Dispirited, Michael tossed the empty beer bottle into the bin and commed the drinkbot for another.
For the umpteenth time, he went through it all. After the Hammers staged their big push in May, the war settled down into a pointless series of tit-for-tat exchanges, none of which made any difference to the overall strategic situation, a badly stretched Fed Fleet holding the Hammers at bay: just. The brutal truth was that neither side had the wherewithal to force the war to a conclusion, and neither would until one side or the other won the race to get antimatter warheads onto their missiles in large enough numbers to pave the way for a successful invasion. Michael had no way of knowing when that day might come, but it sure as hell would not be soon.
It was ironic. The Feds had the resources to weaponize antimatter but not the know-how. The Hammers had the know-how but not the resources. Either way, it was going to be years before the strategic balance shifted, and to whom it shifted … well, talk about the big question. One thing was for sure, though: The Hammers had as good a chance of winning the race as the Feds did.
Michael could not wait for years, he just could not. Leaving Anna to rot in some damn Hammer prison camp while he lived the rest of his life? Not a chance. Forgetting all those whose deaths he had sworn to avenge? Not a chance. Sitting around scratching his ass waiting for the Hammers to win the antimatter race? Not a chance. Sitting around praying the Feds did? Not a chance.
There was a way, he promised himself as he drained his beer. There had to be. Problem was, he had no idea what. What could he do, stuck on Nyleth-B with three dreadnoughts? A lot of nothing, that was what.
In a sudden fit of frustration and anger, he hurled the empty bottle at the bin; catching the lip, it splintered into a hundred pieces. Much like his promises, Michael thought morosely as he commed the housebot to come clean up: empty vessels, easily broken, and once broken, impossible to put back together again.
He commed the drinkbot for another beer. Since he could not work out how to keep his promises, he would do the next best thing, what losers had done since the dawn of time. He would let ethanol weave its magic and get blind, stinking drunk.
Maybe the answer would come to him.
Friday, June 22, 2401, UD
Offices of the Supreme Council for the
Preservation of the Faith, McNair
When the Defense Council meeting broke up, Polk waved the councillor for intelligence over.
“Yes, Chief Councillor?” Morris Kando said, looking warily at Polk.
“Helfort.”
Kando stifled a groan. Polk’s interest in the man bordered on the psychotic. “What about him, sir?”
“I’ve just seen the holovids of him getting even more medals for kicking us in the ass. Kraa! How many months is it I’ve been asking for you to terminate the little bastard? I’ll tell you, Councillor. Too many, far too many.”
“Sir,” Kando protested, “it’s not easy. We’re wasting our money: Our contacts inside the Fed Fleet have nothing new to say no matter how much we wine and dine them, and bribing the Fed trashpress is not working anymore. They’ve found new stories to chase; Helfort is yesterday’s news. He’s practically disappeared. We know he is under constant security surveillance. We cannot get near him, and even the dumbest Fed crook refuses to have a go, no matter how much money we wave under their noses. They remember what happened last time.”
Polk scowled. “So you’ve told me … a thousand times. Well, the way I see it, if you can’t get to him, get him to come to you. There has to be a way to make him break cover, Councillor, and I suggest you find it and quickly. My patience is running out fast.”
“Sir.”
Friday, June 29, 2401, UD
FWSS
Redwood,
Nyleth-B nearspace
Barely a minute after Redwood dropped out of pinchspace into Nyleth-B nearspace, closely followed by Red River and Redress, a soft chime announced the arrival of a personal message. Michael’s heart raced when he saw what it was: Anna’s monthly vidmail. Busy with Redwood’s arrival, he decided to read it later.
It would keep.
With Redwood and her sister dreadnoughts tucked safely into parking orbit around Nyleth-B and an hour before he took the down-shuttle to make his duty call on the base commander, Michael found the time to watch Anna’s message. His heart lurched when her face popped into his neuronics. Happily, Anna looked in reasonable shape: a bit tired and drawn but otherwise okay. It was the best he could hope for, that she would hold up until somehow the feds got her out of there.
He let the message run, happy just to hear Anna’s voice, to know that she was alive. By the time the vid finished, he was relieved to know she was as well as she seemed, camp life was dull but bearable, the food was not so good but enough to live on, the regime-her code for the Hammers, he had soon worked out-was behaving itself, and she still loved and missed him.
When the message finished, Michael was on the point of rerunning it-Anna was sure to have used her binary code trickery to pass on information the Hammers would not approve of-when her head and shoulders were replaced by someone whose face he had sworn never to forget. Not that he could.
“Oh, no, please, no,” he said, his body overwhelmed with a sick dread, every fiber telling him that something terrible was about to happen.
“Hello, Lieutenant Helfort, or may I call you Michael?” the man said, the high-necked black uniform with woven silver badges unmistakably that of a senior DocSec officer.
“Do you remember me? Yes …”
How could I forget you? Michael thought. The man’s gaunt face and pencil mustache above thin, bloodless lips were scarred into his memory, washed-out amber eyes staring at him with pitiless intensity, empty of all emotion, a short riding crop held in one hand tapping the palm of his other hand. Oh, yes, I remember, Michael said to himself; without knowing it, his fingers reached up to touch where Hartspring’s riding crop had cut his face open.
“… I’m sure you do, but just in case you’ve forgotten, I’m Colonel Erwin Hartspring, Doctrinal Security, Section 22. You made me look like such a fool the last time we met, so I’ve certainly not forgotten you. I know you think we Hammers are a bunch of clods, but we’re not. So when an opportunity as good as Lieutenant Anna Cheung falls into our laps, we know what to do with it. She made a big mistake, talking about you openly the way she does.”
Panic started to tear Michael apart.
“So, Michael,” Hartspring continued, “we know how you feel about Lieutenant Cheung, and since we’ve been having such trouble getting to you what with all those damned security drones, we decided it would be much easier if you came to us. Our chief councillor is so insistent. He wants to shake your hand before we … well, let’s leave that bit to your imagination, shall we.”
Hartspring paused.
Michael struggled to breathe. Here it comes, here it comes.
“So this is what I propose, Helfort,” Hartspring said, his voice hardening, “and it’s nonnegotiable, so don’t waste time or energy trying to wriggle out of it. You have three months to present yourself to our embassy on Scobie’s World. Three months. If you’re even a day late, just one, the first Lieutenant Cheung will know about this little plan of mine is when I collect her from her cozy little prisoner of war camp and hand her over to some of my more … let me see, how can I put this? Um … yes … hand her over to some of my more high-spirited and energetic troopers for a week of fun and games. They’ve seen holovids of her, and let me tell you, Michael, they are keen for the party to start. They love the way your Fed women look, all that flawless perfection, and I must say your Anna is one of the prettiest I have ever seen. They can hardly wait. And did I mention that there’ll be ten of my boys at the party? No? Oh, well, now you know. Anyway, I don’t think she’ll look quite so attractive when the week’s over, so I think I’ll send her to one of my firing squads.”
Hartspring paused.
“Of course,” he continued, “by th
e time my troopers have finished with her, she’ll be begging to die, so having her shot is not much of a threat, but I mention it just so you have the full picture. I think I might even command the firing squad myself. It will be fun to watch the single most important person in your life die, to watch the spark disappear from those gorgeous green eyes of hers. Ah, revenge; it is such a sweet thing. And yes, talking of watching, I nearly forgot. We’ll have holocams film every minute of the last week of Lieutenant Cheung’s life. I’ll be sure to send you a copy. I think you’ll enjoy it. I know I will. So there it is. Just so we’re absolutely clear, present yourself at our embassy on Scobie’s World in three months or Anna dies a death you do not even want to think about. I’ll be waiting for you, so be sure to ask for me.”
The DocSec colonel paused again, seemingly to make sure Michael understood fully what was required of him.
“Oh, what the hell,” Hartspring added with a shrug of his shoulders. “As you know, I’m not an unreasonable man, Michael. I know it’s going to be hard for you to get to Scobie’s, so why don’t we say October 1? I think that’s only fair, don’t you? But do not be late, d’you hear?
“Before I go, there is one last condition, so pay attention. Do not even think about telling anyone about this little arrangement of ours. Nobody. Because the minute we find out you’ve opened your big mouth-and we will-the deal’s off and Lieutenant Cheung will be starting the party with my troopers early. You can trust me on that, Michael. Anyway, that’s it from me. Looking forward to seeing you real soon. Bye, now.”
Paralyzed by fear, Michael sat unmoving as Hartspring’s smiling face disappeared, his mind flailing in a frantic attempt to find a way out of the Hammer’s trap. He refused to accept that there was no escape. Over and over he replayed Hartspring’s terrible message until finally it had pounded him into submission, his defenses crumbling in the face of its stark, callous brutality, until he had to accept the awful truth. There was no way out, not now, not ever, and nothing would change that simple fact.
Turn himself in to the Hammers and he would die an agony-wracked death at the hands of Hartspring and his DocSec thugs. Refuse and the Hammers would kill Anna. Abandoned, betrayed, she would die a lonely death filled with horrific pain, and he would live: his heart and soul ripped out, his body left an empty shell wracked with bitterness, hate, and guilt for the rest of time.
Whatever he did, he was as good as dead.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-64aeee-ac0a-7c4d-01a6-868c-7219-a5594d
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 18.09.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.69, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Paul, Graham Sharp
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The battle of Devastation reef hw-3 Page 38
