Free Hellhole: Awakening by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson

as if competing with Michella over which of them could look more impressive.
    The Diadem continued, “I call for you, my loyal commanders, to remove this scourge from our peaceful Constellation. Bring our prodigal Deep Zone worlds together into a harmonious civilization again! I declare this a day of celebration for all Sonjeera. Our citizens cheer you as their heroes.”
    Inside the hub’s concourse, broad screens (normally reserved for displaying the arrival schedules of incoming vessels) showed crowds in Heart Square and in front of the enormous headquarters of the Bureau of Deep Zone Affairs. People waved banners, and with a curl of black smoke they burned an effigy of General Adolphus dangling head down.
    During the weeks while the fleet gathered, Bolton had noted the increasingly heated propaganda. People in the Crown Jewel worlds felt the pinch as supplies and tribute payments were cut off, and Michella encouraged the unrest, so long as she could point the finger of blame at General Adolphus.
    The crowds began to chant, “Strike fast, strike hard!”—a slogan the Diadem’s publicity crew had developed for the operation. This war needed to be branded to stir the people’s patriotism while teaching them how to think, whom to hate, and what to do when they were rallying.
    The Diadem called four foppishly dressed bureaucrats whom she had assigned to this mission. “Allow me to introduce the diplomatic team that will accept the General’s surrender and impose my wishes upon the defeated populace.” She gestured to a jowly red-haired man. “This is Jackson Firth, one of the official historians of General Adolphus’s rebellion.”
    Firth bowed so deeply that he must have trained himself with regular stretching exercises. “My team and I are ready for our duty, Eminence. We will bring closure to this tragic turn of events. I understand the psychology of Adolphus better than most because I have studied him for years.”
    In a slow, even voice as if explaining to a schoolchild who had never heard the familiar history before, the diplomat described the chaos caused by the previous rebellion. When Firth talked, he was so soft-spoken that he nearly put the audience to sleep. Maybe he intended to lull the enemy into complacency, Escobar thought.
    “My team has already developed numerous possible diplomatic approaches.” He turned to Escobar with a patronizing smile. “Red Commodore, we are available for consultation in flight.”
    The diplomat finished without bringing his speech to any sort of climax or resolution. Bolton and Escobar both hesitated before realizing they were supposed to applaud, which signaled the crowds on Sonjeera to cheer and whistle.
    Michella said sweetly, “Red Commodore, I anticipate you have prepared some remarks for the occasion of the fleet’s departure?”
    Escobar had not expected to speak, but he lifted his chin. “The occasion demands it, Eminence.” He remained silent for a few seconds to build suspense, then drew the ceremonial sword he wore at his side, grating the blade on the scabbard. He held the unsheathed weapon horizontally, one hand on the hilt, one on the blade’s tip.
    “My father, Commodore Percival Hallholme, gave me this sword. Though he could not be here for the fleet’s departure, he is with us in spirit. When he defeated General Adolphus the first time, who could have guessed that my father’s greatest mistake would be mercy?” He glanced over at the Diadem. “The same mistake, albeit a human one, made by Diadem Michella herself when she sent him into exile rather than executing him?”
    Her expression pinched at the implied criticism, but Bolton saw that everyone listening was riveted. The crowds on Sonjeera had fallen into a hushed silence.
    Escobar raised his voice. “Now I take up this sword and launch another fleet against our enemy—and this time I will not show mercy. General Tiber Adolphus and his followers will curse the day they ever heard the