Hellhole Inferno Read online

  The veteran stood before him, straight-backed, expressionless. “There are plenty like me, sir, and we’re all loyal to you. You have more of us than you realize.”

  16

  The Urvanciks’ last run to Hossetea had been unpleasant, thanks to the simmering and angry population, but Turlo and Sunitha were much more tense now as they sneaked a team of shadow-Xayans into the Crown Jewels.

  “I told you a linerunner’s life would be exciting, my dear,” Turlo said to his wife.

  “I believe you said the exact opposite,” she replied, “but this is the way it turned out.” The couple huddled together, sharing warmth inside the dim confines of a modified downbox, a sealed cargo container that also held the rest of their infiltrators.

  “We can always use our telemancy if it is necessary,” Tryn-Clovis said. “Don’t underestimate our abilities, but we do not wish to draw attention to ourselves.”

  Though they couldn’t see anything outside, the downbox shuddered as it dropped away from the holding clamp on the hauler framework, and Turlo felt the walls shift as he readjusted his perceptoion of “down.” Two of the shadow-Xayans muttered in surprise, but the rest sat quietly, waiting.

  “Don’t worry. Exactly as expected,” Turlo said. “We’re in the hands of gravity now.”

  As they dropped into lower orbit and rapid insertion into Sonjeera’s atmosphere, they were falling blind, but Turlo knew what was happening. He had the schedule, and he had made his contacts. He would have to trust the General’s loyalists who still remained on the capital world, keeping a low profile but maintaining secret lines of communication.

  “Stuck in a falling box with you,” Sunitha said to her husband with a forced smile. “I suppose there are worse places.”

  He didn’t ask her to name one.

  * * *

  After accepting the covert mission from General Adolphus, Turlo and Sunitha had discussed the plan with Tryn-Clovis, as well as Keana Duchenet. Keana had given them insights into the underground network beneath the Sonjeera spaceport, but Adolphus’s loyalists working in and around the spaceport would also be able to provide more up-to-date information as soon as the team managed to get to the surface.

  Tryn-Clovis had already selected fifteen of his fellow converts to join him on the mission to retrieve the residue of Zairic and Cippiq. The powerful shadow-Xayan held a flood of memories and revelations from the two alien lives inside him, and Turlo had slipped secretly into Sonjeera many times. He and Sunitha knew how to get to the spaceport, and the shadow-Xayans’ unexpected telemancy powers should give them a tactical advantage. Even so, the Urvanciks did not underestimate how difficult it would be to infiltrate the quarantined spaceport hangar.

  “Just getting to the capital will be a challenge,” Turlo had explained to the silent, confident group at the Ankor complex on Hellhole, “but my wife and I have done that before. Once we get you to Sonjeera, it’ll be up to your team to do what’s necessary at the quarantined hangar.”

  Tryn-Clovis did not have a shred of doubt in his voice. “We’ll do it.”

  Their linerunner ship, the Kerris, had flown from the Hellhole hub out to the quiet DZ world of Nielad, where occasional ships still went back and forth into the Crown Jewels, trading black-market products and engaging in a few humanitarian missions. At Nielad, the strange passengers transferred to a specially equipped downbox marked as nondescript cargo, which was then loaded aboard one of the illicit stringline haulers. The hauler had switched to the old Constellation network and headed off toward the bustling confusion of the Sonjeera hub.

  With the Urvanciks’ secret connections in the giant stringline hub and commercial nexus, it took little effort for the right person to change a few records, alter a schedule, and add one particular unmarked downbox for a scheduled drop down to the main Sonjeera spaceport.…

  Now the Urvanciks and the shadow-Xayan team huddled inside the insulated shipping container. They fell toward the surface, listening to the outside rumble of atmosphere during their controlled fall.

  “It’ll be a short flight,” Turlo said.

  Sunitha squeezed his hand. “The log marks this as an empty box waiting to be filled with outbound cargo,” she explained to the team, although they had already gone over the details. “We’ve found an insider down there with up-to-date information on the setup. Someone should meet it on the ground to let us out and guide us to where we need to be.”

  “If the right person is on the dock schedule,” Turlo said.

  “We will manage,” said Tryn-Clovis.

  The downbox had an interior coated with a special organic film that exuded breathable oxygen from dense cells, an experimental design that would have allowed the shipment of live items under normal commercial circumstances. The advantage of the film was that it did not produce the energy signature of traditional life-support systems, so it would attract no attention.

  Sunitha sniffed the sour air, made a face. “I’ll be glad to be out of here.” The downbox rumbled and vibrated as it was buffeted in the atmosphere.

  “We’ve been in confined places before,” Turlo said, then leaned over to kiss her on the lips.

  “Our danger will come after we land and the downbox is opened,” said Nico-S’blek, one of the shadow-Xayans.

  Tryn-Clovis emerged from his own thoughts. “And then I can fulfill my revelation. The residue of our great leaders will be a catalyst to push us to ala’ru much sooner than expected.”

  “First we have to get into the hangar,” Turlo cautioned. He already had plans in motion, contacts to make, and Sunitha would acquire secret details of the spaceport. He began to think they might have a chance.

  Finally, decelerators kicked in, and all the hidden passengers held on as the container slowed on approach to the paved landing zone. The container came to a rest, and the background noises of atmosphere fell silent, eventually replaced by the sounds of a lifter that grabbed the downbox and placed it on a conveyor. The container lurched and swayed as it was moved.

  “We’re being taken across the landing field,” Sunitha said. “We’ll know soon where we are … and if we’re in big trouble.”

  When the conveyor stopped, they felt the downbox shift as it was off-loaded. Turlo heard muffled voices outside, then the dwindling sound of an engine as the conveyor departed.

  “I hope we see a friendly face when the downbox opens,” muttered one of the shadow-Xayans.

  Turlo and Sunitha both sat anxiously, breathing heavily, holding hands. Tryn-Clovis had his eyes closed, meditating, apparently reaching out with his telemancy. “I think we have succeeded … at least, in this part of the plan.”

  Yet more than an hour passed, which only increased their tension. Turlo didn’t know how long they needed to wait. The downbox should have been greeted immediately by one of the General’s operatives. Since there were no windows, he couldn’t see a thing outside, didn’t even know what the local time was, whether it was night or day. If they had to make their escape, slip out into the city and lie low while they reformulated their plans, Turlo didn’t know if he had the proper contacts.

  Tryn-Clovis continued to stare into an indeterminate distance, as if frozen in time and space.

  Finally, the sound of a latch mechanism echoed through the container walls, and a small personnel door opened. Turlo took a deep, agitated breath, held Sunitha close, and stared into the bright light and at the single silhouetted figure there.

  To his relief, he recognized Epson Jacobi, a classmate from pilot school. Jacobi had been living on Sonjeera as a deep-cover operative, one of the General’s loyalists. He spoke in a low, urgent voice. “This way—hurry!”

  Outside, dusk had fallen, and a forest of garish lights illuminated the spaceport complex. Ducking low, the group scurried out of the downbox, stretching stiff legs, taking cover in shadows wherever they could. Jacobi guided them in a serpentine course around heavy machinery.

  Across the field, troops and vehicles were being loaded on
to military shuttles. When Turlo paused to stare at the big operation, Jacobi explained, “Commodore Hallholme is massing yet another fleet for a new assault on the Deep Zone. He’s got some secret plan.”

  The news alarmed Turlo and Sunitha, but Tryn-Clovis remained focused. “We cannot concern ourselves with that now. We must complete our own mission in time to make a difference.”

  They hurried a short distance into a small, dark admin building, and then Jacobi took them down a stairway to a hidden chamber. A hatch above them closed, and Jacobi flipped on a screen that showed multiple images of the broad spaceport, including the large military force being loaded and launched into orbit. Another screen showed images from orbit, which displayed nearly full military stringline haulers up near the stringline hub.

  Tryn-Clovis said, “Since the quarantined hangar was once a busy spaceport building, there must have been numerous means of access. They can’t all have been sealed.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it, but that’s not my business,” Jacobi said. “I’ve done my part by getting you here and digging up all the detailed information you could possibly need. Now, I need to slip away to maintain my cover. The rest is up to you.”

  “That’s all we need,” Turlo said. “Thank you.”

  “I still think you’re crazy, but if the General says it’s important, I won’t question his judgment.”

  “It is vital,” said Tryn-Clovis. “Our race’s destiny depends on it.”

  After giving the shadow-Xayans an odd look, Jacobi left them with files and a blueprint that depicted the locations of spaceport buildings, as well as a network of passageways that ran beneath the complex. A detailed list of security measures and checks had also been included, so the team could make their precise plans. Everything within the vicinity of the contaminated hangar had been sealed off, but Tryn-Clovis did not seem concerned. He reassured Turlo and Sunitha, “With our telemancy, our team will do what the Diadem considers impossible and undo the damage she has caused.”

  “Yes, the old bitch caused a lot of damage,” Sunitha said.

  Turlo gave a suspicious glance toward the images of the busy attack fleet being assembled in orbit. “One other good thing—with Diadem Michella so preoccupied with that new military operation, she’ll never expect us right underneath her nose.”

  17

  Two thirds of Percival’s invasion force was loaded and ready to go, but the ships remained in orbit above Aeroc, where the General’s spies were not likely to see the preparations for the massive launch. When Percival was prepared to launch, his entire fleet would rush to the Sonjeera hub, transfer to the Tehila line, and race out into the Deep Zone before anyone could figure out where the Commodore was going. He didn’t dare give his enemy a chance to prepare for the surprise attack through a vulnerable back door.

  His flagship’s systems had been overhauled or replaced, ready for the next military engagement. All of the ships he had brought home after his previous embarrassing defeat at Hellhole were ready for combat, even against the General’s mysterious and powerful alien allies.

  Constellation weapons scientists studied the battle damage inflicted by the Hellhole aliens and did their best to concoct defenses against them. The burst of mental powers had melted and fused every weapon system, similar to the blast that had struck the Sonjeera stringline hub.

  The damaged scanning systems in the Commodore’s surviving ships, as well as records from the aftermath of the hub disaster, had revealed trace data about the alien energy pulses—a sort of electronic DNA that was left behind. Percival did not understand it, nor did he need to. The engineers worked frantically in postmortem analysis to protect the vital, vulnerable components. The new firing systems synchronized the protective shielding with microsecond gaps that would allow the captains to fire their offensive weapons.

  But the shields had not yet been tested in battle against the real exotic enemy. Optimism was not proof.

  Sitting in his headquarters office at the military yards on Aeroc, Percival perked up when Duff Adkins arrived to issue his report. He was always glad to see his adjutant and friend. They had served together for years, retired to Qiorfu, and settled into comfortable lives; neither man had ever dreamed of being called back into service, but when the Diadem coerced the Commodore into carrying the battle standard again, Duff did not hesitate before joining him. Many assumed the Commodore merely wanted to recapture lost glory, but he had never been at peace with how he’d won that first war against Adolphus, years ago.

  Percival skimmed the data summary Duff handed him, but knew that if his adjutant had given a stamp of approval, he had nothing to worry about. On orders from Lord Riomini, many reserve military ships had been withdrawn from the Crown Jewels and reassembled at the Sonjeera hub “for added defense,” and they now waited for the rest of the fleet to arrive, as soon as they received the green light from the Tehila administrator. If all went according to plan, the entire outbound fleet would tarry at the stringline hub for no more than an hour. No spy would have a chance to send a warning to Adolphus in time.

  For now, they just waited and stewed until word came that the Tehila purge had been successful and that both stringline terminus rings were secure. “We need to be ready to launch on a moment’s notice.”

  “We are, Commodore.” Adkins stepped closer to Percival’s desk. “Do you believe Administrator Reming can succeed, sir? If his coup fails, we could lose everything.”

  “If we lose that chance, we look for another one. There’ll be other weak spots in the DZ.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t have to tell you that I am weary of this. If Escobar weren’t being held prisoner, I’d simply let the Diadem and Lord Riomini fight their own battles against General Adolphus.”

  Adkins raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never known you to give up on a fight.”

  “It’s not a fight I would have provoked in the first place. This mess was unnecessary. Though he’s my enemy, General Adolphus has a particular sense of honor, and I can respect that. As for the Diadem and the Black Lord…” He shook his head. “They don’t operate on the same principles as you and I do.” Percival wasn’t normally so incautious; perhaps he didn’t care anymore.

  He remembered how he had looked forward to facing Adolphus at the outset of the first rebellion. Incensed that the man wanted to destroy the Constellation’s natural order, Percival had seen the General as a worthy opponent, but one to be defeated. During the war he had treasured each well-deserved medal as he received it … but not the last one. That medal held different significance.

  The Diadem had forced Percival to shatter his own sense of honor, commanding him to use reprehensible tactics to defeat the rebels at all costs. And Percival had achieved that victory, but it was a Pyrrhic one. He had defeated himself at the same time.

  Worse, the Diadem congratulated him, put him on a pedestal, named him a great war hero without ever acknowledging the moral price he had paid. In fact, judging by her attitude, Michella had lost no sleep over it.

  And after exiling the defeated General, the Diadem broke her word again, sabotaging shipments, contaminating food supplies, damaging equipment that Adolphus and his colonists desperately needed to survive. Percival had tried to make up for that by secretly sending cargo containers with the things the General needed most. If Michella ever found out what her own Commodore had done, she would no doubt execute him in a petulant rage.…

  Adkins touched his earadio and scanned down to new information on his data screen. “Six more battle-ready warships just arrived by stringline, sir. Four from planet Sandusky, two from Ogg.”

  Shaken out of his reverie, Percival said, “Have them loaded aboard the stringline hauler.” He glanced at the chronometer. “I’m returning to my barracks quarters for the time being. I need to prepare my uniform.”

  * * *

  Commodore Hallholme could have had a palatial officer’s residence, but he’d requested standard quarters, nothing spacious or fancy, because he didn’t wa
nt to feel at home. He had to promise himself this assignment was only temporary.

  When he’d transferred to Aeroc, he had brought his old uniform, despite its wear and tear. It was a proud reminder of his glory days, and when he donned it again now, the garment made him think of possibilities, but also of failures.

  When Lord Riomini led his punitive operation to Theser, he’d been so proud to show off the destruction he’d caused, obliterating an entire rebel colony world just to make a point—and it was more than just a warning to the rest of the Deep Zone rebels. Unrest was growing in the Crown Jewels as well, and Riomini’s ruthless attack on Theser served as a subtle warning to the Crown Jewel citizens, should they consider expressing their discontent.

  And Percival was supposed to support such people? He sighed. He was honor-bound to defeat General Adolphus and reassert control, free the thousands of prisoners he held, and save his son. He knew Escobar had gotten in over his head, so Percival had to do everything he possibly could to bring the younger man home. That was his real incentive for defeating General Adolphus.

  Percival pulled on his old uniform jacket, straightened it, and regarded himself in the mirror. The Constellation outfit didn’t look as good as it once had, but he would wear it anyway.

  18

  Lord Riomini rode as a passenger in a military whirler piloted by one of his black-uniformed female guards. He heard the soft purr of the craft as it hovered over a private landing field behind the old Adolphus manor house. It wasn’t the real reason he had come to this planet, but it certainly made an acceptable excuse. He was the strong and supportive uncle standing by his poor grieving grandniece whose husband had been captured by the enemy. Elaine believed his sincere words, the comforting promises. Riomini was good at that.

  He’d come to Qiorfu to attend to business at the nearby Lubis Plain industrial zone, but first he would make a show of visiting Elaine, the wife—not yet widow, alas—of Redcom Escobar Hallholme, who had so badly messed up the retaliatory strike on planet Hellhole. It was a social obligation, but an important one. He had to console her about her fool husband, who remained one of General Adolphus’s prisoners of war. No one would imagine the real, secret plans the Black Lord was developing on Qiorfu.