Hellhole (66 page)

After Adolphus’s provocative revelation, and the Diadem’s unequivocal declaration of war, Lord Selik Riomini had wasted no time preparing the Army of the Constellation for combat. Michella announced her intention to tighten her grip on the Deep Zone worlds, insisting on absolute compliance from her subjects . . . but so far, the frontier administrators had failed to respond. Escobar privately decided that the planetary leaders feared General Adolphus more than they feared the Army of the Constellation. That would have to change.

In the distance he saw skirmish aircraft flying in practice formations and heard the drone of heavy machinery all around as cargo ships were loaded with the necessities of war to be uplifted onto huge military stringline haulers that could transport an entire fleet at a time. The Army of the Constellation would hurtle down on General Adolphus and his nest of traitors like a brand new asteroid impact.

Soon enough, Escobar realized with some amusement, the Deep Zone was going to need a lot of new planetary administrators.

The old Commodore interrupted his thoughts. “When you go into battle, son, remember that you carry our family name and honor on your shoulders. You won’t know who you really are until you face a genuine war.” He paused, looking troubled. “I learned things about myself in that process, you know . . .”

When the old man’s voice trailed off, Escobar broke in, not wanting to hear more. “I passed my school exams near the top of my class and received excellent combat training. I am fully prepared to distinguish myself in the assault force against Adolphus. It will be a short little war, Father. Just wait for the news, and watch for my name.”

The old man’s gray eyes were moist and rheumy as he wallowed in another round of reminiscing. “I just want you to keep things in perspective, son. Don’t place too much importance on your limited experience.”

Escobar let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “That would be impossible around you.”

They traveled to Lord Riomini’s Aeroc estate for a strategy session that included officers and nobles of the Hirdan and Tazaar families, along with a lackluster minor cousin who claimed to be in charge of coordinating official military documents. Old Percival referred to the man privately as a “desk general” – a nobleman who was proficient at office work but not to be trusted with making combat decisions.

Logistics Officer Bolton Crais was also there representing his family, but he was primarily interested in ensuring Keana’s safety. The men sat at a large conference table by a window that looked out on the gardens of the Aeroc estate. “We can send our ships to form a blockade around planet Hallholme and destroy the new stringline hub,” Crais said. “But we don’t dare launch outright military strikes against the cities on the ground! There are civilians and . . . and Princess Keana is there. We have to ensure her safety.”

Escobar said coldly, “That might not be in alignment with the overall military objective.”

Dressed in black, as always, Lord Riomini prevented Keana’s cuckolded husband from pressing the point. He spoke from the head of the long table, his voice laced with acid. “You should have kept your foolish wife under better control, Bolton. She’s gotten herself into the thick of things, and we cannot risk the security of the whole Constellation for her sake.”

“But she’s the Diadem’s daughter!” Crais seemed genuinely distraught, which Escobar found surprising. Everyone knew they had a loveless marriage.

With an annoyed sigh, the Black Lord unfurled a document that bore Michella’s prominent stamp. “These are the Diadem’s instructions explicitly sanctioning ‘all necessary militarily actions, without regard to the safety of any particular individual.’ She knew exactly what I was asking her to sign. This discussion is ended.”

Crais slumped back in his chair, and did not speak for the rest of the meeting. Escobar did not feel that his lack of input was much of a loss. Military decisions should be based on military considerations. Even though Escobar’s own wife was a Riomini, he would never have suggested changing tactics simply to keep her safe. There were too many other considerations.

“One more thing,” Riomini said, with a wink in the direction of old Percival. “I’ve completed my review of recommendations concerning who should lead the assault force against Adolphus. I’ll remain in overall command of our forces, but for this job I have another name in mind, one whose family has distinguished itself in past service to the Constellation.”

He looked down the table from side to side at the various officers (many of whom came from military families), and let his gaze rest on Escobar, who found himself short of breath, waiting for the next words. The Black Lord fiddled with his collar, then said, “Escobar Hallholme, you are hereby assigned to command the initial assault force.” He smiled. “If you accept, of course.”

“Sir, with all of my heart!” In his excitement Escobar stood up, and in the dazed moments that followed he was surrounded by other officers who congratulated him and patted him on the back. This did not include his father, who stood off to one side, watching somberly.

When the strategy session ended, he and his father boarded a tram bound for an officers’ compound where they would be staying. The officers spoke of a celebration that evening as a send-off to war, insisting that the Hallholmes attend. Escobar knew what that meant: fresh-faced soldiers gathering around the legendary Commodore, listening with rapt attention as the old man talked and talked and talked until dawn. Escobar politely begged off. In his own quarters, at least, he would have a bit of peace.

The two of them were closer now, but Escobar had a lot of planning to do. He didn’t want to make mistakes; he needed to select a cadre of officers who would assist him closely, and on whom he could depend. Some of those names were already obvious, due to seniority and past performance, but some were not.

As the tramcar accelerated along its aerial track, his father cleared his throat. “You think I am too hard on you, son. You think I expect too much.”

“I am proud of my own record, sir, no matter what you believe. And I have managed to steer clear of all the black marks that blotted your early career. When you were my age, you had very little to brag about.”

“Ah, yes.” The old man paused a moment, as if mulling over some of those misadventures before returning his thoughts to the present. “Whenever I give an example about military matters, it is intended as an object lesson for you. That’s why you should pay close attention. You may have been hampered by a peacetime career, but you were also weaned on the service. With your family name, as my son, you have advanced ahead of many others.”

“I intend to make my own name, and now I have that opportunity. Two military careers made by facing the same man: Tiber Maximilian Adolphus. Isn’t it ironic that both of us would defeat the same opponent?”

“You’ll have to succeed to make it ironic. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Ignoring his father’s comment, Escobar mused, “I wish this had the potential to be a larger war. Adolphus will be tougher than the de Carres, certainly, but he’s only leading a ragtag bunch of Deezees operating tired old equipment. A couple of weeks and it’ll be over.”

“Don’t forget that our Army of the Constellation is a bloated military force led by too many political favorites. Yes, we have some talented commanders, but there are weaknesses, and the enemy is clever enough to exploit them. I urge you not to underestimate Tiber Adolphus – or he’ll bury you.”

Escobar didn’t believe it for a moment, of course. His father was a doddering old man who had spent years exaggerating his own achievements. The upstart Adolphus wouldn’t last long.

D
uring the stringline trip to Sonjeera, Vincent had plenty of room aboard the passenger pod. The hauler had no other cargo upboxes or additional passenger pods; isolated up in her rig, the captain was happy to be released to the Crown Jewels, terrified to be caught up in the whirlwind of a brewing conflict.

Aboard the pod, Vincent’s only companions were Fernando-Zairic, three shadow-Xayans, and Cippiq. The others accepted Vincent’s presence politely enough, yet he felt like the odd man out; he wasn’t like them. He stuck it out anyway.

Fortunately, because human mouths could not make the resonating thrums required by the natural Xayan language, everyone spoke Constellation standard, even the Original alien. Vincent could understand their words, but more often than not he didn’t comprehend what they were talking about.

As the nearly empty stringline hauler hurtled along, Zairic spoke of his bright hopes that the people of the Constellation would join them and help resurrect the Xayan race. While the rapt followers listened, Vincent interjected, “First you’ll have to convince Diadem Michella that we’re no threat. She’ll be furious with General Adolphus. I expect she will want to deal with Deep Zone independence before she worries about your alien dreams.”

Zairic dismissed the idea. “With the possibility of
ala’ru
for our race, such parochial concerns are irrelevant and minor.”

“The Diadem won’t see it that way.”

A hint of cockiness in his friend’s expression suggested that the real Fernando had come to the fore again, if only for a moment. “Don’t worry, Vincent. I’ll just have to be persuasive.”

The stringline ship arrived at the bustling Sonjeera hub, a huge orbiting wheel with twenty-seven active stations at which haulers docked, disengaged their boxes and passenger pods, and hooked up outgoing containers, before heading out again.

The hauler captain, relieved to be back in civilization, sent a code-call message explaining the odd set of passengers she had brought from Hellhole. She used a confidential emergency frequency to request procedural clarifications.

While Fernando-Zairic, Vincent, and the others waited in the passenger pod for clearance to land at the spaceport, cargo downboxes were detached from adjacent haulers and passed over to orbital handling facilities. Because not all of the containers were destined for the capital world, shipments would be realigned and cross-loaded onto haulers bound for other planets.

For more than an hour they heard no word from any official representatives, so Fernando-Zairic used the passenger pod’s codecall system to send his own message over a broad range of common frequencies. “Attention, people of Sonjeera! I am Zairic, emissary from the Xayan race. We have come to meet with you and tell our exciting story to your people. We request a personal meeting with Diadem Michella Duchenet. As proof of who we are, we brought one of the survivors of our original people.” For shocking emphasis, Zairic brought Cippiq into the transmission frame. It was the first time anyone from the Crown Jewels had ever seen an Original Xayan.

Cippiq bowed his supple neck, and his large eyes never blinked. His mouth membrane thrummed as he spoke. “Diadem Michella, leader of the Constellation, we look forward to telling you of our history and our hopes. We wish to explain how you can all share the lives of our lost race.”

Before Zairic could speak again, a high-pitched sound exploded from the codecall speakers, followed by a burst of feedback. Vincent wasn’t surprised. “They’re jamming us, Fernando. I don’t know how much of your message got through to the general public before you were cut off. Someone must be monitoring the pod frequency. They shut us down.”

Zairic did not seem disturbed. “We have been patient for centuries. We can be patient now. Sooner or later, Diadem Michella will let us deliver our message to the Constellation.”

Vincent drew a deep, frustrated breath. “Zairic,
please
listen to me! This isn’t going to be as simple or straightforward as you imagine. The Diadem won’t
want
to hear what you have to say. After what General Adolphus just did, she’ll be suspicious of anything that comes from Hellhole.”

“Then we must allay her suspicions.” Zairic turned away from the now-useless codecall panel, and Vincent felt as if he had been dismissed.

Without explanation or warning, the passenger pod disengaged from its docking clamp, dropped away from the hauler framework, and began to fall, guided remotely to the city-studded surface. Sonjeera was a mosaic of lights and urban grids, along with geometric, multilayered agricultural plots for maximum productivity, rivers that no longer misbehaved but flowed in straight lines, and sapphire oceans that had been well tamed.

Vincent peered through the windowport, remembering the only other time he had seen the capital world, when he was transferred out to Hellhole. Despite the optimism Fernando-Zairic now exuded, Vincent was not convinced this trip would be any better than when he had been sent to the Deep Zone. Nevertheless, he would do his best to offer assistance, no matter how much anxiety gnawed at his stomach.

As the pod plowed through the atmosphere, Vincent got a good view of Sonjeera’s primary spaceport. Cippiq and the shadow-Xayans seemed completely placid, accepting wherever they might be taken; the group remained in their seats, not bothering to look through the windowports.

The main landing area was a targeting zone littered with upboxes to be shot into orbit and downboxes that had already been received. Heavy machinery moved cargo to supply stations, while rail delivery systems sent passenger pods to waiting areas and terminals.