Here we go, Michael said to himself, the tension tightening his chest and stomach. Keflavik Bay’s arrival was no accident.
The Hammers had made their opening move.
Friday, April 6, 2401, UD
Hajek Barracks, Serhati
Michael was finishing his breakfast when the admiral commed him.
“Admiral?”
“Find Lieutenant Kallewi and come to my office.”
“Sir.”
When Michael and Kallewi reached Jaruzelska’s office-a tiny cubicle tacked on to the back end of the mess hall-she waved them in.
“Take a seat, guys … right. I have bad news, I’m afraid,” she said briskly. “The embassy has been in touch. The Hammers have lodged a request for your extradition with the Serhati government. Don’t have any details yet. The police have warrants for your arrest; they are on the way to execute them. We’ve managed to get a lawyer to have a look at them, and the warrants appear in order. An emergency court hearing is scheduled for eleven this morning. Here’s the hard part. I want you both to cooperate with the police. The ambassador is confident that we can get you out on bail, so rather than fight them here, I’d prefer to follow her advice and take them on in court, but I’d like to know what you think first.”
Michael sat, sandbagged by the ambassador’s news. He was not alone: Kallewi’s jaw sagged, his mouth open in a small O of surprise. Michael had trouble believing it: Instead of the Hammer snatch squad he’d expected, the Hammers had resorted to the damn courts. That was a first. He forced himself to think. Stay and fight or rely on the Serhati courts? What a choice.
“Well,” Michael said, finally, glancing at Kallewi. “I don’t know how you feel, Janos, but I don’t think two needle guns will keep the Serhati police at bay for too long.”
“Not a chance,” Kallewi said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Didn’t think so.” Michael paused. “If the ambassador thinks she can get us out on bail, I’d be inclined to trust her on that. Much as I hate to trust anyone when it comes to the Hammers.” Another pause. “Janos?”
“Even if the Reckless is long gone, you’re still my skipper, sir, and I am a marine,” Kallewi said with a lopsided smile, “so just give me the order and I’ll be there.”
Michael nodded. “Okay.” He threw a glance at Jaruzelska. “If you think the ambassador’s called it right, let’s do what she suggests.”
“I think she’s right,” Jaruzelska said; she sounded confident. “Let me talk to the Serhatis while you guys go and make yourselves presentable. I’ll let you know when the police turn up.”
The Serhati Superior Court occupied a tired-looking plascrete building right in the heart of Serhati City. As the busbot made its way down the ramp, loneliness almost overwhelmed Michael despite the comforting presence of Kallewi alongside him, not to mention an unnecessarily large contingent of Serhati police. If things went wrong, he was a long way from help. When they pulled up, the police hustled Michael and Kallewi out of the busbot and along a bewildering succession of well-lit corridors before pushing them into a holding cell, the door slamming shut behind them with a crash. Throughout the process, their guards said not a word.
“Jeez,” Kallewi said, “don’t muck around, do they?”
“Let me tell you something, Janos. After the fucking Hammers, the Serhatis are a bunch of pussies, so they can do their strong-but-silent thing all they like. Provided they don’t start beating the crap out of me, I won’t complain.”
“Yeah. Heard about what they put you through.”
“Ancient history, Janos, ancient history.”
Kallewi leaned forward, his mouth to Michael’s ear. “Just so you know,” he whispered. “If we need to get out of here, we can. I’ve never seen such a sloppy bunch of amateurs.”
“You sure?”
“Yup, I am. Easy. Don’t know where we’d go, but breaking out of here won’t be a problem.”
“Well, if the bastards deny us bail, I think we might just have to exercise our God-given right to fuck off. I need some sack time, so”-Michael stretched out on one of the plain plasfiber bunks-“wake me up when something happens.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
The courtroom was a shabby underventilated room fitted out with cheap furniture, its proceedings overseen by his honor, Superior Court Judge Corey Anderson. Michael’s experience of courts was nonexistent; the endless hours of vids presented by the Court Channel back home were not something he had ever been interested in. But he was sure Fed courts were nothing like the shambolic three-ring circus he was being made to sit through. With not a legal AI in sight to keep things on track, Michael felt trapped in a time warp, shot back five hundred years.
After a lot of self-indulgent waffle by the lawyers spiced with occasional angry exchanges, their indiscipline amply encouraged by the judge’s erratic behavior, proceedings seemed to be getting to the point-Michael’s lawyer was back on his feet-so he forced himself to pay attention.
“… so once again, Your Honor, for the reasons I have outlined, there are no grounds for remanding my clients in police custody.”
“Is that so, Counsellor?” Judge Anderson demanded, his voice a belligerent bark. A pained look crossed Anderson’s face before he let go of a clearly audible belch. “Sorry, folks,” he said, “must ease off on the chili. You were saying, Counsellor?”
“I was saying, Your Honor,” the lawyer said, no less belligerently, “that there are no grounds for remanding my clients in custody.”
“Yes, yes, so you say,” Anderson snapped. “I heard you the first time, so sit down. I’ve had quite enough from you, Counsellor. And from you”-he pointed the handle of his wooden gavel at the Serhati table-“so don’t waste any more of my time. Right, here’s my decision. Bail is granted to respondents Helfort and Kallewi, subject to lodgment of sureties in the amount of 100,000 Serhati dollars each. Yes, yes, yes, Counsellor Markov, sit down!” Anderson barked at the Sovereignty of Serhati’s lawyer when he started to stand. “Of course you don’t like it, of course you want to appeal. I’m not stupid. I’ve known you for twenty years. You’d appeal the time of day, Counsellor”-Anderson cackled at his own joke-“yes, you would. Eh, what’s that you say … the surety’s not enough? It damn well is enough if I say it is, Counsellor Markov. Where was I? Oh, yes. Other conditions: Respondents to be sighted daily by an officer of the Sovereignty of Serhati Police, respondents to remain interned at Hajek Barracks. Now, Counsellor Markov.”
“Yes, Your Honor?” the counsellor said, getting to his feet and eying the judge warily.
“Do I need to remind you that the Sovereignty has thirty days to submit its formal request to extradite?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Congratulations. You’ve got something right at last. Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than listen to you lot,” the judge said, smashing his gavel down, “so this hearing is closed.”
Jaruzelska was at the barracks door when Michael and Kallewi returned. “Welcome back,” she said. “How were things?”
“Bizarre,” Michael said.
“Entertaining,” Kallewi added. “Never seen such a bunch of comedians. But the ambassador was right about bail, thankfully.”
“Yes, she was, though you’re not out of the woods yet. You already know the Sovereignty’s appealing the decision. You still need to get through that. We’ve just heard; you’re due back in court at 15:00 tomorrow.”
Michael grimaced. “Can’t wait.”
“Anyway, the ambassador wants to talk to us about that in person. She’ll be here soon. I’ll give you a shout when she’s ready to brief you.”
“Sir.”
Ambassador Sharma’s face was troubled.
“It’s not looking good, Admiral. Judge Anderson did what he was paid to do, and he did it well. Given he ruled against the Hammers, Anderson has chosen discretion over valor and is now taking an extended vacation. A prudent decision on his part, I have to say, b
ut one that leaves us with a new problem: the judge scheduled to hear the appeal against the grant of bail, one Judge Kavaji. He’s as corrupt as the rest of them, so I suspect-no, I know-the Hammers will have made it well worth his while to allow the Sovereignty’s appeal.”
“We can’t outbid them?”
“Normally, yes. Serhati justice is simple. The highest bidder usually wins, but not this time. Judge Kavaji refuses even to talk to us. My guess is the Hammers are probably offering him hospital time if he takes our money. So unless we do something, your boys will be spending the rest of their time here on Serhati in police custody, which I don’t like. My guess is that they will just short-circuit the whole business by kidnapping Helfort and Kallewi.”
Jaruzelska nodded her agreement. “Knowing our Hammer friends, I’d bet a month’s pay on it. They are not the most patient people. As for their commitment to legal process, I don’t think they even know what legal process is. And they have a real bee in their bonnet about Helfort.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Once your two officers have been cut out of the herd, one way or the other, it’s only a matter of time before the Hammers get their hands on them.”
“Which I will not allow,” Jaruzelska said. “Time for direct action, I think, don’t you?”
“Funny you should say that, Admiral,” the ambassador said, trying not to look smug, “so it’s a good thing I’ve had my people working on a fallback plan.”
Jaruzelska’s eyes widened a fraction. “I think I may have underestimated you, Ambassador Sharma.”
“You might. Klera Willems, the assistant trade commissioner, is on her way. She’ll brief Helfort and Kallewi on what happens next.”
Assistant trade commissioner? Jaruzelska wondered why they bothered. The Serhatis would know perfectly well that Willems was one of Department 24’s field intelligence spooks.
Saturday, April 7, 2401, UD
Hajek Barracks, Serhati
“Okay,” Kallewi whispered so softly that Michael strained to hear him. “We’re good to go. Follow me, stay close, and move slowly. No sudden movements. Serhati surveillance gear may be secondhand, obsolete Hammer crap, but it’s not completely useless. Remember, hand signals only, no talking, and make sure your neuronics are switched off. They may have scanners running outside the perimeter. Ready?”
Michael nodded silently.
Carefully, Kallewi cracked open the door and eased his head out. He checked both ways and crawled out into the darkness, the night cut through-apparently at random-by the blue-white bars thrown by the searchlights. Adjusting his chromaflage cape to expose just his eyes, Michael followed, the ground under his belly still warm from another long, hot day. Slowly the pair eased their way across the expanse of dusty dirt that doubled as muster ground and futbol field, the light splashed on the ground by the searchlights coming close but never touching either of them. Despite himself, Michael was impressed. Ambassador Sharma said that everything on Serhati had a price, and she was right: Seemingly, even the bored troopers guarding the barracks perimeter could be paid to keep their searchlights off a narrow strip of darkness leading from the barracks to the wire. Michael hated to think what this little stunt was going to cost her: The troopers behind the searchlights would not be the only ones to benefit from her largesse that night.
Safely across the muster ground, Kallewi eased himself over the trip wire and paused at the single wall of interlaced razor wire that fenced the Feds’ compound. Taking an agonizingly long time, he first cut away and then gingerly eased a panel of wire to one side with gloved hands. Kallewi waved Michael through and pushed the panel roughly back into place; he dropped the wire cutters-obviously homemade-beside the hole before they left.
Forty minutes later, they were well clear of the barracks, now an island of darkness flayed by bars of light, and were holed up in a culvert under the base’s perimeter road. When did it ever rain enough to need culverts? Michael wondered in passing as a heavy cargobot thundered overhead. So far as he knew, it rarely rained on Serhati. More to the point, what idiot would build a culvert under a perimeter fence and then secure it with a grating a five-year-old armed with a penknife could undo? Obviously, Serhati was not a planet that worried too much about security, and for good reason: So far, Michael had not seen anything remotely worth stealing.
Kallewi waved him in close. “Right,” he said softly, breathing heavily from crawling hundreds of meters on his stomach. “That’s the hard part over. Move through the culvert and crawl across the road to the clump of scrub right opposite. Once through that, we’ll be clear of the perimeter surveillance cams and we can walk out. Two more klicks will bring us to the road back into Serhati City. Hopefully, we’ll find Willems and the mobibot there. Questions? No? Right, let’s move out.”
Two hours after Michael and Kallewi left the barracks, the mobibot accelerated smoothly away toward Serhati City, an orange bloom of light on the horizon. Their guide, Klera Willems, a dark-skinned Jascarian with a forgettable face-in Michael’s opinion the sort of face well suited to a spook-sat up front. She turned around to look at Michael and Kallewi.
“Right, pay attention,” she said. “It’s a straight run into town. This time of night, there’s no traffic, and this road takes us pretty much right to the embassy. When I give the word, capes on, lie back, and don’t move. The Serhati police have … well, let’s just say they’ve got every incentive to let us into the embassy.”
Content to let Willems do all the worrying, Michael watched the desert slide through the mobibot’s headlights, the sand broken up only by scrappy clumps of brush. It was not long before fatigue overwhelmed him and he dropped off to sleep.
He awoke to a steady stream of profanity from Willems.
“What’s up?” Michael asked.
“Bloody Serhatis!” Willems scowled. “The problem with corrupt places like this is the people you’ve just bribed immediately have something new to sell: who’s just bribed them and why. The bastards put themselves straight back on the market for sale to the highest bidder. The embassy’s been in touch. Someone’s talked, so the Serhatis know we’re coming. They are searching every mobibot going into the embassy compound, and thoroughly. Sadly, our covert people mover was written off two months ago, and I’m still waiting for a replacement, so unless we fight our way in, the embassy’s not an option.”
Michael’s spirits crashed. “So what happens now?”
Willems flicked him a grin. “There’s always a plan B, young man. You should know that.”
Michael grinned back, reassured by the unassuming woman’s quiet confidence. “You’re Department 24, aren’t you? You must know Amos Bichel.”
“You should know better than to ask a girl a question like that,” Willems shot back, “but since you ask, yes, I know Amos Bichel.”
“Well, he smuggled me off Commitment under the noses of the Hammers, so I reckon getting us off this dump should be a breeze.”
“I wish! Getting you off-planet comes later. Let me work out how we keep you two out of the Serhatis’ hands first.”
Michael glanced across at Kallewi. The man sat impassively; he had barely said a word so far. Happy to go with the flow, he stayed quiet, apparently unconcerned by the latest turn of events. Michael wished he shared the marine’s relaxed view of things. It would be a big improvement on the near panic that threatened to overwhelm him every time circumstances reminded him that at best the Serhatis and their Hammer friends were only a few steps behind him, with a DocSec firing squad only a few paces behind them.
“Okay, folks. New plan. We’ll stop short of the city to pick up supplies before we head out on Highway 2 to a place called Algal Springs”-Michael’s eyebrows shot up; that did not sound promising-“which is one of the few places on this entire planet with potable surface water. A few days there and we’ll move again. Where to, we’ll work out later. Right?”
Michael nodded; he checked Algal Springs in his escape knowledge base, trying not to wince wh
en an archetypal one-horse town popped into his neuronics: a single street flanked by sad, decaying buildings and a spring supplying water reputed to be packed with “health-giving” properties. But Michael saw immediately why Willems had picked it. Algal Springs backed onto a chaotic jumble of heat-shattered rocks, outliers of the foothills that climbed up to form the Red Mountains. An army could hide around Algal Springs, and nobody would know. Better, there were freshwater springs, none big enough to support a settlement even a fraction of the size of Algal Springs but big enough to keep a small group well watered.
Satisfied, Michael closed the file and looked down the road. Serhati City was close enough to see the buildings that dominated the center of town, their lights diamond sharp in the still, cool air of early morning, the stars crystalline points of white overhead. It was a beautiful sight, the stars against-
“Oh, shit. Klera!” Michael said, his voice a half shout.
“What? What is it?”
“The Hammer cruiser. What orbit is it in?”
“Hang on,” Willems said. “Yes, the Keflavik Bay. She’s in Clarke orbit, right over the top … oh, shit, shit, shit.” She stopped. “I’ve screwed up. I’d forgotten the bastard was there. Do you think they’ve seen us?” Willems’s voice was hoarse with worry.
“Hard to say,” Michael said. “Conditions are close to perfect, though: no wind, dry air, and a cooling atmosphere. Hold on, let me see what my TECHINT knowledge base says about her optronics … Okay, there’s no chance they saw Janos and me leave the base. Too small a target, and our chromaflage capes are way too good. But the pickup vehicle, yes. Mobibots have big infrared signatures, so it would have seen that, no problem, and I’m sure they will have been watching the compound pretty closely. Why else would they sit in Clarke orbit right over the top of us? Whether the Hammers made anything of a lone mobibot, I don’t know, but we need to assume they might, especially when they find out we’ve escaped.”
The battle of Devastation reef hw-3 Page 31
