Hellhole: Awakening

by Brian Herbert

  He recognized a battered Lora Heston being forced toward a waiting airvan. She challenged the guards in her husky voice. “I outrank you. I serve the Supreme Commander of the Army of the Constellation. My authority extends—” Noticing Ishop as he stood there watching, she struggled to step toward him. “Ishop Heer! Inform these guards they are making a mistake.”

  Keeping his distance, he merely smiled at her. “Yes, mistakes have been made. Diadem Michella gave explicit orders that this area is to remain sealed. I’m sure these guards will sort it out.” He turned to the captain. “Place all the prisoners in extreme quarantine. We don’t know how close they got to the danger zone, but we can’t be too careful.” In fact, he would recommend that all the Diadem’s guards be placed in biological isolation cells as well.

  He turned to Laderna and whispered, “Let’s get ourselves away from here, too. Just to be sure.”

  82

  The day resonated with memories. Aboard the bridge of the Jacob, Adolphus blinked in morning sunlight as the flagship orbited around from Hellhole’s nightside. His old deep-blue uniform felt comfortable and right. Even after all these years the garment fit him like a second skin; it had always been a clear symbol of who he was.

  More than sixteen years ago, he had been forced into his rebellion, when he and his fellow “second string” nobles were set up to be killed. Discovering the betrayal, Adolphus had rushed back to Qiorfu only to find his father conveniently dead and Riomini forces already occupying the Lubis Plain shipyards.

  Disobedience had turned into outright rebellion, five years of bloody battles against the corrupt Constellation. The brave fight should have culminated in his conquest of Sonjeera and the defeat of the Diadem’s forces, but for his own moment of compassion, his moment of weakness. And General Adolphus had lost everything.

  Now, standing aboard the flagship he had named after his father, he knew this was his second chance, and he intended to get it right this time.

  Mulling silently, he recalled how Commodore Percival Hallholme had used rebel family members as hostages in that earlier battle, placed them as human shields aboard the Constellation battleships, where they would die if Adolphus opened fire. The ensuing seconds had been critical.…

  Sophie said to him, “You waited a long time for this victory, Tiber.”

  He tried to act dismissive. “This ceremony is just a symbolic gesture.”

  She gave him a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t ask me to believe that for a second. I know how much it means to you.”

  Keana Duchenet stood close to Devon and Antonia, the three of them bound together by their alienness. Keana also wore a dress made of the red-weed fabric, and she seemed nervous and very human. “Because this is such a personal matter for me, Uroa will stay in the background. But I … I still don’t understand why Bolton decided to come here.”

  Devon and Antonia held hands. Seeing the two so happy, the General doubted even Sophie could object to how her son had changed.

  “The Constellation shuttle is entering our docking bay, General,” said the comm-officer.

  He nodded. “Mr. Jordan is there with the honor guard to welcome them?”

  “He has a dozen armed soldiers, sir. Only three passengers are aboard the shuttle—they’re all cleared.”

  “Mr. Jordan knows his business. He’ll scan the three to make sure they’re carrying no concealed weapons.” Adolphus smiled at Sophie. She wore a brownish-red dress made of the fabric the shadow-Xayans manufactured from the red weed. The cut was perfect, showing off her figure, although the dress’s color reminded him too much of dried blood. She was not a woman to wear much jewelry, but for this occasion she had selected an elegant necklace, and had taken the time to brush and arrange her wavy dark-brown hair. He smiled in appreciation. “This may be my moment, Sophie, but you’re going to attract all the attention.”

  “I doubt it, Tiber.” She laughed and took his arm. “Shall we go and prepare ourselves?”

  He escorted her to the lift doors, feeling strong and victorious, but did not bask in his triumph. True, it was a historic event to have a Hallholme surrender to him, and with the Constellation fleet now under his control, the Deep Zone would be much safer in its independence. But he still had large problems to resolve, including the eleven thousand prisoners taken from the captured ships, as well as the evacuation of Candela before the two asteroids smashed into the planet. All the ships he could spare had rushed down the stringline toward Candela and should be arriving soon, but evacuating an entire population was no small matter.…

  In the Deck 3 conference room, a banner with the blue and gold colors of the Deep Zone Federation hung on the wall next to a second one with the gold-and-silver Deep Zone Defense Force insignia. Adolphus had asked for no other trappings, no podium, no stage or chairs. The ceremony would be brief and to the point, without any social frippery. This was not supposed to be a party.

  Craig Jordan spoke into the General’s earadio. “We’re coming down the corridor, sir.” Adolphus clicked to acknowledge and took his place, standing at the head of the room. Imagers on the walls would record the event from different angles. Historians would comb over every instant of the ceremony, but he would not let that distract him.

  Though they had no official role in the ceremony, Devon-Birzh and Antonia-Jhera stood with Keana, while Sophie remained off to the side, so the attention could fall on General Adolphus. He faced the door of the conference room as three guards entered and fanned out, two on either side of the door, and one behind. Red Commodore Escobar Hallholme marched inside the tight formation, with Craig Jordan close behind him.

  The son of Commodore Hallholme seemed like a statue carved from glass. He stepped forward like an expertly manipulated marionette, moving mechanically as if his mind were willing him to be elsewhere. Remembering what it felt like when he himself had surrendered to Commodore Percival Hallholme, Adolphus hoped he had never looked so defeated as Escobar did now. The Redcom was skeletal, his eyes shadowy, as if he had been tossed into a hurricane and battered by winds he could not control.

  Last came a man Adolphus identified as Bolton Crais, along with a lean, sharp-edged woman whom he did not recognize. A dozen more guards followed them and took assigned places along the walls of the conference room. They all wore projectile pistols as sidearms and kept their hands ready to draw and fire the weapons; Craig Jordan had two sidearms of his own.

  “General Adolphus, sir,” Jordan announced, “Red Commodore Escobar Hallholme is here to present his sword in formal surrender.”

  Adolphus kept his eyes on the Redcom, saw him swallow hard. His eyes were bloodshot.

  Bolton Crais entered the room and froze; he seemed to lose his balance when he saw his wife. “Keana! You shouldn’t—”

  Keana looked disturbed as well. “You didn’t need to come for me. I chose to stay on Hellhole. You would have been better off back on Sonjeera.”

  Adolphus cleared his throat to return to the formalities. “Who is the woman?”

  Jordan answered, “She claims to be a representative of Lord Riomini from Aeroc. Her name is Gail Carrington. All three have been searched and scanned, sir. Other than the ceremonial sword, they are unarmed.”

  During the General’s surrender, Percival Hallholme had insisted on more pomp and spectacle, knowing that the Diadem demanded it. For this occasion, General Adolphus preferred a more simple surrender ceremony, but one that still adhered to tradition. His focus remained on Escobar Hallholme, seeing so much of the father in the young man’s appearance, but the old Commodore would never have found himself in this situation.

  “Very well,” Adolphus said. “On with the business at hand.”

  * * *

  Bolton stared at Keana and felt his knees go weak—she shouldn’t be here! His mind spun as he tried to think of what to do to keep her safe.

  Though they had been distant from each other for some time, Bolton knew her moods and habits, her many flaws; doubtless, she could list
dozens of things about him as well. He saw the changes in her expression from the alienness she carried in her body, and she did not have the impatient and dismissive look she often gave him. How many ways had she changed?

  Keana Duchenet had always viewed her marriage to Bolton as a hindrance, although she knew that he had given her every possible freedom to do as she pleased without asking for anything in return. Perhaps she had finally come to understand that Bolton did love her in his own way, though more as a brother than as a husband.

  Sweat prickled on his forehead and under his clothes, and he could not suppress his anxiety. Gail Carrington stood next to him, concealing the fact that she was, herself, a loaded weapon. He knew how dangerous she was, how driven. I can’t let Keana die!

  Going through the motions, Escobar stepped forward, his shoulders squared. He had donned his heavily decorated dress uniform, similar to the one the old Commodore had worn in the original surrender footage. The ceremonial sword hung at his side, and Escobar placed his hand on the glittering hilt, slipped his fingers through the hand guard.

  The General spoke. “Red Commodore Escobar Hallholme, your Constellation ships came to my planet—my sovereign planet—to inflict great harm on our population. But you have been defeated. All your vessels are now forfeit to the Deep Zone Defense Force, to protect my people against further military aggression. In exchange for your surrender, I promise safety to yourself and every member of your crew. You will all receive food and shelter, and I will take no punitive action against any of you.”

  Bolton felt a heightened sense of urgency, even more than he’d felt when the fleet was stranded. It was easy to blame the rebels for their predicament, but he knew many of the things Diadem Michella had done to cause this situation herself, how she had forced the Deep Zone into an untenable situation, provoking them, taking too much while giving back almost nothing … until the frontier worlds sought their own solution. Was Adolphus really the monster here?

  The General faced Escobar. “I will accept your sword now, Red Commodore.”

  As Bolton stood with his emotions writhing, his turmoil building toward panic, Keana looked at him, her eyes still dark blue and beautiful, but with a faintly spiraling shimmer. Her face had softened, and her expression showed puzzlement, as if she wondered why he was so upset. She shrugged, as if to ask him why.

  Bolton had grown up a highly practical man, although his father would always be disappointed by his accomplishments. Marrying the Diadem’s daughter was a political triumph for the Crais family, but Bolton had nothing to do with it. Keana had always been a dreamer whose expectations of a fairy-tale marriage were far different from his. He wished he could have been the husband she needed, and now he looked away from her in sorrow. It seemed so cruel for it all to end like this.

  Escobar drew the ceremonial sword from its scabbard, then held it horizontally, the sharp tip in the palm of his other hand. “General Tiber Adolphus,” he said, but his voice cracked. He started again. “General Tiber Adolphus. You … I—”

  The tension in the air was like a cauldron of acid coming to a boil. Bolton thought of the Constellation, the future, the Diadem, his patriotism to the Crown Jewels … and most of all, of Keana.

  He knew what Gail Carrington intended to do.

  While all eyes were on the Red Commodore as he extended the sword toward the General, Carrington reached up, put her fingers to her eye—

  Bolton’s pulse leaped. The insidious command virus had already sabotaged the Constellation ships, and they would soon go rogue. The General could not use the captured vessels to cause any further harm. Wasn’t that enough of a defeat? Bolton had come all this way, enduring months of deprivation and committing terrible but necessary acts just to survive so he could find Keana, and make sure she was all right. He could not tolerate what was about to occur.

  Carrington did not have to murder the General, and Escobar, and him, and all these bystanders. And Keana.

  Bolton’s every instinct for survival shattered like a pane of glass breaking into infinite pieces. He hurled himself into the wiry woman, shouting, “Her eye—it’s a bomb!” He had intended to knock her down and prevent her from activating the hidden explosive, but with her free hand Carrington struck a hard, stunning blow to his forehead, making him fall back against one of the guards.

  Already tense, Craig Jordan and the nearest guard reacted like sprung catapults, crashing into her. Carrington lashed out like a wildcat and tried to leap back, but the guards seized her arms, wrestling her hand away from her face. She struggled, and Bolton saw her half-attached explosive eyeball dangling from its socket. Carrington tried to crush it in her hand to detonate it, but Jordan grabbed her wrist, jerked it away. The gelatinous artificial eye dropped to the deck, where it landed, staring up at them.

  But it didn’t detonate.

  With the sudden outbreak of fighting, Escobar Hallholme thrust his sword toward the General, but Adolphus dodged and grabbed the hilt in an attempt to wrest it away from the Redcom. With his lips drawn tight, Escobar pushed and twisted, trying to drive the blade into Adolphus’s chest.

  The young man and woman standing next to Keana closed their eyes, and Bolton heard a loud humming noise coming from them. Their hair wafted upward in static electricity, and a whisper of breeze built up in the room.

  Carrington broke free of Craig Jordan’s grip and kicked hard sideways, breaking a second guard’s knee. Then she whirled, driving her elbow under Jordan’s jaw, crushing his larynx and breaking his neck.

  Even before Jordan’s body slumped to the deck, Carrington tore both sidearms from his hip holsters, slipped her fingers around the triggers, and shot two more guards surging toward her. Swiveling her lithe body, her eyes predatory, she aimed one of the weapons at Princess Keana Duchenet.

  When Bolton saw the gun pointed at his wife, he struck Carrington’s arm, deflecting her aim in the instant that she fired.

  Hot projectiles struck Antonia in the center of her chest, driving the young woman into the metal wall, where she fell into the banner of planet Hallholme.

  Next to her, Devon’s intent expression dissolved, and the wind and static electricity died. As Antonia dropped to the deck, bleeding from the impact holes in her chest, he cried out in grief, his mouth open in horror.

  Carrington was already swinging the second pistol at General Adolphus, but by now the remaining guards tackled her and tore the weapons from her hands. Bolton heard her wrist snap, but nevertheless she threw the two guards away from her in a superhuman effort, and she stood free of them.

  * * *

  On the floor beside Antonia, Devon stared in total disbelief at the blood seeping out of her chest. Two bullets had struck her. She wasn’t moving or responding, but she remained alive. The inner presence of Jhera gave Antonia strength, but the blood, the torn fabric of her blouse, the gaping wounds …

  Devon felt a rage greater than anything he had experienced since he’d defended Antonia against her abusive stalker, Jako Rullins. The fury of despair, vengeance, and loss became a cyclone within him, creating a synergy with the similar horror of Birzh and building into a whirlwind of telemancy. Devon stood, clenching both fists, grinding his teeth.

  With a wordless wail, he unleashed all the psychic power bottled up within him.

  Gail Carrington was completely unprepared for the invisible hammer that drove her back and pinned her against the far bulkhead. Devon’s telemancy continued to build, and her face reddened. She flailed, fighting against the invisible force; her remaining eye bulged, her mouth dropped open, gasping.

  Then the telemancy smashed her, flattening her rib cage and breaking all her bones, crushing her body. But Devon wasn’t finished. He continued to apply his mental force until the murderous woman was nothing more than a human-shaped outline of pulped flesh, tissue and splintered bits of bone, dribbling down the wall.

  Then Devon knelt beside Antonia and cradled her in his arms.

  83

  Although
Escobar Hallholme was driven by adrenaline and desperation, he was fighting against a well-muscled and well-fed man. General Adolphus slowly turned the sword away, then ripped it free from his grip.

  In a smooth, potentially deadly motion he touched the swordpoint to the Redcom’s throat and drew blood, but somehow Adolphus found the self-control not to kill him. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I will now accept your surrender.”

  His grip did not waver, and he did not take his gaze away from the Redcom’s defiant eyes. If he had been a lesser man, he would have plunged the blade through him, but he controlled himself, reminded himself that he was a leader. He continued, “Long ago, I made the mistake of believing that your father was a man of honor. And now I see you are even less of a man. You are a liar, unworthy of any uniform. You gave your word!”

  Escobar said, in a ragged voice, “But before that I gave my oath to the Diadem and the Constellation. Execute me now and get it over with. You’ve won—what more surrender could you want? How much more humiliation do I need to suffer?”

  “I will not execute you,” Adolphus said. “I will not break my word, but I’ve made a mistake again by agreeing to a promise I’ll regret.”

  Keana confronted Bolton, face-to-face. “Why are you here? Was this all a trap?”

  “I came to save you,” he answered. “I couldn’t let you and everyone be killed for a useless…”

  Five of the guards lay dead on the deck next to Craig Jordan’s body. Two of the survivors seized Escobar roughly by the arms. Adolphus finally lowered the sword. “Place Redcom Hallholme and Bolton Crais in bindings and secure them in the brig.” As the guards dragged Bolton and Escobar out of the conference room, Keana followed, angry and distraught.

  On the other side of the room, the terrible sound of Devon sobbing on the floor tore at his heart.

  * * *

  Sophie knelt beside her son as he held the young woman’s bleeding body. “She’s dying,” Devon said. “I can feel their presence fading … both Antonia and Jhera.”