Base Hospital, Federated Worlds Space Fleet College, Terranova Planet
For some reason, Michael felt more nervous than the last time he had faced DocSec. He was so nervous, he could not stay still, standing up and then sitting down and then standing up again.
Finally the door opened. In quick succession, his mother, his father, and his sister Sam rushed into the room, and in seconds he was enveloped in all their arms, the tears running uncontrollably down all their faces.
“Christ, son, but you’re a worry,” his dad said when he had gotten himself back under control. “Any chance of your transferring to the Parks and Wildlife Service?”
Michael smiled tightly. He knew his dad would pressure him to leave the Fleet. Who could blame him? First the Mumtaz business, then the Battle of Hell’s Moons, and now all this. His dad should pressure him. Michael could see what it was doing to him. His father looked ten years older than he had when Michael had left to join the Ishaq.
“Dad, Mum, Sam, sit down. We need to talk.”
When his parents left, Michael sat down heavily. Things had not gone well. His parents had refused to see that his promise to Corporal Yazdi meant something, and Sam had agreed with them. Let someone else deal with the Hammer, she had cried. Why you? You’ve done enough.
For Michael, it was very simple. A promise to a fallen comrade was a promise that had to be kept.
And he had not begun to do enough. He had not even started. He had debts to collect, debts payable in blood, the blood of the Hammers responsible for the spacers killed on board DLS-387 during the Battle of Hell’s Moons, of the Hammers responsible for the spacers and marines killed when Ishaq blew, of the DocSec thugs who had nearly killed him, of the Hammers who had killed Corporal Yazdi.
Oh, yes. He would collect no matter what his family and friends argued.
Tomorrow the doctors would start repairing the physical damage the Hammers had done to his body. Three days of back-to-back operations, they had said. Then it would be the shrinks’ turn, though Michael had no intention of letting them anywhere near the flame of hate that burned deep within him. Nor would he let them see the part of him that wanted to give up completely, to let it all go, to find somewhere quiet, dark, safe. Maybe somewhere to end it all before the hate and fear and guilt drove him over the edge, chased every step of the way by the ghostly face of Detective Sergeant Kalkov, a face that pursued him through the twists and turns of every nightmare-filled night.
No, that was too easy.
He was physically scarred, but the shrinks would not see the emotional scars. He would not let them. They would assess him as mentally bruised but basically okay. He had no doubts of that. By the time he recovered, he would be passed A-1, fit for frontline Fleet service. When that happened, they could not stop his return to active duty. The day of reckoning for the Hammer was approaching fast, and he had every intention of being there when it came.