But when the codecall screen shifted and resolved into a man’s image, the last person Percival ever expected to see at the helm was General Adolphus himself.
89
Keana hurried along the dusty paths between the prison camp structures and tents, watching the sky as Constellation warships destroyed themselves overhead, tumbling unpiloted down through the atmosphere.
From his assigned tent, Bolton Crais saw her and rose to his feet, stepping out to meet her. He wore one of his confused, disarming expressions.
“Bolton, what’s happening up there? Why are those ships out of control?” As she faced him in the camp, she noted his dirty, torn uniform, his unshaven, gaunt face. She hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with him after the bloody debacle aboard the Jacob. He eyed her warily, but she wanted him to see it was Keana herself speaking to him, not some alien-possessed puppet. “Yes, it’s really me. Did you do something to the fleet controls? Tell me!”
Showing a little pride, he said, “Yes, I helped program the ships to fall out of orbit and burn up in the atmosphere. We delayed by enough time for our crews to be off-loaded, but now … it was imperative that we not allow the enemy to capture our fleet.”
Bolton had done that? She had never really looked at him like this before. For years she had been married to a lackluster and uninteresting nobleman, but now she saw a different man, a stronger one. She was surprised, and impressed, that he’d been able to wrest some kind of victory out of such a complete defeat.
He stood before her, straight backed, meeting her eyes. “Now ask me why I’m here.”
Her shoulders slumped as she suspected the answer. “Did my mother send you to save me?”
“Your mother? No,” he said, sounding surprised. “I did my duty as your husband. I came to … make sure you are all right.”
“Why didn’t you just let me go? I’m here because I want to be. You won’t understand the marvelous changes in me, the life and memories I have.…”
He smiled thinly. “I came because I do care about you, and I worry about you.”
Even with the chaos around, the patrols outside the fence perimeter and the restless prisoners, the crisis with the rogue warships burning up in the atmosphere, Keana felt as if the two of them were in a bubble of silence. Her thoughts would not form into words.
Inside her mind, Uroa reminded her that this man, along with Redcom Escobar Hallholme, had come here to devastate the planet, but Keana pushed the angry alien presence into the back of her mind. This is between him and me, she insisted silently. And though Uroa remained there, ready to exert his powers, she held him in check. She focused on Bolton, reassessing him, putting aside some of the assumptions she had made over the years.
“You ran away, Keana,” he continued. “You disappeared—and then we learned you’d joined some alien cult. There was a time when you couldn’t take care of yourself in the real world. Of course I worry about you.”
Her expression softened. “That was before. I’m … different now.”
With a collective gasp, the captive Constellation soldiers looked up to the sky where a high black smudge showed another ship tumbling out of orbit and burning up.
Bolton swallowed hard and said, “I imposed a delay in the shutdown virus for all autopilot and command systems. I didn’t want to kill innocent crewmembers—not even rebels. After what I did to keep us from starving, I have enough blood on my hands.”
Keana could see from the thinness of his face, his sunken cheeks, that he had been through a terrible ordeal. “The General did not intend for you to starve either. He wanted to capture your fleet without bloodshed … but you were lost. Scouts searched and searched, but couldn’t find you.”
“The Redcom refused to sit around and be captured.”
Keana stared at him, saw that Bolton looked haggard and disappointed, but not beaten. “Do you even know what you’re fighting for?” she asked. “The Diadem? You know what my mother is like.”
“Yes, I know her well.” Bolton hung his head. “But she is my legitimate ruler, and I’m fighting for the Constellation, for our noble tradition and way of life.”
With the continuing disaster overhead, the prisoners grew unruly, shouting at the guards along the fences, taunting them. Keana flinched when she heard a peppering of sharp gunfire, but Adolphus’s soldiers were merely firing into the air to intimidate them.
Bolton seemed more interested in their own conversation than in the turmoil in the camp. “Keana, you’re my wife, but I know the circumstances of our marriage. I’m not imagining this will be one of those happily-ever-after romance stories. I have no delusions in that regard, and I haven’t had them for a long time. But I still want to take care of you, as much as you will permit. It’s more than an obligation.”
She lifted her chin. “And I promised to protect this planet from Constellation attack. I’m not the old Keana anymore. I’m different, I’m … more significant here than I ever was as the Diadem’s daughter.” Uroa finally asserted himself in her mind, causing her voice to become harder, more powerful. “I can use my Xayan knowledge, which makes me far stronger than I was as an ordinary human being.”
Bolton’s hazel eyes glinted. “I can see that.”
Red Commodore Hallholme stepped up to the two of them, interrupting. He seemed to interpret Keana’s assertiveness as threatening. He looked disturbed and angry to hear the gunfire from the guards. “Your General Adolphus promised us safety.”
She quelled the flare of Uroa inside her. “The General is always true to his word.”
A ripple of disquiet passed through the camp as Encix returned, this time she was accompanied by Lodo, who had arrived from the museum vault with Cristoph de Carre. Although the numbers of shadow-Xayans had greatly increased, Encix, Lodo, and the badly damaged Tryn were the only surviving Original aliens. As the bizarre caterpillarlike creatures moved through the camp, the prisoners drew back.
But Escobar Hallholme seemed more surprised to see Cristoph.
With a confident air about him, the young disgraced lord came forward to join them. He met the Redcom’s gaze. “Escobar Hallholme … the last time I saw you, your troops were stripping my manor house on Vielinger, plundering my family’s possessions, leaving me little choice except to escape to the Deep Zone.”
Escobar faced him. “I did as Lord Riomini ordered. Your father brought about your family ruin himself.”
Cristoph shrugged. “I know, and I have begun to embrace the turnabout. The loss of my wealth and the unfortunate death of my father opened my eyes and made me see the rampant corruption in the Constellation. The question, Redcom, is whether you see it now.”
“The de Carres got what they deserved. Your father was a disgrace.” Escobar turned to Keana as if Bolton weren’t there. “You and Louis de Carre behaved like fools, embarrassing yourselves—and look what’s happened to both of you!”
Cristoph’s smile had no humor. “But look what’s happened to you, Escobar Hallholme.”
The two Original aliens stood together, observing. Lodo spoke aloud to Encix, “These human factions are fascinating, and quite destructive to each other.”
“I am not interested in their factions,” Encix said. “We must convince these prisoners to accept the slickwater. You know why we have to hurry. You know what is happening at Candela. With these thousands converted, though, we can achieve ala’ru—before it’s too late.” The alien turned toward Keana. “Tell them, Uroa.”
The alien voice swelled inside her, but Keana fought it back down. She gestured to the sky. “No, we’re having a crisis of our own.”
Sophie Vence marched into the camp, looking like a firestorm contained in a woman’s body. She walked directly toward Keana and the two Originals.
“We need you and all the shadow-Xayans—now! It’s time to use the telemancy you practiced to save this planet. Devon and Antonia showed you all how to do it.” Sophie shot a razor-edged glare at Escobar. “We are under attack, and Xayan
power can drive it off.”
Bolton sounded fatalistic rather than smug. “My shutdown virus can’t be stopped. You can’t prevent the ships from spiraling down.”
“Not the virus,” Sophie said. “Commodore Hallholme just arrived with his own military force.”
Keana knew that General Adolphus could defeat a fleet that size under normal circumstances, but he had sent away most of his DZ defense ships for the evacuation of Candela, and his captured Constellation ships had gone berserk. These were not optimal circumstances.
Hearing this, Escobar Hallholme swelled with pride. “I never wanted my father to come to my rescue, but … victory is victory.” He turned to Sophie. “If you would like to discuss your surrender with me, we can negotiate the terms.”
She looked at the man as if he’d gone insane. “Don’t be an idiot, Redcom. I wasn’t addressing you.” All traces of softness had gone from her. “What we need now is Xayan telemancy. The shadow-Xayans practiced their abilities for exactly this situation, and they promised to help. Now is the time.”
Lodo and Encix swayed, troubled. “The risk has never been greater. We don’t dare use too much telemancy, especially now.”
Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you don’t do this now and Commodore Hallholme takes over this planet, you can forget about your chance for ala’ru.” She gave a sharp smile to Bolton and Escobar without seeming to see them. “And if you do save us—I’d dump every one of these soldiers into the slickwater as ‘volunteers’ … if it were up to me.”
Encix and Lodo turned their inhuman faces toward each other. “Yes, planetary salvation is necessary,” they said in eerie unison, their facial membranes vibrating. “We will summon the shadow-Xayans—immediately.”
90
Ishop had been to many governmental proceedings in the Council Hall, during which he provided advice or delivered private messages to Diadem Michella. As her special representative, Ishop had addressed the nobles, delivered surveillance reports about Hellhole, and even raised the alarm about the General’s insidious activities, although the nobles hadn’t taken his warnings seriously at the time. In fact, they had never taken Ishop seriously—because he wasn’t one of them.
Now, at last, all that was going to change. The long-awaited deadline had arrived, and Osheer descendants no longer had to remain in the shadows. Seven centuries was a long time, but these last few months of waiting had seemed even longer.
Before knowing his true destiny, Ishop had been content with his important, if nearly invisible, role in the Diadem’s government. Michella Duchenet knew she could count on him to accomplish even the darkest of tasks. She understood his worth.
Today, though, he felt different inside, elated. Ishop had always been capable and ambitious, greater than any common man; he knew that because he had grown up with so many drab, sleepwalking people. He’d once believed he had achieved his destiny in becoming the Diadem’s most trusted aide, but now he knew there was much more in store.
On the day of his grand announcement, he bounded up the marble steps of the Council Hall, buoyed by the feeling of nobility within him. Diadem Michella had agreed to grant him time at the podium. “I can give you ten minutes at the start of the session, Ishop. Just don’t waste the Council’s time, or mine.”
“It’s a matter of utmost importance, Eminence,” he had reassured her, though she seemed preoccupied.
Arriving well before the Council session was scheduled to begin, he made his way past noblemen and ladies—his equals!—to his reserved seat near the Diadem’s chair. Already there, Michella wore an elegant woven business suit, with her gray hair freshly cut and spangled with tiny gems. Today’s session was only a business meeting, alas, rather than a grand spectacle, but Ishop didn’t want to wait any longer.
Ishop looked up at the podium. So many times he had imagined what he would say if he was permitted to present his case here. He had rehearsed the speech in front of Laderna numerous times in recent days, but as the time approached, his heart fluttered. He’d never been this nervous before committing murder, but this mattered more.
Presently, the Council chairman called the session to order and turned the podium over to the Diadem for her introduction. Michella gestured to Ishop. “Many of you know my loyal aide, Ishop Heer.” Her words blared, so the technicians turned the volume down quickly while she continued, “He has asked to address the Council, and in deference to his years of excellent service, I grant him ten minutes of my own time.”
A restless and disrespectful murmur began in the audience, and other people paid no attention at all. The nobles had always treated Ishop as a trivial underling, but that would change once they knew his true heritage. He took this as a personal lesson and made a silent promise that he would be nicer to commoners as soon as he reclaimed his title.
“On what subject does he wish to address us?” a young nobleman called from his seat in the back row. “We’ve already got a full agenda.”
“Yes, what is the subject?” a noblewoman shouted, her voice shrill.
“Something important, he tells me,” Michella said and gave Ishop an indulgent smile. It made him think of a kindly pat on the head, like a master would give to a faithful dog.
Several seats down in the same row, the elderly Lord Tanik Hirdan made a rude noise. “Let the man speak and get it over with!”
Flustered, Ishop made careful note of the nobles who grumbled loudest as he walked to the middle of the polished stone floor. He felt alone out there, but he shored up his resolve. At the podium, he bowed toward the Diadem.
“Eminence, I have served the Constellation for years, providing you with able assistance, and my work has bolstered the stature and integrity of the position you hold. Now I’ve made a momentous discovery in the historical archives—and I have wonderful news!”
He had expected this to rivet their attention, but many of the nobles were chatting, not even bothering to whisper, showing him no courtesy or respect. He frowned, but continued in a firm voice. “Many centuries ago my family name was Osheer, not Heer. We were a respectable noble family that wielded great power. Two of my ancestors even served as Diadem in the early days.”
At last, he was gratified to see surprise on Michella’s face.
With a swelling heart, reaching his moment of triumph, he continued, “Seven hundred years ago, through a long-forgotten political scandal, the Osheers were stripped of their holdings on the basis of the same proviso that was recently used to banish Enva Tazaar. My ancestors lived as commoners for so many generations they eventually forgot who they were. But I haven’t forgotten.”
He waited to see the excited reaction he expected, but it was slow in coming. Maybe they didn’t believe him yet.
He raised his voice to hide the fact that he was flustered. “I have copies of the old paperwork from the Constellation archives. I can provide extensive proof, including family trees and genetic markers. For formality, I will submit documentation to each of your offices. The dates are recorded, the details clear. As of two days ago, that long period of disgrace has passed.” He smiled at the audience, panning from face to face. “According to the Constellation Charter, I now reclaim my heritage. Today, I formally rejoin the ranks of nobles!”
Before they could applaud, he continued in a rush. “Along with my title, I therefore petition for holdings appropriate to my status. The best and obvious solution, since it is available, would be to grant me the planet Orsini and the former holdings of Enva Tazaar.” He looked at Michella and added, “Subject to the payment of proper taxes to the Diadem, of course.”
Exuberant, he stood awaiting thunderous cheers of approval. Instead, the Council members just stared, either stunned or smiling disdainfully. Then, after a moment of silence, he heard chuckles, which gradually built into outright laughter.
In disbelief, he looked at Diadem Michella for help, but she gave him an indulgent smile tinged with impatient dismis
siveness. “We’ll discuss this further when there is time, Ishop.” She glanced at her ornate personal chronometer. “That’s the end of your ten minutes.”
Ishop stood frozen at the podium.
“Next item of business,” Michella said, addressing the assemblage. “Investigating the escape of Enva Tazaar. It is vital that we determine how best to root out any additional Adolphus loyalists who may be lurking among us.…”
Reeling, Ishop made his way back to his seat, unable to believe what had just happened.
91
For years, Tiber Maximilian Adolphus had dreamed of facing Percival Hallholme again. But not now, not like this.
Although he had saved the Diadem’s Glory from burning up in the atmosphere, the General remained hamstrung, the bulk of his fleet gone, his captured warships out of control. He tightened his grip on the flagship’s command chair, as if he meant to break off the padded arm. “Weapons systems?”
The distraught engineering teams looked up at him. One woman shook her head. “None, sir.”
“How about propulsion?”
“Barely,” said a second engineer. “Enough to keep us above the atmosphere, but we’re not going anywhere. We can’t escape Commodore Hallholme’s ships.”
“I don’t intend to run away,” Adolphus said. “I just want to know how much maneuverability we have.”
The chief engineer lowered his chin. “Not much, sir.”
His mind spun. According to a preliminary analysis, Commodore Hallholme’s ships had come in on the stringline from Buktu! But how? The decommissioned iperion path from Sonjeera should not have supported any travel whatsoever, but the old Commodore was resourceful; Adolphus didn’t doubt that. He wondered if the Buktu facilities had been captured or destroyed. An aggressive commander would have left scorched earth behind him, destroying all the enemy’s resources and advantages. Or had he captured them for the Diadem?
“Do we still have the weapons platforms?” he asked. “Can they open fire?”
Hellhole: Awakening Page 46