The Battle of the Hammer Worlds hw-2 Read online

  “Helfort,” Vitharana said sternly, “listen to me. I can promise you this: Fleet will not let you down. One way or another, this matter will be resolved in your favor. So yes, there is an awful lot of trusting needed, as you put it, but sometimes that is what’s required. So that’s the decision you need to make. Do you trust Fleet or not? Simple as that.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Right. I’ll comm you the detailed proposal. Have a good look at it, talk to the Space College legal AI if you need to, and believe me, I really think you should. If you have any questions the AI can’t help you with, then you call me at any time. Any time. Okay?”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Captain Vitharana had been gone a long time, but still Michael lay thinking through the extraordinary proposal the man had put to him.

  Quite how Fleet could persuade the president to cooperate, Michael had no idea. He was not even sure it could. But Vitharana had sounded awfully sure of himself, so he could only assume that the president must have been briefed already; somehow-a wink, a nod? — she must have convinced Fleet she would go along with its plan to get him off the hook. He still had to plead guilty, and for him to do that would not be easy. It might even be impossible. Talking about what had happened in Barkersville was one thing, but entering a formal admission of guilt? That was different.

  He would have to sleep on it.

  Saturday, January 22, 2400, UD

  Forest of Gwyr, Carolyn Ranges, Commitment

  Lieutenant Commander Fellsworth moodily poked at the small fire she had coaxed into life, its flames throwing splashes of yellow-gold onto the walls of the huge limestone cavern that had been her home for what seemed like a lifetime.

  Cursing the fate that had posted her to the Ishaq in the first place, she spit into the fire and got up. Time to walk around her little empire. No sooner had she started to climb up the mound of broken limestone that nearly filled the mouth of the cave than a figure burst in, the spacer’s excitement plain to see.

  “Got a tickle; my neuronics got a tickle!” the woman shouted. “We’ve been found!”

  Looking back later, Fellsworth would swear that her heart stopped for a moment. For so long she’d wanted to believe that somehow one of her spacers had gotten a message through to the embassy in McNair. Now, when proof finally had arrived, she could not believe it.

  “Show me,” she ordered, scrambling out of the cave into the open air.

  Five minutes later, she sat watching in disbelief as a little flybot maneuvered with exquisite precision down through the forest canopy before setting down on the ground right in front of her.

  “Fuuuck,” Fellsworth hissed through clenched teeth. They had been found. They really had been found. The Ishaqs around her erupted into cheers, laughter, shouts. Spacers and marines in tattered shipsuits were dancing around the little bot in an uncontrolled frenzy of joy, the noise rising as word spread, the rest of the Ishaqs pouring in to see what all the fuss was about.

  It took a while, but finally Fellsworth restored order. She commed into the bot and, her identity confirmed, waved one of the spacers to flip the bot over, its belly opening to reveal the payload of comm gear. To whom it would connect her, she had no idea, but as long as it worked, she did not care. It sure as hell would not be to the Hammers.

  Amos Bichel terminated the voice call from Fellsworth.

  Finally, he thought, he had something to plan around, though how in God’s name they were going to get the Ishaq’s crew off-planet was completely beyond him at the moment. There was no obvious answer to that problem. At least they now had absolute, incontrovertible proof that the Hammer had been behind the destruction of the Ishaq. Helfort’s testimony was good but, on its own, not good enough. This was. It pinned the whole mership campaign on the Hammers; now they were on borrowed time.

  Comming the ambassador, he started to put together his report. If he was quick, he would get a courier away in time to catch the next flight out.

  Sunday, January 23, 2400, UD

  Base Hospital, Federated Worlds Space Fleet College, Terranova

  It had been a long night and an even longer day, but finally Michael had decided what he would do.

  It was simple in the end. He had done what he had done despite knowing it was wrong because he had not had the balls to stand up to Yazdi. So he was going to come clean, admit his guilt, and hope that Vitharana’s plan worked as advertised. The alternative-indictment, courts, a trial, the trashpress in overdrive-just did not bear thinking about.

  The door opened to admit Captain Vitharana. A woman wearing the distinctive gold gorget of a registered observer followed him. Christ! Things were getting serious, Michael thought, if he merited one of them.

  Vitharana wasted no time. He did not even bother to introduce the observer.

  “Right, Helfort,” he said briskly. “Have you made a decision?”

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  “You’ve taken advice, I hope?”

  “I have, sir, from the college legal AI. She was very helpful.”

  “Good. So?” Vitharana asked.

  Michael did not look at Vitharana, staring instead at the registered observer. He wanted every second of this recorded and recorded properly. He took a deep breath to steady his jangling nerves. This was not easy. “I take full responsibility for what happened at Barkersville. For the murders of Detective Sergeant Kalkov, Commitment Planetary Police Service, and Trooper Askali, Hammer of Kraa Doctrinal Security Service.” His voice hardened. “I take full responsibility for all of it, sir, including those that Corporal Yazdi, you know. .” He faltered, turning back to Vitharana. He could not say the words.

  Vitharana got it, anyway. He nodded.

  “I was the senior officer present, sir,” Michael continued, his voice firm again. “I had the command authority to stop what happened. I could have, should have stopped the murders, all of them, but I did not. For that reason, I take full responsibility for my actions and those of Corporal Yazdi. That’s what I want to say. I have a detailed statement prepared that I would like to comm to the registered observer. That’ll cover it all.”

  “Let me read it first.”

  Michael shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t want anyone to say that it was not entirely my statement. I’ve stuck to the facts, so I can’t have gone too wrong. If you don’t mind.”

  Vitharana looked surprised and more than a little discomfited. He was obviously not used to junior lieutenants telling him what he could and could not do.

  “Go ahead, then.”

  The registered observer had gone. For a while there was silence, the two men happy to let things slide for a moment.

  Vitharana broke the silence. “You’ve done the right thing, Michael. You know that?”

  Michael nodded. He thought, hoped he had.

  “Good. Let’s leave that for a moment. Now, I’ve spoken to your doctors. They say you are making good progress and it’s okay for me to take you out for the day as long as you don’t do any walking. So I’ve set up a meeting, which I would like you to attend.” Vitharana got up to leave. “I’ll pick you up here tomorrow at 10:00 sharp. Dress blacks.”

  Michael looked puzzled. The only clothes he had were hospital-issue pajamas. Apart from his shipsuit and boots, he had lost everything else when the Ishaq blew. “Dress blacks? Why-”

  “Ours is not to reason why, Michael. A brand-new set will be delivered first thing tomorrow.”

  Michael almost shook his head as Vitharana left. The whole world had gone nuts. Where in God’s name would he be going in dress blacks?

  Tuesday, January 25, 2400, UD

  President’s House, city of Foundation, Terranova

  Despite the best efforts of generations of politicians to persuade them otherwise, the citizens of the Federated Worlds held an unshakable belief that their public servants, however important, should not be glorified by the construction of elaborate buildi
ngs.

  So it was that the president’s official residence was an unassuming if sprawling affair of pink-gray Terranovan granite spread across a few hectares on the lower slopes of the New Tatras on the western side of Foundation. Around the residence, gardens showed off the best FedWorld plant geneering had to offer, the long winding drive passing through a riot of vegetation, plants with leaves and flowers of every possible color, shape, and size, before it delivered visitors to a wide porch that led into the president’s offices.

  That was where Michael, totally bewildered, found himself being wheeled out of a Fleet mobibot and into the reception hall. It was a beautifully proportioned room floored in dark red-blond rain forest timbers taken from the tropical rain forests that covered much of the planet of Nuristan.

  They did not stop. With Captain Vitharana close behind, Michael’s chairbot hurried him through the hall past walls hung with holovids of past presidents gazing down with magisterial authority. There was a short pause in front of floor-to-ceiling double doors. Then the doors opened, and Michael, with open-mouthed astonishment, found the president herself getting up from her desk and bearing down on him at an alarming rate.

  He started to struggle to his feet, but she put a hand up to stop him. She looked down at him for a moment, her strikingly deep brown eyes set wide under a sweep of white hair. An aide brought over a chair, and she sat down in front of him.

  “Well, Michael. I expect you’re somewhat confused?”

  “Yes, Madame President, I think I am.” What an understatement that was, he thought.

  President Diouf laughed warmly, her mouth opening to show teeth perfectly white against ebony skin.

  “Well, let’s unconfuse you then, shall we?” she said gently.

  “That would be good, Madame President,” Michael replied gratefully.

  “Right. Let’s deal with the Barkersville business. You’ve taken advice, I understand.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Good. So you’ll know that a presidential pardon doesn’t require a conviction in a court, though that’s usually how it happens. It doesn’t even require an indictment. You’ve been dirtside only for a matter of days, so an indictment is weeks away, and a court case months, but I am disinclined to wait that long. With me so far?”

  “Yes, Madame President.”

  “Okay. Now, I can issue a pardon in this matter if I want to. If it is in the public interest to do so, which I can assure you it most definitely is. There’s another hurdle, though. To issue a pardon, I have to believe that the person seeking the pardon not only admits guilt freely but also genuinely regrets what he has done to the point where there is no chance that the offense would be repeated. Now, that’s harder than it seems because words are cheap. We all know that. You know that. But in your case it hasn’t been hard, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because you took responsibility not only for your actions but also for those of your subordinate, Corporal Yazdi. That was the thing that clinched it. Let me just say, then, for the record”-her voice hardened-“that I am completely satisfied on the basis of the evidence presented to me that you admit your guilt freely, that you regret your actions, and that you will not repeat the offense. Right!” she said firmly. “That’s the formal bit. So unless you have any questions?”

  Michael shook his head. He just wanted this to be over.

  “No? Good. Let’s give you that pardon, then, shall we?”

  President Diouf’s voice changed into what Michael would always think of afterward as the president’s official voice, a voice stiff and formal, every word enunciated with careful precision.

  “Junior Lieutenant Michael Wallace Helfort, Federated Worlds Space Fleet. .”

  While the president droned through the obscure and archaic legalese of a presidential pardon, Michael tuned out. Somehow an enormous weight had been lifted from him; he felt purged. He would never stop feeling guilty, but it was not going to be the burden it had been.

  “. . Signed, Reshmi Diouf, President, Federated Worlds and dated the twenty-fifth day of January, two thousand four hundred, Universal Date.”

  The president waved an aide over. He hurried forward and handed her a single sheet of heavy cream paper carrying a large red seal. She took the document and studied it intently. She nodded, satisfied.

  “Michael, this is the formal document. We will hold it on file here for you. A copy will be commed to you for your personal records. Remember, the entire affair has been classified top secret, so I suggest you forget about it. I’m certainly going to. Now, there’s one more thing I want to do, so listen up. .”

  There were only two entries in the Government Gazette under “Presidential Notices (Honors and Awards)” for January 26, 2400. They were short and to the point:

  The President today presented a member of the Federated Worlds Space Fleet with the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal for bravery in the face of the enemy.

  For reasons of operational security, the member cannot be named, nor can the circumstances leading to the award be described.

  The President today presented a member of the Federated Worlds Marine Corps with the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal for bravery in the face of the enemy.

  The Conspicuous Gallantry Medal has been awarded posthumously. For reasons of operational security, the member cannot be named, nor can the circumstances leading to the award be described.

  Wednesday, March 15, 2400, UD

  The Palisades, Ashakiran Planet

  Michael hated to admit it, but he was bored shitless.

  He sat, feet up on the railing, looking out across the upper Clearwater Valley as it faded away into the haze of another long, hot day. The family retreat in the mountains was one of the best places in humanspace, but for Michael it rapidly was becoming a prison, one he had been confined to ever since he had been discharged from the hospital almost three months earlier.

  Visitors were strictly forbidden, even Anna, much to his frustration. He was not even allowed to tell her that not only had he survived the loss of the Ishaq, he was back home. He effectively was being held incommunicado under house arrest, and that was no fun.

  His emphatic refusal to resign from the Fleet was now a major source of friction within his family, to the point where he barely talked to his parents anymore. With little else to do, he was watching so many trashy holovids that he was beginning to go slowly nuts, and, he reminded himself as he tossed an empty beer bottle into the bin before comming the housebot to bring him another, he was definitely drinking too much. Hell with it, he thought as he put another bottle of ice-cold Lethbridge pilsener to his lips, what did it matter?

  “Michael. In here, now!” The note of urgent alarm in his dad’s voice got him out of his chair and running into the house in no time.

  “What’s up, Dad?”

  His father waved an arm at the holovid, his eyes filling with tears. He tried but could not speak as he and Michael watched the grave face of President Diouf as she laid out in chilling detail how the Hammer had been waging a covert campaign against the Federated Worlds. Michael stopped listening. All he could think about was the fact that survivors from the Ishaq must have been found. Thank God for that. He hoped the people he cared for-Fellsworth, Stone, Murphy, and all the rest-had survived.

  “. . and so, my fellow citizens, it is with the deepest regret that I have to tell you that as a consequence of what is little more than a sustained campaign of piracy intended to cripple our economy, the Federated Worlds Chamber of Deputies today approved the issue of a notice to the government of the Worlds of the Hammer of Kraa. That notice informs them that a state of unrestricted war is now in force. I signed that notice one hour ago.”

  She paused, looking directly at the holocam.

  “Let me say this in closing. It will take time. It will take treasure. It will take lives. But we will utterly destroy the current government of the Hammer of Kraa. Until that happy day, the Federated Worlds cannot and will not rest. From now on, one simple phrase will show us the
way forward, and it is this: Whatever it takes.”

  She paused again. With eyes filled with a sudden, terrible sadness, she continued.

  “May God watch over us this day. Thank you for listening.”

  Michael’s father sat there unmoving as Michael turned off the holovid. Eventually, a long time later, he spoke, his voice filled with the dying embers of hope destroyed.

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “I can’t stop you from doing what you think is right. Promise me that when it’s all over, you’ll come home. Please, promise me!” he said, his voice breaking.

  Michael pulled him close and hugged him tight. They stayed that way for a long time.

  Wednesday, March 15, 2400, UD

  Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, city of McNair, Commitment

  Fleet Admiral Jorge sat down opposite an impassive Polk. Jorge’s heart was racing, and his stomach churned with a sick dread. He only had one chance left, and if he did not take it, he would finish the day facedown in the bottom of a quicklime-filled trench. Polk had not needed to threaten him. Jorge knew how things worked. He did not wait for Polk to open the proceedings.

  “Sir, as you instructed, we’ve looked at the implications of the Feds’ declaration of war, and my staff and I are agreed that it changes nothing. We-”

  Polk’s impassivity collapsed. “Changes nothing?” he hissed venomously, smashing the flat of his hand onto the desk, the sharp crack making Jorge jump. “Changes nothing? By Kraa, you had better pray that I believe that, Admiral.”

  Jorge’s hands went up as if Polk were about to launch himself across the desk to rip his throat out.