Ian Walfor had apparently gone on his own run, delivering supplies and equipment to Candela. Other captives informed Percival’s interrogators that the direct journey from Buktu to planet Hallholme would take three days. Percival had expected a shorter transit, but the time was acceptable; at least now they were on their way to the endgame.
Percival did not leave the bridge to accept the formal surrender of Erik Anderlos; he didn’t consider that necessary. Duff Adkins took care of the administrative details, crowding the prisoners into empty mess halls and auditoriums. As the last captives were loaded aboard, Percival felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.
Adkins noticed his concern. “Do you really think you’ll need all these hostages, Commodore?”
“I might, although I doubt the General will make the same mistake twice.”
Once the Constellation warships returned to their docking clamps, the stringline hauler prepared to depart. The Commodore stared ahead at the starfield as they began to accelerate out of the Buktu system.
“We’re on the road to Hellhole,” Adkins said, in a poor attempt at humor.
“That we are, Duff.”
77
No time to lose.
Within an hour of when Ian Walfor showed her the images of the incoming asteroids, Tanja Hu dispatched an emergency message pod to the main Hellhole hub, describing the asteroid crisis and requesting help. “Send evacuation ships fast, General—as many as possible. We have to move our entire population off the planet.”
But even a message pod would take two days to reach the Hellhole hub, and he would need some time—a day?—to gather vessels, then another two days for them to return. The rescue vessels would barely arrive before the asteroids slammed into Candela, and the physical process of shuttling thousands of people to orbit and loading them aboard ships would itself take days.
She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly do it.
For backup, she dispatched another message pod to Cles, to which she had just connected via her new stringline, but Cles had almost no ships. And she could not send a direct communication to any other DZ planets without going through Hellhole. There wasn’t enough time!
Nevertheless, she had to do what she could with the ships she already had available at her planet. Her planet. Thanks to the fear of Constellation reprisal, the General had left another fifteen guardian ships at Candela, and she had the six ships she had recently received from Theser. They were vessels large enough to hold tens of thousands of people. It was a start.
“We don’t have time to hold meetings and dither about a decision,” she told Ian Walfor in her office. “If we really do have less than a week, there’s not going to be enough time to round everyone up and evacuate, even with perfect cooperation. According to our most recent census, Candela has about three hundred thousand colonists, but that information understates the numbers.”
Walfor was surprised, since he knew every single person on Buktu—all three hundred of them. Tanja shook her head in dismay. “We didn’t bother to find everyone and count them because the Diadem would just tax us more if we did.”
Next order of business, she transmitted the crisis announcement across Candela, requesting everyone’s help. Tanja went to her office’s largest viewing window, gazed out on the blue-water harbor and the floating high-rise buildings; right now, everyone went about their daily business, crossing the linked walkways, taking ferries to shore. That would all change soon enough.
Although Walfor admired her businesslike reaction, he lifted his eyebrows at the planetwide broadcast. “This could start a panic.”
“If I hide it from them, it’ll start a panic, too. I’ll opt for trusting my people instead.” She knew that was what Bebe would have counseled. “We need their help.”
Motioning to him, she led the way up a spiral staircase that emerged on the rooftop of her administration building, and they sat at a table in hazy sunlight, with a gentle, warm breeze blowing. It was so pleasant here, and so illusory.
“Many of the distant hill villages might not get the message at all, and the people won’t know they’re in danger until they see the asteroids bearing down on them. And even if they do find out in advance, they won’t be able to get to the spaceport in time. But even if everyone makes it to the spaceport in time, we don’t have enough ships to carry everybody.”
Walfor shifted uneasily next to her. A black stubble of beard covered his lower face. “In the meantime, let’s worry about the ones we can save, take care of them, and then see how many more we can reasonably round up.”
Tanja felt hot under the hazy sunlight of the rooftop gardens. The breeze picked up, carrying a dash of warm sprinkles, but the brief rain shower passed. Oddly, she began to feel energized again, gaining the strength she needed to face yet another problem. She had erased the dark bitterness that had caused so many painful repercussions, but even so she couldn’t believe how things kept getting worse and worse. Each time she dealt with a crisis, a bigger one arose to take its place, as if they were all lined up waiting for their turn to strike. Now she had to find a way to save her people.
Walfor slumped in a chair on the rooftop, showing his exhaustion. “More than three hundred thousand! Where are we going to put them?”
“We’ll scrounge as many ships as we can,” Tanja said. “Anything to get people off the surface of Candela, even if it’s just to hold them in orbit, because nobody will survive the impact shock wave.”
She had already looked at first-order simulations: The double strike would be a hammer blow on the landmasses, enough to flatten forests, shatter mountains, and pulverize any creatures on the ground, followed by flash fires that would sweep across the landscape; plumes of ejecta would rain down on the surface. Then would come storms, volcanic eruptions, quakes—years of incredible upheavals. No one left down there would survive.
“Once we leave Candela, we leave for good,” she said.
They went together to the administrative records section of the building, where Tanja and Ian scanned the inventory of Candela’s ships, all craft of any kind that could fly out of Candela’s gravity well, even just to low orbit. “How many passengers can your ship hold, Ian?” They stood at a table with papers strewn across it.
“Twenty-five in a pinch, but not comfortably.”
“How about fifty if they stand shoulder-to-shoulder? Can you get off the ground?”
He nodded. “We can put thousands in your stringline hub. They’ll just have to last for a little while after the asteroids hit—and hope rescue ships arrive.”
As she considered the disheartening numbers, Tanja fervently wished Bebe Nax was back at her side. She paused as a shudder of grief went through her. Outside, she saw the calm waters of the harbor, the steep forested hills, and the ruins of the funicular rail that had been built by the previous administrator.
She felt as if a trapdoor had dropped out from under her. “We’re on our own, aren’t we, Ian?” she said in a quiet voice.
“We live in the Deep Zone, my dear.” He rubbed her shoulders. “We’ve always had to survive with the resources at hand. But I agree, this is more challenging than usual.”
She straightened, focused her attention, driving away all her distractions. “I want a constant stream of humanity out of here, shuttle after shuttle filled with people for the next seven days.”
“More like six days and fifteen hours,” Walfor said.
“We evacuate Saporo first, because the people are already here. Order everyone to the spaceport—I want our first shuttleloads of refugees to head up to the military vessels within the hour.”
At her urgent summons, district administrators began to arrive at the headquarters building, one by one. Tanja did not delay the meeting for any stragglers, simply gave instructions to each man and woman as they arrived. Because of her initial emergency broadcast, thousands of people had heard of the imminent crisis, although the reality had not yet sunk in.
“We need organizers,” Tanja
said, “and security personnel to crack down on unruly crowds and riots. Anybody who causes trouble, damages facilities, or slows down our operations can cost lives. I hate to say this, but authorize security to shoot if necessary.” She presented the calculations, after studying how many ground-to-orbit vessels they had available, as well as questionable fuel supplies for the operation.
Young Jacque came into the records section, looking for her, clearly alarmed. “This is an emergency,” she told him, sweeping the boy into her arms. “We’re sending you up to orbit, where you’ll be out of danger.” She lowered her voice and held him close. “I’ve got to make sure you’re safe.”
“Can I watch the asteroids come in from there?”
“Yes—a lot of us will.”
“I’ll make sure he gets off-planet,” Walfor promised. “You have enough to worry about down here.”
“Thank you.” She touched the boy’s shoulder, desperate to keep him by her side, wanting to be reassured that he was all right, but she needed to get him as far away from the cataclysm as possible, as quickly as possible. “Pack a bag as fast as you can, a small one. Take only the most important things, because it’s going to be crowded. We’ll find a new home.”
“Will it be as nice as Candela?” Jacque asked.
“I can’t promise that, but let’s hope so.” She kissed him on the forehead, surprising herself at the show of affection. “Now get ready. Everything is going to be frantic for the next few days.”
“We also have cargo upboxes that are already vacuum sealed and can hold people,” Walfor suggested. “We could add oxygen tanks, heaters, enough to keep people alive for a short time in orbit. And we have the big ore ships from the iperion mines. They’ve been delivering load after load up to your new stringline hub.”
“They’re contaminated with iperion! We can’t use those ships to carry people.”
He had a hard look on his face. “In that case, maybe we should have them haul up as much iperion as we can possibly extract from the mines.”
“We can’t worry about iperion—we’ve got to evacuate the people! Even now, we don’t have enough time or ships—”
Walfor raised a hand. “I know, and I feel for them, too. But Candela is the Deep Zone’s only known source of iperion. Without that, we can’t maintain the stringlines. The whole DZ network will unravel, and that could lead to the collapse of our government.”
She pondered this. “All right. They’ll step up production for the next few days while we figure out the details of the evacuation plan.” She shook her head. “In the final day or so, though, we’re going to crowd the contaminated ore boxes with people, if there’s any room. So long as they disembark in a relatively short time, most of them will recover from the iperion exposure, and it could save another few thousand people.”
Walfor agreed. “If their only other alternative is to be dead, they’ll take the chance.”
* * *
Even with the expected wrinkles and snags of getting such a large operation under way, fifty flights went up during the first half day, carrying five thousand people to the orbiting military vessels. For the time being, the guardian ships carried only skeleton crews, so there were plenty of available cabins, common rooms, and even general cargo vaults. Tanja was willing to pack the vessels like old-fashioned sardine cans, if need be, and more people would be piled onto the stringline hub, anything to buy a day or two.
Tanja and her advisers determined that there might be enough time for one round-trip to Hellhole, if they left immediately, disembarked the thousands of evacuees there within hours, and returned at full speed to pick up more survivors. When two ships were completely packed, she sent them flying back down the stringline to Hellhole.
But afterward, when there was no possibility of later ships making a round-trip in time and saving more people, she declared that none of the military vessels would depart from the Candela hub until the last possible moment. Even when they were supposedly full, she would keep cramming people aboard, as long as the shuttles brought more refugees. She commandeered all the planet’s fuel supplies and devoted them to the operation; she seized every functional ship and required that they operate constant flights with the shortest possible turnaround. When one captain complained about the draconian measures, Tanja ordered her vessel seized and the captain’s name placed further down on the evacuation list. The others learned their lesson.
When she killed Governor Undine, Tanja had been ruthless and implacable; now her unwavering hardness would give the people of Candela a chance at survival.
She hoped General Adolphus would receive her emergency message in time. In the best possible scenario, his rescue ships would arrive with only a day to spare. If they arrived at all …
78
General Tiber Adolphus waited only an hour, after much of the Constellation fleet had already surrendered, before he transmitted his ultimatum to the Diadem’s Glory. On the bridge of the flagship, Escobar cringed when he heard the brutal instructions.
“Redcom Hallholme, you are to direct your remaining vessels into low orbit, where they will wait to be boarded. All Constellation soldiers will be taken to the surface and processed. Those who cooperate will receive full rations of food and water, as well as medical attention.”
On the codecall screen, the square-jawed Adolphus wore the familiar deep-blue uniform jacket Escobar had seen in the historical records of his surrender to Commodore Percival Hallholme. On the image now, the rebel leader looked freshly shaved, alert, implacable, and menacing.
He continued, “For the formalities, Redcom, and for history’s sake, I must insist upon your unconditional surrender. You will come over to my flagship and present your ceremonial sword. I’m sure you’re familiar with the procedure.”
Escobar was enraged to hear this. He felt smaller now and more adrift than during those bleak days when his fleet was marooned in empty space. He could hear his father’s voice scolding him from the pages of his military journals: “By the time your opponent feels confident enough to ask for your surrender, you have already been defeated.” He didn’t think even the old Commodore, with all of his legendary military genius, could have found a way out of this trap. On the other hand, the old man would never have made such blunders in the first place.
Escobar kept his transmitting system blank and turned to his bridge crew. “Options! How can we turn this around?”
“I don’t believe we can, Redcom,” Bolton said. “The numbers are clear. Nineteen of our ships remain loyal to us, but forty-six have already surrendered to Adolphus, and five were destroyed in skirmishes. General Adolphus still has forty-five of his own ships, all fully armed, fueled, and crewed, and he’s quickly putting our own captured ships into service against us. A total of ninety-one ships against our nineteen. It’s simply not possible, sir.”
While Escobar kept his end of the transmission line blocked, General Adolphus began broadcasting his own images for everyone to see, real-time video of shuttle after shuttle of captured Constellation soldiers being taken down to the Michella Town spaceport. The prisoners of war were escorted to makeshift mess halls and received platters of rations. Nothing extravagant, simply preserved military meals—nevertheless, it looked like a feast compared with the rigors of starvation in space.
Before rebel technicians could punch through the codecall blocks on the Diadem’s Glory, Escobar opened the connection himself to show his own image. He glared into the screen while Adolphus spoke.
“I am providing for every one of your soldiers, Redcom, but before we grant relief to the crews aboard your holdout ships, I require a formal surrender ceremony. You have been a worthy opponent, and I bear you no personal enmity, but I suggest you accept my offer before your own flagship crew mutinies.”
“I refuse,” Escobar said automatically and added with false bravado, “My remaining warships have ample supplies.”
“Very well.” Adolphus shrugged. “If you believe discipline trumps hunger, we ca
n keep you bottled up for as long as you like. We’re patient. Take your time.”
Escobar realized he was hyperventilating; he could barely see or concentrate. He knew he would have to concede sooner or later. Adolphus’s stringline facilities were too well guarded for Escobar’s handful of loyal ships to capture one of them. And the new stringline had no value as an escape route, since it led to only a deep-space graveyard.
Thoughts sped through his mind like weapons fire. How many more deaths did he want on his conscience? He knew the General was not exaggerating: the threat of a mutiny, the constantly playing images of well-fed prisoners, the bounty of colony food offered to anyone who laid down their arms, were irresistible to starving crewmembers who could not endure for another day, much less weeks. General Adolphus could indeed wait as long as he liked.
Escobar turned to his rival’s face on the screen. “All right, damn you! We’ll come over to your flagship.”
Adolphus gave a nod and a congenial smile. “I am glad you’ve seen reason. Shall I send a shuttle for you?”
“We can get there ourselves,” Escobar snapped. He tried to end the transmission, but for several moments his opponent’s codecall override kept it open, until it finally shut down.
* * *
Back when Gail Carrington was forcibly sedated, Escobar had read her private orders from Lord Riomini. He knew she had been instructed to kill him should he fail—and by any definition he had surely failed. Now, in his dim quarters where he prepared himself for surrender and shame, Escobar was half-convinced she would murder him in front of everyone. Perhaps that would be for the best anyway.
This defeat was entirely Escobar’s fault, and because of him, a full fleet had fallen into the hands of the enemy. Because of him, the Constellation might well lose the war, thanks to all those warships he had inadvertently handed to the Deep Zone Defense Forces. The General would have enough military might to overthrow the Diadem and her government. And once word of the humiliating surrender ceremony got back to Sonjeera, even his father’s legendary triumphs would be swept aside. Escobar’s own sons would grow up in disgrace—if either of them survived this revolution.
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