the Diadem who rebuilt our empire and saved us from the brink of disaster.” He smiled. “I send you these inspirational images to show justice being meted out against rebel saboteurs, for you may find them useful if you encounter intractable Deezees.”

Percival's eyes widened as shocking images filled the screen. The Diadem's voice continued. “You delivered the Buktu prisoners to Vielinger, but they committed sabotage, destroyed part of my iperion mines. Thus, as enemy combatants, they were punished accordingly.”

Percival wanted to shield his eyes but couldn't tear his gaze away. He had taken those captives under the accepted rules of war, given his word that they would be treated accordingly and would be released once hostilities ended.

Now he watched the new Diadem and his guards gunning down scores of them. They screamed and tried to flee, but had no chance. After every single one was slaughtered, Riomini and his guards turned to face the imagers with grins on their faces, not noticing the blood spatters on their skin and clothing.

Percival felt sickened. He had promised them safety—and they had trusted him.

“Obviously, killing a few prisoners won't be enough,” the new Diadem continued. “Capturing General Adolphus will not be enough. Even eradicating the population of his planet will not be enough—it is just a start.

“The rot goes deeper, Commodore. It has tainted all those colonists who think they can thumb their noses at us. We can't take time to sort out the few innocent ones. Once you've sterilized planet Hallholme, I'm afraid your mission will be long and hard, but I can trust no one but you. In order for the Constellation to flourish again, we need a clean slate. It'll be like the Ridgetop Recovery slaughter, but across the entire Deep Zone. I command you to take your fleet and lead a purge from world to world. I doubt any of the populations will give you much trouble. Afterward, the pristine planets will be ripe for repopulation, and with the crowded conditions in the Crown Jewels, we will be able to find plenty of
loyal
volunteers to repopulate them.”

Riomini gave a hard smile as he leaned closer to the imager. “I know I can count on you, Commodore Hallholme. I look forward to regular progress reports.”

The message ended. Percival stared in dismay at the blank screen. Life meant nothing to that man, just as life had meant nothing to Diadem Michella Duchenet. The more Percival thought about it, the more he realized that General Tiber Adolphus, his sworn enemy, was the only man who seemed to think correctly, who mapped out a respectable course and stuck to it, considering his people first, his career and political power second.

Shaking with rage and disgust from the orders, Percival considered simply ignoring Diadem Riomini's hateful commands. Sooner or later, however, someone else would receive duplicate orders and relieve him of command—someone who would not hesitate to do as the Black Lord instructed. He could not stomach this abomination.

Before Percival could decide what to do, the comm officer contacted him. “Commodore, there's a message from the surface! You'll want to hear it.”

After what he had just experienced, Percival thought of few messages he actually
wanted
to hear. “Send it to my screen.”

Then he stared in amazement, overwhelmed with relief to see a direct call from Major Bolton Crais—and Escobar! “Commodore, the General asked us to communicate with you,” Bolton said.

“Escobar! You are alive after all.”

His son looked somewhat thin but uninjured—though he seemed to have a wan and distant expression on his face, and he averted his eyes. Strangely, he let Crais do the talking.

“We survived an ordeal on the planet's surface, Commodore, but it was of our own making. Thousands of us were kept in a large holding camp, where conditions are as good as can be expected. But we are stuck on the surface, and we need to be evacuated as soon as possible. The General says that since you are cooperating, he'll let you send your ships to retrieve the POWs. We will give you coordinates for the camp near Slickwater Springs.”

Although Major Crais kept speaking, Percival could only stare at his son. “Escobar, are you all right?”

Escobar turned to face the imager. “Yes, Father. I have survived an ordeal, and I am … more than I was before.”

“What do you mean?”

Bolton Crais seemed uneasy. “Let me explain, Commodore—” He hesitated, cleared his throat.

Escobar looked into the screen, and now Percival could see that his eyes were changed, with a faint spiral around the irises.

“This is for me to tell, Father. I have made mistakes, poor leadership choices that led to many deaths. I got two of my comrades killed who escaped with me and Major Crais from the camp. I was injured, near death … but the Xayans saved me. Their slickwater pools prevented me from dying.”

Bolton broke in. “We tried to escape, Commodore, but didn't have a workable plan, and soon were lost in a dangerous landscape. When we were attacked by native predators, Escobar fought to save me—and he was mortally wounded in the process. Slickwater brought him back from the brink of death. It was the only way to save him.”

Percival tried to absorb the information, remembered how much Diadem Michella had feared something like this. Alien contamination? Possession by another strange personality?

Escobar said, “I have an alien companion inside my mind, Father. I am still your son, but I am also more than that. I am Escobar-Tarcov … and I tell you this is not just a planetary evacuation. We have to preserve this precious alien race and not let it be obliterated by the asteroids.”

Percival felt a lump in his throat. “I'll send ships down to evacuate you.”

“Send as many as possible,” Escobar urged. “We have to help the Xayans achieve
ala'ru
. We have almost no time left.”

Bolton glanced at Escobar, who appeared perplexed by his comment, but Escobar cut off the transmission.

Percival rose from his desk, his thoughts whirling. This was the last nudge to his own epiphany. He could not do what Diadem Riomini commanded. He could not serve such a ruthless and bloodthirsty leader, could not make another fatally bad decision, another one that would fester within him for the rest of his life. And he believed that most of his own followers had a core of humanity within them. He had to believe that, and now he had to make that gamble.

He strode onto the bridge, feeling fresh determination. Yes, he knew what he had to do.

The crew was in a flurry as the evacuation continued, with Duff Adkins snapping instructions to one station after another. Seeing him, Adkins sprang out of the command chair, relinquishing the role to Percival. “Commodore, we just lost all contact with the Ankor spaceport … and there appear to be riots in Michella Town.”

Percival wasn't surprised that panic had begun to set in down there. “They're hindering their own evacuation efforts. Proceed with all possible speed.” He sank heavily into the command chair.

Adkins stepped up to him. “What was the message, Commodore? Did Diadem Riomini issue new orders?”

“He did, Duff. I do not, however, intend to obey them. I hope you will support me.”

The adjutant's eyes widened. “That goes without saying, Commodore.”

“Good,” Percival said, “because I cannot stomach what the Constellation has become or what the Diadem demands of us. I'm betting that most of my crew will feel the same.”

Percival cued up the damning message the Black Lord had transmitted, the unspeakable orders that blithely commanded the absolute massacre of more than fifty planets. Knowing he was about to plunge off a precipice, he broadcast the message for all the vessels in his fleet to hear, along with the DZDF ships.

At the end of Riomini's appalling message, Percival spoke firmly. “We are not going to follow those orders, because if we did, we would be mass murderers and war criminals, not professional soldiers. It
will not happen
under my command, and I do not intend to resign.”

He paused for a long moment, then added, “Honor is like a crystal goblet—even if broken only once, it is still broken. Sadly, in following the commands of both Michella Duchenet and Selik Riomini, I deviated from the course on which honor
should
have led me. In my past military career, I shattered that crystal goblet. But it will not happen again. Today we become more than a military force, fighting blindly for a tattered cause. We are a humanitarian force.”

Now, even if the goblet was shattered, Percival Hallholme would try to pick up the pieces.

 

71

Not so long ago, Bolton Crais's wife had considered their marriage to be insubstantial and inconvenient. Back on Sonjeera when he'd received his rank of Silver Major—through noble connections rather than any demonstration of talent—Bolton had earned the nickname “Major Setback” because so many of his initial efforts had been lackluster at best.

As a consequence, his military career had been arranged so that he was placed in figurehead positions where he could cause no harm, yet he was given no chance to demonstrate his abilities. Redcom Hallholme's supposedly glorious retaliation mission had been another setback as they were sucked into the General's trap, and then the ill-fated escape into the wild Hellhole landscape … Bolton was tired of being beaten down by circumstances. Now he would do what he could to help organize the evacuation so the POWs could get away. The Commodore was sending down a retrieval mission within the hour.

When his own personality finally came to the fore, Escobar insisted that he be taken back to the POW camp. He explained to Sophie Vence, “My father will do what he can to see that they're saved. Major Crais and I will make preparations on the ground. It is imperative that I be with my soldiers.”

Even if the shadow-Xayans had no inclination to leave, Sophie had to consider the evacuation of her remaining personnel at Slickwater Springs. She happily granted Bolton and Escobar one of her Trakmasters so they could roll overland to the large camp in the adjacent valley. She would take care of the rest of the shutdown work at her own settlement.

The POW camp was well maintained, but not equipped for the long-term support of thousands of people. General Adolphus had established it quickly as a holding area for the unexpected influx of captives. They had shelter, water, and regular supplies of food; the reinforced buildings offered sufficient protection from Hellhole's merciless storms, quakes, and other natural hazards. Sophie's people administered the camp, and the General's guard forces maintained security, but everyone concerned would have happily sent all of the unexpected guests back home.

Now, as the Trakmaster rolled up to the fence gates and Bolton and Escobar disembarked, the concerned military prisoners came forward to meet the two haggard-looking officers, surprised and relieved to see them still alive. Exuding an air of confident leadership that Bolton had not seen before, the Redcom moved forward with gliding footsteps. He seemed taller, more powerful now … less angry, yet more commanding. After wasting away from his injuries, his muscle tone appeared to be returning.

“Are we going to be stranded here to die when the asteroids come?” said a man in a now-tattered sergeant's uniform. “We haven't even started to evacuate yet, and there are thousands of us!”

“Is rescue coming, sir?”

“We know how close the asteroids are, but we will not need rescue.” Escobar's voice had a resonance now, and his words carried easily across the crowd. “Our best, our
only
hope is for the Xayan race to achieve
ala'ru
before it is too late. If they succeed in that—if
we
succeed—then we need not fear mere pebbles from space.”

The prisoners murmured. Another POW shouted, “That doesn't help us much here. You expect us to just sit and wait?”

Bolton looked at his companion, surprised by Escobar's words, and lifted a hand for attention. “Commodore Hallholme and the General have reached an accord in orbit. The Army of the Constellation is sending down ships to rescue us. They're on their way.”