Helfort's War: Book 1

by Graham Sharp Paul

  If it were possible, time slowed down even more until Ribot began to entertain the hope that Carswell might just be more than an old heavy cruiser. She might be an old and unreliable heavy cruiser, and the more he thought about it, that was the only thing that made any sense. If Carswell’s sensors had been 100 percent online, 387 would have been on the receiving end of a missile attack long before now. She wasn’t being attacked, so Carswell must be having problems. Sensors, maybe? Or the data analysis and integration software? Operator error? Anyway, it didn’t matter why. The fact was, it was beginning to look very much like 387 had gotten away with it.

  Ribot put a sudden burst of optimism firmly away. He’d wait another five agonizingly long and slow minutes before he’d allow himself that luxury. In the meantime, his virtual finger would stay firmly over the emergency jump button, his eyes locked on the plot for any sign of a Hammer missile launch.

  It would be a long five minutes.

  Michael and everyone else onboard heaved a huge sigh of relief as Mother downgraded the threat from the the aging and seemingly unreliable Carswell. The threat plot now was a mass of orange symbols and a reassuring change from the lurid reds of just a few moments earlier.

  For one awful moment, like everyone else onboard, Michael had thought it was all over, sick at the thought that the Hammers might get not just him but Mom and Sam as well. He couldn’t begin to imagine how his dad would cope with a disaster of that magnitude.

  When Mother identified the new arrival as a deepspace heavy cruiser, it should have been game over.

  But for some reason, they had survived undetected.

  Anyway, it was all academic now, and Michael didn’t have enough emotional energy left to worry why. The threat analysis teams back at Fleet would get the datalogs. Let them work out why 387 had gotten away with it. Getting safely through the outer ring of surveillance satellites that circled Hell at 3 million kilometers was the next job. In theory, that shouldn’t be a problem because 387 would have to pass well inside 100,000 kilometers for a Hammer surveillance satellite to have any chance of picking up something that well stealthed and deceptive. Once well clear, 387 would maneuver to recover its surveillance drones and then jump to Eternity planet to confirm that part two of the Hammer plan was as reported. That should be a piece of cake compared to what we’ve just been through, Michael thought, unless it really is a trap. That was a possibility he’d found out was running at odds of fifty to one in the strictly unofficial book being run by Leading Spacer Miandad in propulsion.

  But judging by the swarm of activity waiting for Mumtaz at Hell-13, it was no trap. Everything pointed to the Mumtaz being turned around and sent on her way to Eternity planet long before 387 got far enough out to jump out-system without being detected.

  As soon as Holdorf stood the ship down from general quarters and restored its artgrav and atmosphere, Michael left the drone hangar. It was time to get out of his truly rancid, sweat-soaked, foul-smelling space suit for a long and well-earned shower followed by a good night’s sleep. Six more days would see them fly by Eternity, an undertaking he earnestly hoped would be a great deal less stressful than the Hell fly-by if Fleet’s THREATSUMs were to be believed. Then another week to get to Frontier planet and the job would be done.

  It would be interesting, Michael thought as he went down the ladder, to see the effect Ribot’s report had on Space Fleet and the politicians.

  Thursday, September 17, 2398, UD

  Federated Worlds Space Fleet Headquarters, Foundation, Terranova Planet

  With 387’s pinchcomms message confirming the hijacking of the Mumtaz, the full seriousness of the situation finally had sunk in. All of them, from flag officers on up, sat silent as they worked out the full implications of what the Hammer had done.

  Up to that point, the frantic work of Battle Fleet Delta’s hastily appointed staff had had a strange air of unreality about it, as if there still were some chance that the whole thing was an elaborate hoax and in the end the Mumtaz would drop out of pinchspace safely, on vector and decelerating into one of Jackson’s two planetary transfer stations. Angela Jaruzelska also had felt the fear in everybody’s mind, the terrible fear that once again the Federated Worlds would have to go to war against its most long-standing and bitter enemy.

  At fifty-six, she was old enough to have been through the last round with the Hammer in the late ’70s, and it was not an experience she would ever want to repeat. But then, she had chosen the Fleet and it had chosen her. With God’s help, she would do her best to make sure that this time around the Hammers would be repaid tenfold for their stupidity and greed.

  A glass of very fine Anjaxxian Pinot Noir cradled in her left hand, its heady perfume washing over her, Jaruzelska settled into her favorite chair on the broad timber deck that overlooked the sky-shaded lights of Foundation that were spread out below her.

  Midnight was fast approaching. It had been another very long day.

  Getting approval for the operation to recover the Mumtaz—Operation Corona it was now officially called—had not been easy. The preliminary concept of the operation had shocked the cabinet with its complexity, unavoidably so, given the mission objectives set. But what had really stunned the inner cabinet had been the risk assessment with its sobering estimates of the ships and lives that could be lost. For a moment, Jaruzelska had been surprised by the impact her casualty estimates had had.

  What did they think?

  That the Fleet could waltz into Hammer space, retrieve the hostages, and waltz out again while the Hammers sat on their big fat asses and let it all happen?

  But in the end, the cabinet’s go-ahead had been emphatic and unequivocal. She had thought there might be some of the weaseling around one expected from politicians, but there had been none. Jaruzelska strongly suspected that whichever Hammer genius had thought up the Mumtaz hijacking plan had completely misunderstood the Worlds in general and the ruling New Liberal government in particular. Despite the fact that it had ended nineteen years earlier and even though people no longer talked about it as much as they once had, apart from the Veterans of Interstellar Wars, of course, the most enduring legacy of the Third Hammer War was a deeply held hatred of the Hammer and total distrust of all its works.

  So if she was to be totally cynical, maybe the politicians understood that and thought the idea of a nice clean war against a despised enemy on clear-cut and unambiguous moral grounds would be a good thing politically.

  She sighed as she brought the wineglass to her lips. She was sure there was no such thing as a nice clean war. However, tomorrow she would have her staff rework the concept of operations to see if they could get a bit closer to a risk-free operation, something that could exist only in the minds of politicians.

  Friday, September 18, 2398, UD

  Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, City of McNair, Commitment Planet

  Chief Councillor Merrick leaned back in his chair as he finished reading Digby’s latest report fresh from the courier drone.

  As usual, it was brief and very much to the point. More important, it made Merrick happy for once. Unlike most of the self-serving rubbish that crossed his desk, it made for good reading. The holovid clips of the new base were good to see, too, and made it all real. Not only had Digby’s team pulled it off, security remained tight. How had his long-dead father put it? Oh, yes, tight as a duck’s ass. Merrick smiled as the half-forgotten phrase came back to mind. No, so far so good, and there was no sign of any leak to the Feds, and that was what mattered above all. If the news leaked, he was a dead man. But if all went well, he would be able to announce the successful start of Eternity’s terraforming at a time and place of his choosing and with certain—how could he put it?—elements of the plan carefully concealed. The idea was intoxicating, and for a brief moment he enjoyed the thought of how it would feel as he announced to his fellow Hammers that there was hope for them, the hope of a new planet on which to grow and flourish under Kraa’s be
neficence.

  Thank Kraa, Digby seemed rock-solid. The last report he had called for from DocSec had had nothing in it but the routine report of a man doing his job and getting the results he was expected to get. Merrick had had his doubts about the man. The departure of Digby’s wife to visit family in some Kraa-forsaken outpost of Earth still didn’t sit completely right with him, but to have turned down Digby’s request might have unsettled the man just when Merrick wanted him completely focused. No, Digby was his man, and he was exactly where he was needed most: on Eternity, making sure that the grab bag of ex-convicts and Feds he’d been given got on with the job at hand. It hadn’t been planned that way. In fact, his intention all along had been to eliminate Digby as soon as possible. The man simply knew too much to be allowed to go back to McNair, but given the way things were going, Merrick was happy to postpone the moment. But it was only a postponement, not a cancellation. If he’d learned anything in the viciously brutal school of Hammer politics, it was to eliminate any loose ends long before you needed to. That way, you kept control.

  Anyway, enough of that.

  It was still many months before the final phase of the Eternity plan, the bit that even Digby didn’t know about, could be put in place. Pity to waste all that talent, but Merrick wanted no witnesses, Hammers or Feds, to what he had begun to think of as the miracle of Eternity. He only hoped that he’d be given the time, he thought sourly as he turned his mind to the increasingly serious problem of unrest on Faith. Merrick knew that Polk was going to have a go at him over the issue, and for the first time he felt a small twinge of unease. History showed over and over that civil unrest could rapidly become full-blown insurrection if it was not handled with the right balance of brutality and concession.

  And history offered one more lesson: A chief councillor who allowed a serious insurrection to go unchecked never lasted long.

  Within minutes of starting, the weekly meeting of the Supreme Council had degenerated from the routine into a vicious running battle with Polk over the situation on Faith. As he liked to do, Merrick had sat back to watch the battle unfold, unwilling to get involved just yet. “Eat shit, you miserable scumbag,” he muttered as he watched Councillor Polk wilt visibly in the face of a furious attack from Claude Albrecht, councillor for foreign relations and probably the only man at the Council table he’d even come close to trusting.

  “Kraa’s blood, Councillor!” Albrecht said angrily, fist pounding the table, “You know what the real problem on Faith is. It has nothing to do with heresy, not a damn thing. It’s that corrupt piece of shit Herris, and you damn well know it! How can you call it an attack on the Path of Doctrine? It’s all about corruption. Corruption, Councillor Polk, corruption. Kraa! And we know who’s responsible, don’t we? Herris, that’s who. Planetary Councillor Herris! Come on, tell me I’m wrong.”

  Merrick watched with some enjoyment as Polk squirmed in his chair. The man might be a jumped-up parvenu, but he wasn’t completely stupid. He’d know what everyone around the table knew even if they weren’t all prepared to admit it. Put simply, the man charged with Faith’s administration, Planetary Councillor Herris, was an irredeemably corrupt man with very extravagant tastes. Sadly for Herris, the patience and tolerance of the long-suffering people of Faith, the people who paid his bills in the end, were beginning to run out. It was as simple and straightforward as that, and heresy had nothing to do with it.

  Merrick knew it, Polk knew it, everybody around the table knew it.

  But Polk was not going to concede.

  “Councillor!” he spit as Albrecht’s attack finally ran out of steam, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “I’d be very careful if I were you. I would hate you to say something you might come to regret. Who knows,” he said, his voice silky quiet, menacing, “what the future holds.”

  Merrick had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Still think you’re going to be chief councillor, do you, you useless corrupt fool? Not a chance.

  Albrecht shared Merrick’s contempt for the man across the Council table and wasn’t afraid to let it show. “Save it, Councillor Polk. It’s your man, Herris. You know it, and I know it. We all know it. He’s the problem, and he’ll bring us all down if we don’t do something about it soon.”

  Polk’s face reddened with rage. It was obvious he knew where this was going. “I promise you, Albrecht—”

  “Enough, Councillor!” Merrick sliced through Polk’s response like a whip. “Enough,” he said, looking Polk right in the eye until the man’s head dropped in defeat. That’s better, Merrick said to himself. You can bluff and bluster all you like, but you and I both know the truth. Herris is your man and you’re his for the simple reason that your obscenely extravagant tastes are paid for by Herris, which Herris was happy to do in exchange for Polk’s protection and patronage.

  Merrick looked around the Council table. Now. His instincts urged him on. This was the time to strike.

  “Let us not waste any more time,” he said calmly, the faces of all present reflecting their uncertainty. Good. They knew he was up to something, but they didn’t know what.

  “We have a fundamental disagreement here which I would like to resolve. And I think it should be resolved in the interests of our people. Wouldn’t you agree?” Merrick paused until Polk’s head nodded in reluctant agreement. Yes, so you should, he thought.

  “So Councillor Albrecht thinks the problem on Faith is…well, how can I put it? The fault of the administration, let us say. Councillor Polk does not. So it seems to me that the best thing to do is have Planetary Councillor Herris come here to tell us why Councillor Albrecht is wrong. So I propose to summon Herris to do just that. Any objections?”

  Merrick stared intently at each councillor before turning his attention to Polk. Just try to force a vote, my friend, Merrick muttered to himself, confident that Polk didn’t have the balls to take him on—or, if his instincts were right, the numbers.

  Polk didn’t, and his head dropped in defeat. And everyone knew it was a defeat. Safe back on Faith, Herris could duck and dive, could maintain the fiction that Faith’s problems were the product of disaffected heretics. In person, in front of the Council, Merrick could nail him down, could wring promises from him that the situation on Faith would get better. And if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be long before Herris was on the wrong end of a DocSec firing squad, a prospect that Merrick enjoyed thinking about as much as Polk would bitterly resent losing such a key ally.

  Eat shit, Councillor Polk, Merrick thought with quiet satisfaction. Think you can take me on? Think again, Polk. After months of trying, he’d finally flushed Herris out of the safety of Faith, and there was nothing Polk had been able to do to stop him.

  “Good. I look forward to seeing Planetary Councillor Herris at our next meeting. My secretariat will make the arrangements. Now…ah, yes.” He paused for effect. For once, he had the Council where he wanted them, and he was going to ride them as hard as he could.

  “Now,” he said calmly, “since we’re on the subject of the unrest on Faith, let me address a concern I’ve had for some time. As we all know, the Council can make the right decisions for the people of Kraa only if it has good information to work from. And I must say, Councillors, that for some time I’ve not been sure that we do have good information on what is really going on over there.”

  He paused again, this time to look at the councillor for intelligence. Albert Marek wriggled in his chair, the look of sudden panic on his face almost comical.

  Merrick couldn’t help himself. “Yes, Councillor Marek. Well you might look concerned.”

  “Chief Councillor!” Polk protested. “Where is this going? We have a huge agenda to cover today, and we have dealt with Faith. I suggest we move on.”

  “Oh, you do? Well, I beg to differ, Councillor.” Merrick stared at Polk for a moment. Of course he had to step in; Marek was one of Polk’s men, and he couldn’t allow Merrick to attack him unchallenged. But the momentum was with Merrick today, and
Polk knew it, an unpleasant reality acknowledged by a wave of the hand for Merrick to continue.

  “Thank you. Now, Councillor Marek, I just wanted to point out that your department’s most recent report on Faith paints Planetary Councillor Herris, well…Now, how can I put it? Almost,” he said, his voice dripping with poorly concealed sarcasm, “as a saint in Kraa’s eyes. To read your report, Herris has done nothing at all to contribute to the problems there. Once again, it seems that antisocial elements and heretics are the only cause.”

  Marek tried; Merrick had to give him that. “Yes, Chief Councillor,” Marek said firmly. “That is the opinion of my people, and I stand by it.” He stared defiantly back at Merrick.

  “Good, good,” Merrick said smoothly as he slammed the trap shut. “So if that turns out not to be the case, then of course you will not object if the Council asks for your immediate resignation.”

  Polk’s objection was immediate, the anger obvious as he half rose from his seat, face working with rage. “Chief Councillor! I—”

  Merrick wasn’t having any of it. “Sit down, Councillor!’ he roared. “I am speaking. Sit down or by Kraa, you’ll regret it.”

  Polk stayed half standing for a long time before slumping down back into his seat. Merrick watched him for a moment. He had to be careful now. He had the Council where he wanted them, but it would take only one of the neutral councillors to object and the game would be over. Time to quit while he was ahead.

  “So, Councillor Marek, you might like to consider the conclusions of your next report carefully,” he said, his voice loaded with concern that Marek get it right. “Otherwise…”

  Merrick didn’t have to say any more. There wasn’t a man present who did not know what happened to former councillors.