FWSS Eridani, Commitment planetary nearspace
“Commitment command, this is Federated Worlds Warship Eridani with heavy scouts Van Maanen and Groombridge in company inbound from Comdur system calling on 32, over.”
“Eridani, Commitment command. All ships maintain current vectors. Transmit vessel identities, approved flight plans, and confirmation that all weapons systems are disabled. Over.”
The operator looked bored, eyes looking off-holocam at something much more interesting than the command crew of a Fed heavy scout. His right hand was fiddling absentmindedly with the old-fashioned headset and boom mike perched on his head.
“Roger, Commitment command. Stand by.” Tanvi Kidav threw a backward glance across Eridani’s combat information center at Michael. She rolled her eyes theatrically.
Michael smiled. “Concentrate, sir,” he mouthed silently.
Kidav nodded, squinting for a moment as she commed the information Commitment command had asked for down the link. It took a while. The datastream had been slowed down to comply with the Hammer’s antiquated data transfer protocols.
There was a short pause as the Hammers checked and double-checked that Eridani and her sisters were not in fact an entire squadron of Federated Worlds heavy cruisers about to drop in-system to lay waste to Commitment.
“Eridani, this is Commitment command. Ship identities, flight plans, and weapons systems status confirmed. Maintain current vectors until final approach plan authorized. Contact Commitment nearspace control on vidcomm channel 55, over.”
“Eridani, vidcomm channel 55, roger, out.”
Kidav looked at Lenski, who was sitting silently alongside her. “What do you reckon, skipper? The Hammers are being uncommonly polite, don’t you think?”
“They are, Tanvi. I hope it doesn’t mean they are saving things up for us. Right, go to 55 and let’s see what they’ve got in store.”
“Sir.” Kidav commed the channel change.
Michael, tucked away safely out of sight of the holocam and under strict instructions to stay that way, shivered at the sight of the unlovely features of the Hammer’s duty controller for inbound traffic. An arrogant-looking man, he had an unblinking stare that was extremely disconcerting. Michael took a deep breath. The high-necked black uniform and the Hammer of Kraa sunburst picked out in gold thread on the left breast brought back memories he had spent a great deal of time burying.
Kidav flicked a glance across at him. “Fuck ’em,” she mouthed.
“And the horses they rode in on,” Michael mouthed back.
“Concentrate!” Lenski growled.
“Sorry, skipper,” Kidav mumbled, turning her attention back to the holovid. “Commitment nearspace control, this is Federated Worlds deepspace heavy scout Eridani with heavy scouts Van Maanen and Groombridge in company inbound to Planetary Transfer Station Zero Three per flight plan. Request approval for final approach, over.”
“Eridani, this is Commitment nearspace control. Stand by. Transferring final approach plan for PTS Zero Three. Acknowledge receipt.”
Kidav and Lenski looked at each other in relief. Michael shared the sentiment. Despite all the agreements and planning that had gone into this mission, it would not have surprised either of them if they had been put into a parking orbit for days on end for no good reason other than some imaginary slight against the might and majesty of the Hammer.
Fortunately, not this time.
The Hammer controller continued. “You are reminded that deviation from this plan without prior approval from Commitment nearspace control will be met with the immediate use of deadly force. No warnings will be given.”
“Commitment nearspace control, noted. Stand by.” Kidav nodded confirmation to Lenski that the approach plan had been received, had been passed by Mother as sensible, and was not going to run them headlong into the station or some other large, hard object in orbit around Commitment. “Approach plan received. Eridani with Van Maanen and Groombridge in company commencing final approach to Planetary Transfer Station Zero Three. Eridani, out.”
Kidav broke the link without waiting for the Hammer operator to acknowledge. Lenski leaned across. “Tanvi, I know this is the first time you’ve seen them up close, but don’t let it get to you.”
“Sorry, skipper.”
Lenski turned to Michael. “And remember, young man. Stay out of sight. We’ve got people to bring home.”
“Sir.”
Michael stared moodily at the holovid as Eridani circled endlessly around Commitment, her two companions trailing along behind her like tame dogs.
Below Eridani, the planet Commitment was a dramatic sight as the terminator raced across the planet’s chaotic mix of whites, blues, greens, and browns. It had been three days since they had dropped into Hammer space, and after a brief stay alongside the planetary transfer station-the ships had been treated as though they carried the Black Death-the Hammers had ordered them to unberth and move into low orbit. So they had, no doubt waiting for some mindless Hammer bureaucrat to decide that the prisoner transfer could go ahead.
“Looks pretty.”
Michael swung around. It was Bienefelt. “Oh, hi, Matti. Yes, it is pretty, but so is a well-chiseled tombstone. It’s the corruption underneath you’ve got to focus on.” His voice was bitter. He’d seen the list of prisoners to be repatriated together with what the Hammers were pleased to call the nonreturnees list. Nonreturnees! For a very long time Michael had stared at the list, anger never far from the surface.
Aaron Stone. Poor bastard. Even though he had made it out of Camp I-2355 and across Koenig’s High Pass to the safety of the Forest of Gwyr, he had not survived; the injuries he had sustained had been way beyond the capabilities of Fellsworth’s medics to fix. On top of the stick lost crossing Koenig’s, sixteen more had died along the way. Most from accidents, though four had died when their patrol had been caught in the open by two Hammer assault landers.
Not that Michael cared much how they had died. Dead was dead.
What he did know was that they all had died because of the Hammer, and one day there would be a reckoning. Fellsworth had made it. So had Chief Ichiro and the man-mountain himself, Marine Murphy. Leading Spacer Petrovic, too. Even the mutineers had made it; Michael would have traded them for Aaron Stone in a heartbeat. Apart from Fellsworth, they all would be taken home in the Groombridge, and so he would have to wait until Terranova to see how they had fared. There had been some good news, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Command, Mother. Incoming vidcomm, channel 37.”
“Matti, take this, would you,” Michael called. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Sure.”
The impassive face of the latest in a long line of black-uniformed Hammers to talk to the Eridani appeared on the holovid. “Eridani, Commitment nearspace control.”
“Eridani.”
“Up-shuttle with returnees per manifests will be with you in thirty minutes. Contact up-shuttle call sign Golf Charlie 6 on vidcomm channel 75, over.”
“Eridani, roger. Up-shuttle call sign Golf Charlie six on vidcomm channel seventy-five. Out.”
Bienefelt looked across at Michael. He was silent for a moment. “Matti, tell the skipper while I comm our friends to let them know.”
With the van Maanen and Groombridge duly informed, Michael waited while Bienefelt briefed Lenski before activating the main broadcast. “All stations, this is command. Stand by to receive shuttle port side in three zero minutes. Ishaqs returning.”
Michael commed Kidav.
Kidav’s cheerful face popped up in his neuronics. “Hi, Michael. What can I do for you?”
“You heard the broadcast?”
Kidav looked pleased. “Sure did. Finally!”
“Yes, finally. Favor to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you take over the watch from me? I would like to be at the dock when the Ishaqs get here.”
Kidav winced. “Oh, shit, Michael. Of course. Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“That’s all right. When you’re ready.”
“On my way.”
In the end the up-shuttle had taken more like an hour, but finally it had docked. Michael stayed back, standing apart from the rest of the Eridani’s crew. Nobody knew quite what to expect. All they had been given was a list of names.
At last, the transfer air lock swung open with a tiny hiss of air as the two ships equalized. Then two DocSec troopers, a sergeant and a corporal, armed with stun guns and stiffly arrogant in their trademark black jumpsuits appeared. Michael had to hold himself back as red rage ripped into him. He was a hairbreadth away from diving across the brilliantly lit air lock to tear their throats out. By some miracle, he held himself back.
After a cursory look around, the DocSec troopers seemed satisfied. Standing back, they looked on impassively as first one, then another, and then a procession of emaciated spacers half walked, half staggered into view. Their desperation to be clear of their Hammer captors was plain to see, the tattered remnants of shipsuits the only thing marking them out as Feds.
For a moment, the Eridanis hung back, stunned by the appalling sight of Ishaq’s crew. Then something snapped, and ignoring the DocSec troopers’ protests, they rushed forward as one to help the struggling spacers on board, Michael in there with the rest of them. Then he saw her, her smile the only hint that this tattered, limping human being, her grimy face pulled tight across high cheekbones by hunger, was Lieutenant Commander Fellsworth. He snapped to attention and saluted.
Fellsworth shook her head. “For fuck’s sake, cut it out, Michael. Give me a hand before I fall over.”
Holding her up, he got Fellsworth on board Eridani only seconds before she collapsed; a gurney was slid into place hurriedly to catch her. Michael knelt down beside her, his face close to hers.
“I won’t ask how it was, sir,” Michael whispered, taking her hand in his.
“No, don’t. I expect you to buy the vid. It’s going to fund my retirement.” She smiled, but her eyes did not. “Michael! I must tell you. You did well to get word out. Very well. We would all have died otherwise. We all owe you, and Corporal Yazdi, of course. Is she here?”
Michael shook his head, the pain on his face obvious. “No, sir. She didn’t make it.”
“Shit.” Fellsworth’s eyes closed for a second. “Those Hammer pricks didn’t tell me that.” She lifted her head to look right at Michael, her hand squeezing his hard, her grip surprisingly strong and painfully tight. “You know where she is?”
Michael nodded. “Graves registration found her. She’s coming back with us.”
Fellsworth’s voice was tight with a fierce intensity. “Good. Well, let me tell you something. They’ll pay for this. They’ll damn well pay.”
“They will. They sure as hell will.”
Fellsworth held his hand tight for a moment before her eyes rolled up and her head fell back onto the gurney, her arm dropping away. Michael carefully put it back by her side and, unable to speak, waved the medics to take her away.
Eventually, every living Ishaq was accounted for, but Eridani had one more Ishaq to take home. With a heavy heart, Michael and every one of the Eridani’s crew not on duty fell in on either side of the air lock, unmoving.
It seemed like a long wait to Michael, though it probably wasn’t. Finally, four Hammer civilians in gray shipsuits appeared carrying a narrow rectangular box of cheap gray plasfiber, placing it carefully on the threshold of Eridani’s air lock.
Michael stood in silence. Corporal Yazdi was coming home. He had fulfilled that promise at least. As the crew came to attention and saluted as one, four Eridanis stepped forward to carry the mortal remains of the little marine back on board.
To his dying day, Michael did not know why he did what he did next. Even as he stepped forward, he knew it was stupid, something Lenski pointed out to him in extremely colorful and un-Fleet-like language later. But stupid or not, he did it. While the Eridani’s executive officer checked and signed the clipboard presented to him by the DocSec corporal to confirm that the Eridanis had all the Ishaqs they were entitled to, Michael slipped unnoticed across to stand alongside the black jumpsuited sergeant.
He stuck his face right up close to the man’s. “Sergeant,” he whispered, “I have a message I would like you to pass on.”
The DocSec sergeant stared at him. “Eh? What?” he mumbled, confused.
“It’s for Colonel Erwin Hartspring of Doctrinal Security. Know him?”
“No.” The sergeant shook his head. “No, don’t think I do.”
“Well, not to worry. Colonel Erwin Hartspring. He’s a big cheese. Section 22, I think, based in McNair. Now, this is important. Tell him Michael sends his regards and looks forward to seeing him again one day. Got that?”
The sergeant nodded uncertainly. “Michael sends his regards and looks forward to seeing him one day. Yes. Got it,” he muttered.
“But,” Michael continued, looking around theatrically, “for Kraa’s sake, don’t say anything to anybody until we’ve jumped. Otherwise. .” He drew a finger across his throat, nodding his head back toward the Eridani.
“Er, right.” By then the sergeant looked completely baffled. “Got all that? And for Kraa’s sake, say nothing until we’ve jumped. Okay?”
The DocSec sergeant nodded. Bewildered, he watched Michael walk back on board Eridani, the air lock doors thudding shut behind him.
Five minutes later, the three heavy scouts and their precious cargo made a high-g departure. Main engines pushed to emergency power punched pillars of white-hot flame planetward, with the Hammers’ increasingly strident demands to reduce thrust completely ignored.