Helfort’s War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet Page 5

  Bienefelt’s face made it clear she was not convinced.

  “Really, I will,” Michael protested. “I will.”

  “Mmm,” Bienefelt said, forehead creased by a skeptical frown.

  Michael sighed. Redwood’s coxswain knew him well enough to work out that something was wrong; quite rightly, she would be asking herself why Michael did not trust her enough to ask for her help. So what was he to do? She might be one of the best spacers in the fleet, but she could do nothing to get him out of this mess. He wished she could.

  So he did the only thing left to him: nothing. Settling back, he watched the distance to run counter spinning off the light-years as Redwood hurtled through pinchspace toward home, the massive bulk of an unhappy Bienefelt sitting in silence alongside him.

  Sunday, August 5, 2401, UD

  FWSS Redwood, in pinchspace en route to Nyleth-B

  “Captain, sir.”

  “Yes, Jayla?”

  “You free at the moment, sir? I’d like some of your time if I may.”

  Michael’s heart kicked. Had she found a way to save Anna? “Of course. My cabin?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “I’ll see you there, sir.”

  Michael studied Ferreira’s face as she walked into his cabin, disappointed to see that it conveyed what it always conveyed when she came to talk business: nothing. “Have a seat,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “This is not an official visit, sir. It’s about Lieutenant Cheung.”

  “Oh?” Michael’s mouth had gone dry. Ferreira’s face might have been a wooden mask for all it told him. Had she found a way out for him, for Anna?

  “Yes,” Ferreira continued. “I’ve thought long and hard about what you told me yesterday.”

  “And?” Michael asked, moving forward in his chair until he was perched on its very edge, leaning forward, his eyes locked on Ferreira’s face.

  “And not much, sir, I’m sorry to say.”

  Michael slumped back in his seat, bitter disappointment flooding through him; for an instant he had allowed himself to hope that against all the odds, Ferreira had found a way through. “Okay,” he said, his voice crushed by despair, “no surprises there. I haven’t been able to find a way out, either, so I suppose it was silly of me to expect that anyone else would. If there’s no way through, there’s no way through.”

  “No way through that’s legal, you mean, don’t you?”

  “What the hell does that mean, Lieutenant Ferreira?” Michael barked, all too aware that his executive officer was about to cross a line she should not even come close to, never mind cross.

  “Steady, sir,” Ferreira said, her voice even. “Just trying to keep an open mind.”

  “I think this meeting’s over, don’t you? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Anna’s my problem, not yours.” He looked right at Ferreira. “I’m sorry, Jayla,” he continued, speaking so softly that he was barely audible. “I’m sorry I ever mentioned it to you. I should not have done that. It was wrong to involve you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s right, sir. Isn’t that what execs are for? To share the burden of command?”

  “Yes, they are. But Anna’s a personal problem. She has nothing to do with my command of this ship.”

  “That’s arguable, sir, with all due respect.”

  “I know, and you’re right. Which is why I’ve made a decision. I am required by Fleet Regulations to raise any personal problems that might adversely affect my ability to command this ship with my superiors, so that’s what I am going to do. A bit late, but there you go. As soo—”

  “Sir!” Ferreira protested. “Sir, you can’t—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, Lieutenant.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Apology accepted. Now, from here on out, this matter is no longer up for discussion. As soon as we get back to Nyleth, I’m going to see Commodore Anjula. If she asks, I will tell her that I told you of the problem and that you advised me to report the matter to her as soon as possible. And maybe she and the powers that be can come up with something to get me out of this mess.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Ferreira said, her words taut with bitterness and anger.

  “Come on, Jayla,” Michael said with a half smile. “I’m pretty sure the first thing Anjula will do is relieve me of my command. I know I would if I was in her place, so it looks to me like you’re going to get your first ship rather sooner than we expected. And what a ship; I’m going to miss Redwood.”

  “Sir!” Ferreira objected, her face coloring.

  “Sorry, bad time to be kidding around. Anyway, there it is. My decision’s made, and I want you to respect that. You are not to raise this matter with me again. Is that clear, or do I have to give you a formal, written order?”

  “No, sir,” Ferreira said, her face an expressionless mask. “No, that’s clear and I understand the order.”

  “Good. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well. You may carry on.”

  “Sir,” Ferreira said. Without another word, she climbed to her feet and walked out of Michael’s day cabin.

  “Shit,” Michael said softly as Ferreira’s exit hammered home the brutal fact that he would never see Anna alive again.

  “Captain, sir.”

  “Yes, Jayla?”

  “Can you meet me in Conference-2, sir? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Okay,” Michael said with a puzzled frown. “Anything I should know about?”

  “I’d rather show you, sir, if that’s okay.”

  “Fine, fine. I’m on my way.”

  When Michael opened the door to the conference room, what he saw brought him to an abrupt halt. The fact that the people who made Redwood an effective fighting ship—her officers and senior spacers—sat at the table waiting shocked him, not least because he knew they were not there to talk about the weather back on Nyleth.

  “Attention on deck,” Ferreira barked, the order snapping everyone present to his or her feet.

  “Carry on, please,” Michael said as he sat down. “Jayla, I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.” Ferreira paused to collect herself. “In a word, sir, it’s about you,” she said.

  Michael struggled to maintain his composure, his body reluctant to breathe properly, his heart racing out of control. Had Ferreira decided to exercise her right to declare him unfit for command? She had every reason and every right to do exactly that, and this was the way to do it: in front of witnesses who would testify to the inevitable board of inquiry that she had followed due process. Was that why he was here?

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “First, let me tell you what I’ve done since last we spoke about Lieutenant Cheung,” Ferreira said.

  In an instant, anger flared up white-hot; Michael fought to keep it in check. “What the hell are you doing raising that here, of all places?” he said, his voice a shout. “That’s a private matter, and you know it.” Eyes narrowed with rage, Michael glared at Ferreira. “Did I not give you a direct order that you were not to raise it ever again? I damn well did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, sir. You did. You gave it to me, and I understood that order. No argument, sir.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing, Lieutenant? You realize I cannot ignore your willful refusal to obey that order?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ferreira nodded. “I do realize that.”

  Michael shook his head, baffled. “Then what the hell are you playing at? If we’re here to talk about Anna Cheung, then forget it. She is my problem, not yours, and I regret even telling you about it. Do not make things worse, Jayla,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m going to forget I was ever here, and so are all of you. And that’s an order,” he added running his eyes across the faces of his senior crew.

  Grim-faced, mouth set in a firm line, Ferreira refuse
d to concede. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but whether you like it or not, that is what we are here to talk about, and I strongly recommend you hear us out. If by the end of this meeting you don’t want our help, that is of course your decision, and we will respect it. However, I have to tell you”—there was no mistaking the steely determination in Ferreira’s voice—“that you will hear what we have to say … please, sir. Sit down and listen. That’s all I ask.”

  Michael could not speak; he stared at Ferreira, stunned by her open defiance and more than a little cowed by the fact that every one of the people that his command of Redwood relied on was sitting in front of him, their faces every bit as unrelenting as Ferreira’s.

  Chief Bienefelt broke the awful silence. “Sir!” she said, leaning her enormous bulk forward the better to look Michael right in the face. “You need to trust us. Hear what we have to say, then decide what to do next. Please.”

  Michael had no idea what to think anymore. Part of him wanted to accept defeat, to confess all to Commodore Anjula, to abandon Anna, to let her die. Another part of him wanted desperately to hear what the people he most trusted, the people who made Redwood the ship she was, said. They might see a way to save the woman he loved more than his own life, but how?

  Unless … Hope flared. Maybe there was a way; maybe he was arrogant and stupid to think he was the only person able to solve the problem. These were smart people, so why not hear what they had to say?

  “Okay,” he said at last, brushing away the tendrils of doubt. “I’ll listen, but if I say stop, we stop. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferreira said. “Before we start, I’d like confirmation that your neuronics are not recording.”

  Michael did not even bother arguing. He had decided to trust Ferreira, so he would, even if people blocked recording only when they wanted to push the boundaries.

  “Thank you, sir. Now,” she continued, her voice brisk, “everyone here has seen the Hammer holovid with the threat to Lieutenant Cheung. Following our conversation yesterday, sir, I spoke to everybody one on one to see how we might go about dealing with that threat, and that’s what we’re here to talk about. I was a bit surprised to discover that everyone agrees there is only one way to solve this problem.”

  Ferreira checked herself; Michael’s shock must have been obvious, the idea that his people had contrived a way to save Anna too much to bear. “Go on,” he croaked.

  “Well, sir, we see it like this. To start with, we …”

  Michael struggled to come to terms with Ferreira’s proposal late into the night. Restless, unable to settle, he paced the length of his cabin, stomach knotted into a tight ball by the appalling dilemma Colonel Hartspring and the Hammers had thrust into his life.

  What Ferreira wanted to do was extraordinary … and outrageous. No, that did not even come close to describing what his executive officer was suggesting. If he went along with her, he would be party to the biggest single crime in the history of the Federated Worlds, an honor he did not relish.

  The problem was that even though some of what she had said was good, too much of it was bad. The basic outline was fine … in principle. True, it needed a ton of detailed work to turn it into a workable plan, a plan that had a reasonable chance of getting the desired result without killing everyone in the process, but Michael was more than confident that was doable.

  Sadly, feasibility was never the issue. Criminality, criminality of unprecedented magnitude and compass, was.

  Ferreira’s plan was simple: mutiny on a scale not seen in the Federated Worlds Fleet, a mutiny that would take three frontline dreadnoughts out of the order of battle. It was insane, it was risky, it was wrong. He cursed softly, regretting the moment of weakness that had prompted him to unburden himself to her. If he had kept his mouth shut, she would not be contemplating something no commissioned officer should ever contemplate, let alone talk about. Worse, she was bringing along every other commissioned and noncommissioned officer onboard with her; how she had managed to persuade nine hard-headed spacers and marines to agree with her was a complete mystery. Not that it mattered now; the proverbial cat was well and truly out of the bag, and there was nothing he could do to change the situation. What was done, was done.

  Oh shit, he said to himself, what a bloody mess.

  Strictly speaking, the mere fact that his people had discussed mutiny was enough to see them condemned; the Federated Worlds Code of Military Justice was unambiguous on that score. So far as the law was concerned, a mutiny took place the instant two or more spacers talked about doing something illegal together. Even if that was all they did, even if they only talked about what they might do, it made no difference.

  They were guilty of mutiny.

  That was just the start. If he ordered the base provost marshal onboard to arrest Ferreira, Sedova, Kallewi, and all the rest—six senior spacers and one marine NCO—when Redwood dropped into orbit around Nyleth, he would be arrested, too. By agreeing to talk with them, he was guilty along with Ferreira and all the rest of them.

  He shook his head, appalled at the risks Ferreira and the rest of them were prepared to take to help him out and angry with himself at how neatly Ferreira had trapped him.

  One thing was clear. If he agreed with Ferreira, he would be branded a renegade for all time. If he did not, he would be damned anyway, the captain whose crew mutinied. Either way, he was well and truly screwed. Of course, he had the option to ignore the whole business. That might save the sorry asses of his people, but the Hammers would still stand Anna up against a wall and blow her brains out.

  One more thing was clear: Ferreira had snared him in a web from which there was no escape. She was smart, smarter than he had ever given her credit for. She would have worked out the options early in the piece, that was for sure.

  Mind churning, he stood there, staring into the darkness at nothing. What the hell was he …

  It was all too much; he could not handle it anymore. Comming drugbots into his bloodstream, he threw himself into his bunk and was asleep a few minutes later.

  Tuesday, August 7, 2401, UD

  FWSS Redwood, in pinchspace en route to Nyleth-B

  “Okay, everyone,” Michael said. “We drop into Nyleth nearspace in six hours. So we need to finish this business. It cannot drag on. Agreed?”

  A chorus of “agreeds” followed.

  “Good. Okay, first things first. What happened yesterday was conspiracy to mutiny. You know it, I know it. I cannot begin to describe how proud that makes me, that you are prepared to lay your careers on the line for me like that, but that’s only me being emotional … and this is not the time for emotion. This is the time for cold, hard logic. This is the time to do the right thing for the right reasons. So let me be very, very clear … I will not allow any of you to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.”

  Michael paused. Shock flickered across the faces of all present. He knew his opening remarks were not what they expected. “Enough talk,” he said. “We have a decision to make. I can ignore what happened yesterday, I can pretend it didn’t happen, I can hope it all gets forgotten. I must say, that’s a good option, the best option for you guys. Not so good for me,” he said with a lopsided smile, “but without any doubt at all best for you.

  “Second option: Go along with what the XO has proposed. Lot of work to do, lots of problems to sort out, but nothing this team can’t resolve.

  “Third, comm into the provost marshal the instant we drop into Nyleth nearspace and have you all arrested and charged with mutiny. That’s my duty; it’s what I should do. I think you all know that.

  “So those are the options, but before I tell you what I want to do, I have one question. I know what you think, but why? Why have you decided to risk it all? I need to understand that before I make my decision.”

  Faces stared back at Michael, silent, unmoving. Chief Fodor cast a glance at Ferreira. “May I, sir?”

  “Be my guest,” she said.


  Fodor dragged in a deep breath before speaking. “I see things this way, sir,” he said, turning to Michael. “If this was just a hypothetical discussion, I would never have agreed with anything so crazy and screwed up. And if it was just about you and Lieutenant Cheung, I would not have agreed. Never. But reality has a way of making you see things as they are, not how you’d like them to be. For the first time, I’ve had to look long and hard at the war and where it’s going, and let me tell you, I did not like what I saw. Not at all. All my life, I’ve been content to go wherever Fleet wanted me to go, to trust the brass and the politicians to lead us through, but not anymore.

  “We talked about this a lot before we met with you yesterday, so I think I speak for us all”—again heads nodded in unison—“and it’s quite simple. We all read the strategic assessments Fleet pushes out. I know I’m only an engineer, but I read them carefully, if only because I want to know that there’s a good reason why I risk my life every time we go into action. Problem is, I don’t see it now. I’d been kidding myself. We started fighting those Hammer bastards way more than a century ago. My grandfather wasn’t even born, for chrissakes! And here we are, more than a century later, still at each other’s throats, only this time the scumbags might actually win this damn war. Fleet says we’re in for at least another four years, maybe five …”

  Fodor’s voice cracked, forcing him to stop; he paused for a moment to recover.

  “We’re in for years of stalemate,” he continued. “Years and years! And even then we may not be able to destroy the Hammers. If they build a new antimatter production plant to replace the one we blew to hell at Devastation Reef, we’re screwed ’cause one thing’s for sure: It’ll be that and more before we get our own antimatter missiles operational. So what’s it all mean? Five more years, chipping away at the Hammers, not making a difference, more deaths of good ships, good spacers, good marines, that’s what it means, and for what?