"Hard to die so far away from home," Ferreira said, her voice catching for an instant, "maybe all alone. Not good."
Michael knew how she felt; a churning mix of doubt, fear, and apprehension had preyed on him more and more as the time approached for them to depart Nyleth. He also knew that he and Ferreira were not alone. The same feelings troubled everyone, the pressure building remorselessly as the day to leave approached. "I felt that way when I lost Corporal Yazdi on Commitment the last time."
"Corporal Yazdi? The marine who escaped from POW camp with you after Ishaq was ambushed?"
"Yes, her. Walking away from her grave, leaving her there on her own, maybe forever, that was the hardest thing I've ever done."
"There's one more thing that bothers me, sir. My parents. I hate to think what I'm doing to them."
"At least yours aren't ex-Fleet, Jayla. My mother's a retired commodore, my father a retired captain. I can't begin to understand how they're going to take it."
"In a word, sir, the same way mine will: badly."
"Yeah." He laughed softly. "I spent hours and hours trying to get my last vidmail right, trying to make sure they understood what I was trying to do and why." He paused to shake his head. "Pretty sure I did not succeed," he added, his face glum.
"Me neither," Ferreira said. "But it's too late to worry about them now. They're going to be pissed no matter what any of us say."
"Yes." Michael sighed. "So be it. I just hope they'll eventually understand why we've done what we've done."
Clear of Nyleth nearspace and in pinchspace on vector direct for Commitment, home planet of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds, Michael watched the first phase of Operation Gladiator kick off. Kallewi's marines, the largest and therefore potentially the most dangerous group onboard, would be the first to go through what some wiseass had called "the mutiny mill." Needless to say, Michael had not seen the joke. The process was long and drawn out, the marines summoned in batches by Kallewi, briefed in detail, and asked the hard question: Are you in or out?
For Michael, it seemed to take forever, so he was a much-relieved man when it was finished. As Kallewi predicted, some of the marines had declined the invitation to participate in the crime of the century. The only surprise had been two marines from Z Section, making a total of seven with the common sense to stay well away from the insanity that was Operation Gladiator. They had refused to say why they wanted no part of it, lapsing into sullen silence, refusing to talk. Kallewi had not wasted any time on them. Plasticuffed, they were escorted to the holding pen to join their fellow abstainers.
With the marines done, Michael dealt with the rest of Redwood's crew en bloc. Not that there were many of them; Redwood's complement included only six junior spacers, all waiting patiently, flanked-not that any of them knew it-by Michael's co-conspirators, stun guns close to hand if needed. Before he started to speak, Michael had looked at them, wondering if he had any right to ask them to be part of what was beyond doubt the most crazy scheme of all time.
"Right," he said. "I'll play you a holovid before I tell you what I'm going to do about it. Please, don't say or ask anything until it's finished."
By the time Colonel Hartspring's vidmail was finished, the silence was absolute, the shock on every face plain to see.
"Right," Michael said. "That's the problem. Here's what we plan to do about it and why."
As Michael laid out Operation Gladiator, suspicion replaced shock. One of Sedova's crew, her sensors man, Leading Spacer Jackson, made no secret of his disapproval. Head down, he refused to look Michael in the eye; the moment Michael finished, he climbed to his feet.
"I want no part of this, this, this… this madness," Jackson said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It is mutiny, and I won't go along with it. I can't believe you'd do this, sir. After all we've been through. You've betrayed everything Fleet stands for. You're a disgrace. You're not fit-"
Bienefelt was on Jackson in a flash, one giant hand at his throat, the other grabbing his shipsuit and lifting him bodily into the air. "Watch your mouth, spacer; watch your damn mouth," she growled, her anger obvious.
"No, no, Chief. Let him be," Michael said. "Anyone else?" he said while Bienefelt pushed Jackson back down into his seat more firmly than was necessary.
To Michael's surprise, Faris stayed seated. After an uncomfortable pause, Lomidze stood up.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, his voice breaking, wringing his hands in an agony of embarrassment. "I'd like to go along, but I can't. I have too much to lose. I'm sorry, I…" His voice faded into silence. Recovering his composure, he continued. "Jacko's wrong." Jackson shot a look of pure hatred at Lomidze. "Sorry, Jacko, but you are. It's not madness. Fact is, it's the sanest thing I've heard in a long time. No disrespect, sir, but I can't leave my family. It's too much to ask. Sorry."
"I understand," Michael said softly. "I'm sorry, too. I'll miss you all." He looked right into Jackson's face. "I know you think I'm wrong doing this, but I have my reasons. We all do. I hope you can at least understand that. I wish there'd been another way, but there isn't. Chief Bienefelt?"
"Sir?"
"Take them away."
"Sir."
When the spacers were gone, Michael looked at those left. "Now, the rest of you," he said. "You need to be sure about this. This is a one-way ticket. There's no going back. It will be dangerous. It will be hard. I don't know if any of us will ever see home again."
"May I speak, sir?" Leading Spacer Paarl said, coming to his feet.
"Of course."
"I think I'm right in saying that your mother and sister were onboard the Mumtaz when the Hammers hijacked it."
"Yes, they were."
"The man in charge of the hijack operation, Andrew Comonec. He shot a woman in cold blood soon after his men took the ship. You remember that?"
"How can I forget? My sister still has nightmares."
"That woman, the woman he shot, she was my grandmother, sir," Paarl said, the pain of memory all too evident on his face. "Agnetha Jasmina Paarl was her name, and I loved her like she was my own mother. She was ninety-seven years old, going to see her sister for the first time in fifty years. She was a good woman. She never harmed a soul, and the Hammers shot her out of hand. For me," he continued, "this is a no-brainer. Just thought you should know where I'm coming from, sir," he finished, voice cracking, overwhelmed by emotion.
"You're not alone, spacer. Welcome aboard. Now, Leading Spacer Faris."
"Yes, sir?"
"We didn't think you'd want any part of this. You sure?"
"Yes, sir. I am," Faris said, his voice rock-steady. "Absolutely sure."
"What about the wife and kid? I can't think of a better reason to say no."
"Ah, yes. The family." Faris's eyes flicked from side to side. "Ah, yes, sir. Umm, well… I meant to tell the coxswain, sir, but hadn't gotten around to it. Received a vidmail from Lori a few days ago. Things haven't been too good between us for a while, and Lori wants a divorce. So I figured… well, I figured, what the hell. Anyway, turns out the kid's not even mine, so a few years' absence won't be that big a burden. I'm in, sir. No problems."
"Fine. If you're sure," Michael said, amazed yet again by the things he discovered about the spacers under his command. "Right. We've a lot to get through, so that will do. We'll be dropping into normal space in… let me see… yes, about three hours from now to drop off those who don't want any part of this, and then we'll be on our way. There'll be a more detailed briefing after we've jumped back in pinchspace. The XOs set up the AIs with a detailed sim of the operation. We'll do a first run-through when the briefing's over. Unless there are any questions… No? Good. I'll see you all later. Carry on, please." He turned to Ferreira and Sedova. "Let's do the last of them."
"Not looking forward to this, sir," Ferreira said.
"Nor me," Michael said, grim-faced. The command pilot and loadmaster of Redwood's new heavy lander, Hell Bent, were unknown quantities. He had no feel for how they might respond. One thing was for sure, though: They were in for the biggest surprise of their short careers.
Junior Lieutenant Acharya and Petty Officer Krilic waited in Conference-6, a small, bleak compartment boasting a table, chairs, and a single bulkhead-mounted holovid. They came to their feet and snapped to attention when Michael entered.
"Sit, please," Michael said, taking a seat opposite the pair. He waited until Ferreira and Sedova sat down on either side of him. "I have something to ask both of you, but first I want you to watch a holovid. Then the XO will tell you what comes next. So sit back and pay attention. Okay?"
"Sir," the pair replied, their faces turning to utter bafflement when the menacing figure of Colonel Erwin Hartspring appeared on the holovid and started to speak, the flattened vowels, chopped syllables, and staccato delivery stamping him indelibly as a Hammer.
"Hello, Lieutenant Helfort, or may I call you Michael?" the man said. "Do you remember me? Yes, I'm sure you do, but just in case…"
When Ferreira finished summarizing Operation Gladiator, Acharya and Krilic sat unmoving, their mouths hanging open, faces drawn tight in shocked disbelief.
Acharya spoke first. "Sir, you cannot be serious," Hell Bent's command pilot croaked. "I understand the problem, I sympathize, but… but this is mutiny, sir, not to mention about a hundred other crimes. Surely there must be a better way. A legal way. Surely?"