Hellhole Inferno (37 page)

“A military and planetary leader can't look like a giddy schoolboy with a crush on the prettiest girl around.”

Her eyebrows shot up in mock displeasure.

He got to business. “Now, I need to see the Diadem. And I think you'll want to hear what I have to say to her—her situation has completely changed.”

Sophie led him to the bungalows, where Michella looked haughty, though exhausted and tense. When he faced her, Adolphus tried to measure the defeat in her eyes, but the old Diadem would not be broken easily. The mere sight of him and his rebel uniform caused obvious resentment in her.

He straightened. “It was a complete victory for us. We ousted Commodore Percival Hallholme and his fleet from Tehila. My forces destroyed or captured half of his ships. With only part of his fleet remaining to him, he escaped down the stringline to Sonjeera, and we have now cut the line, so he will be unable to come back.”

Michella struggled not to show any alarm, steeling herself with a sneer—her trademark grandmotherly expressions were gone now. “You know Commodore Hallholme as well as I, General—he doesn't understand defeat. He will be back here to rescue me, and he'll leave this planet a smoldering wasteland. The sooner you accept that and make peace with your own future, the better off you'll be. I'll just wait. The Constellation has deep resources, and they won't give up on me.”

“Unfortunately for us both, it already has, Michella.” He pointedly used only her first name. “The Council of Nobles voted unanimously to strip you of your title. You are no longer the Diadem of the Constellation. You've been replaced by Lord Selik Riomini, and he issued explicit orders to the Commodore that
no
effort is to be made to save you. Should you ever return to Sonjeera, you will face trial for crimes against civilization.”

This rocked the old woman. She steadied herself by holding onto the back of the only chair. “You have no way of knowing that.”

Adolphus fixed her with his gaze. “Commodore Hallholme told me personally.”

“You're lying,” she said, but sudden fear was in her voice.

“As a bargaining chip, Michella Duchenet, you are of no value to me or to anyone else.”

With a solicitous smile, Sophie suggested, “Would you like to request asylum here on Hellhole? I'm sure we can find some menial work for you to do. Something in construction, or perhaps janitorial. If you're willing to put in the effort, you can learn a trade.”

The flare behind the old woman's eyes burned away, leaving an expression of defeat.

One of the door guards called for the General. “Sir, the stringline hub reports that Administrator Komun just arrived with his ships, thirteen DZDF war vessels already taking up positions around the stringline hub.”

Relieved, Adolphus activated his own portable comm. “Patch me through to him. I want to thank him for helping defend Hellhole.”

The guard made a transfer, and the comm officer rerouted the call. Adolphus spoke, giving a sidelong glance to the miserable-looking former Diadem. “George, I'm glad to have you with me. Tehila has been successfully liberated, and now we'll have no further worries from the Crown Jewels.”

Komun replied, but without the enthusiastic heartiness with which he should have received the news. “That's not entirely true, General. The political landscape isn't as simple as you think it is.”

Adolphus heard something strange in the man's voice and he was instantly on his guard. Sophie looked at him, watched his expression fall. “I don't like the sound of that, George.”

Up in orbit, the fully armed DZDF ships from Umber dropped from their hauler framework and took up positions around the main stringline hub. Their weapons were active. Before the
Jacob
could react, Komun's ships took potshots at the flagship, damaging the engines. Then they surrounded and seized the stringline hub.

Adolphus felt an icy dread as he heard the orders over the comm, and tried to shout over them, “What are you doing?”

Of all possible traitors, he had never expected this man to be a weak link. Komun had been one of the original conspirators, the tight group that had plotted how to break free of the Constellation's stranglehold. He had fought valiantly and sacrificed, and now his own world was stable and free. Why would he turn against the DZ now?

Adolphus stepped out of the bungalow, but he could see the expression of malicious glee on the old Diadem's face.

On the comm, Komun said, “Hossetea and Tehila aren't the only planets having second thoughts about a never-ending war with the Constellation. Umber has also turned against you.”

Sophie cried, “That's impossible!”

Adolphus knew it must be true, though. In the back of his mind thoughts were spinning, possibilities surfacing as he tried to figure out how to defend against this sneak attack. “But why?”

Komun said, “Lord Riomini destroyed Theser. Asteroids obliterated Candela. The Army of the Constellation took over Tehila. Who knows what else is coming? We're facing more than we can handle. Your dreams are grand and naïve, General, but the Constellation has existed for more than a thousand years. Did you honestly think a few upstarts could undo all that in a few years? It's not worth the effort. Dreams are for the deluded.”

“Then Umber will collapse along with everything else.” Adolphus lowered his voice to a growl. “Are you certain you want me as your enemy?”

Komun was dismissive. “Friendship has to take a subordinate role to destiny. Diadem Riomini guaranteed that my planet would be independent of both Hellhole and the Constellation. I will pay no tribute, I'll be able to establish my own stringline hub over Umber, and I can branch out however I like throughout the Deep Zone.” His voice hardened. “My forces control the Hellhole stringline hub now, General. Don't test me, or I'll blow the whole thing if necessary. In the meantime, Constellation battleships will be coming directly here via Umber. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they're led by Commodore Hallholme himself. Diadem Riomini looks forward to wrapping up this matter in short order.”

As Komun's battleships tightened their cordon around the stringline hub, Adolphus heard old Michella sitting in her bungalow, laughing.

 

48

Although Bolton felt better than Redcom Hallholme, that wasn't saying much. He was actually surprised to discover his own inner strength, and the endurance that let him trudge ahead of his companion on the rugged landscape.

They'd been gone for days, plodding across the endlessly strange and dangerous wilderness; Bolton was in the lead as they descended a steep embankment, struggling to keep his footing on loose rocks and soil. His stomach roiled, no doubt from contaminants in the stream water they'd been forced to drink. Every muscle in his body ached, but at least neither he nor Escobar had suffered from the deadly algae.

Hellhole had plenty of other ways to kill them.

At the bottom of the crumbly slope he looked back to watch Escobar picking his way down. Finally they stood together on the flat area of rust-red scrubgrass. The Redcom looked even more ill. Bolton asked, “Do you need to rest, sir?”

Though his face was gray, Escobar shook his head. “What we both need is a place to settle for the night. And food.”

Their supplies had been ruined by the algae and lost with the Trakmaster, and by now both of them were weak and starving. They knew that the native vegetation, based on alien biochemistry, would be indigestible if not poisonous. Despite their terrible hunger, they had not dared to eat any of the strange plants they'd seen growing along the way.

They moved on slowly, painstakingly. Bolton tried to see any hopeful sign in the terrain around them, any smoke or roads, a distant mining settlement or industrial outpost. Escobar plodded along out of habit, but his eyes held little interest or hope.

Bolton led the way across the spiny grass toward a thriving red weed forest that looked like a giant bloodstain spreading across the valley ahead. Though he knew the lush alien oasis was not likely to be any more welcoming than the rest of the landscape, at least it looked vibrant and
alive
. After so many days of bleak terrain, he felt increasingly tired and muscle-sore, fighting to take every step. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, and forced himself to keep going, to make his way toward what looked like an island of sanctuary. At least it was a goal, and the lushness seemed tempting.

Escobar followed him as he approached the abrupt edge of the thicket that extended for kilometers in every direction, but the Redcom seemed disinterested. Bolton noted the dense barricade of red weeds, thick scarlet leaves that were like long tongues attached to greenish-yellow stalks that seemed too fragile to support so much weight—but round, lighter-than-air bladders held the plants aloft. The drifting stalks and leaves waved gently in the air, resembling an underwater kelp forest moving in ocean currents.

Suddenly uneasy, Bolton paused to reconsider whether he and the Redcom should enter the strange forest, but the cracked and barren landscape had sapped the energy from them. At least this was different. He knew that nothing useful, and no rescue, lay back the way they had come, and he saw no easy way around the extensive, red weed wilderness.

Escobar looked up, stared at the forest that lay ahead of them, and noted Bolton's hesitation. “We keep going, Major. No choice.”

“Yes, sir.” No matter what, Bolton acknowledged that the Redcom was still his commander.

But as they picked up their pace toward the abrupt edge of the tall vegetation, the ground began to tremble underfoot, and the surface churned, as if being plowed from underneath. A tiny crater only a handspan wide dropped away nearby. Other pockmarks appeared, as if the soil had started to rot away. The ground bucked, and Escobar lost his balance. Bolton yanked the Redcom to his feet, and they both staggered toward the dubious safety of the alien forest.

In front of them the grass-studded soil also began to roil. Lumps and mounds appeared like ripples on a dirt pond. Escobar's boot caught in a hole and he lurched forward. Bolton helped pull him along toward some rocks, but even there, the ground was not stable. The dirt and grass looked like the churning surface of a cauldron at full boil.

Abruptly, a torrent of small animals emerged from countless burrows. Each creature had spiky dark fur and glistening teeth, and they bounded toward the two men like ferocious wolverines. Hundreds of them.

Escobar and Bolton found a small burst of renewed energy of desperation as they raced toward the alien forest, forgetting their weariness and hunger. They could no longer worry about what might be inside the dense red weeds.

Behind them, a pack of the fierce-looking animals closed in, making high-pitched keening sounds, as if they were communicating with each other. Bolton tried to run faster, but his body was already weak and spent. Escobar staggered along in a jerky, scarecrowish run.

A handful of the ferocious creatures bounded to the forefront of the pack, yelping excitedly at the prospect of fresh blood. Bolton bent to snatch loose rocks on the ground and threw them at the pursuers, bowling over a pair of them—not because he was such a good thrower, but because there were so many of them it would have been impossible to miss. The others rushed after their prey, closing in.

Panting, Bolton pushed toward the red weed oasis, but it was still too far away. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he and his companion would not make it.

Apparently, Escobar came to the same realization, because he stopped and turned to face the vicious animals. He yanked off his pack, tore it open, and withdrew the projectile weapon he'd salvaged from the Trakmaster, as well as a flare launcher. “Run for the forest, Major! I'll give you a chance.”

He fired the projectile weapon. His weak hands were shaky, but he managed to hit half a dozen of the wolverine creatures. The injured ones yipped in pain when they fell in bloody heaps, but more kept coming.

Bolton grabbed at Escobar's arm. “Sir, you can't hold them off!”

But the Redcom pushed him toward the red weeds. “Go!” He fired again, killing several more of the animals.

Bolton staggered away, trying to reach the forest. Escobar's sacrifice seemed brave, but foolish and ultimately pointless. Bolton knew that he himself wouldn't make it either.

The first three animals reached Escobar and leaped, tearing into his side. They locked jaws onto his forearm and thigh. He howled, fought back, fired twice more before the weapon ran empty, and let the gun fall out of his hands. More of the attacking creatures fell upon him. Somehow Escobar found the energy to thrash about, knocking the clinging creatures away from him. With his other hand, he launched the flare, which crisped dozens of the beasts in a flame front. That drove most of them back, for a moment. He stood panting, dripping blood from numerous large wounds, as more of the creatures circled him, measuring him, ready to pounce.

Bolton had reached the fringe of the forest, and the red weeds loomed before him. Anguished, he turned, knowing he should head back to Escobar, to help him fight. A futile gesture, he knew, but …

Then a strange, pulsing sound screamed through the air, a sonic wind that shoved the pack of wolverine creatures away as if with an invisible hand. The continuing pulse swept the creatures away, and the rest ran off, yelping and keening.

Escobar collapsed into the dirt, his body torn and bleeding.

Before Bolton could run to help him, tall, thick stalks of suspended red weed shifted aside. The wide curling leaves parted to allow a figure to emerge—a large, pale creature that moved on a long caterpillar undercarriage. Energy crackled around the Xayan's gleaming dark eyes, and its feelers twitched.

The defeated pack creatures scuttled back into burrows, while the looming Xayan stood on the edge of the red forest. The unreadable eyes stared at Bolton, then at the motionless and bleeding Redcom Hallholme.