The battle at the Moons of Hell

desperately trying to work out how best to survive the coming storm.

Claude Albrecht, the councillor for foreign relations, looked like he was trying to bring up a half-digested meal of broken glass. “Thank you, Councillor Polk. I have here,” he mumbled, waving a single sheet of paper, “a diplomatic note from the Federated Worlds which I shall read to you in its entirety. It goes as follows.”

Albrecht paused, his extreme discomfort obvious to all.

“Get on with it, you Kraa-damned bastard,” Merrick muttered.

“To the Government of the Worlds of the Hammer of Kraa.” There was another pause as Albrecht struggled to stop the quaver in his voice. With a visible effort, he got himself back under control.

“You are hereby served Notice that a State of Limited War is hereby declared and shall exist between the peoples of the Federated Worlds and the Worlds of the Hammer of Kraa with effect from 04:15 Universal Time on the nineteenth day of November 2398 Universal Date.

“In accordance with the New Washington Convention, you are hereby advised that the Affirmed Basis of this Declaration is the hijacking of the Federated Worlds Commercial Ship Mumtaz, registration number FWCS-700451-G, hereinafter known as the Mumtaz, on the eleventh day of September 2398 Universal Date for the express purpose of diverting its cargo to the terraforming of the planet Judgment-III, hereinafter known as Eternity. This illegal act was directed by Brigadier General Digby, Hammer of Kraa Marines, under the direct orders of Jesse Merrick, Chief Councillor of the Worlds of the Hammer of Kraa.

“Further, as required by the Convention, you are hereby advised that the objectives of the Limited War are the rescue of the passengers and crew of the Mumtaz from illegal detention on Eternity and various moons of the Revelation-II planetary system, the arrest of Brigadier General Digby and all other persons reasonably believed to be responsible for the planning and execution of the hijack to face trial in the courts of the Federated Worlds, the safe recovery of the Mumtaz and as much of its cargo as possible, and the safe departure of Federated Worlds forces from Hammer space. Upon the satisfactory achievement of these objectives or 07:00 Universal Time on the nineteenth day of November 2398 Universal Date, whichever is the later, the State of Limited War shall cease. Thereafter, a Demand for Financial Restitution shall be served.

“As required by the Convention, the Statement of Facts relating to this matter is attached to the Declaration, having been attested to by Corinne Bhose, Chief Observer of the Federated Worlds.

“Delivered to the hand of Tae Uk Yoon, Ambassador of the Worlds of the Hammer of Kraa to the Federated Worlds, at 04:05 Universal Time on the nineteenth day of November 2398 Universal Date by my authorized delegate, Giovanni Pecora, Federal Minister of Interstellar Relations.

“Signed, Reshmi Diouf, President, Federated Worlds, and dated the nineteenth day of November 2398 Universal Date.”

Councillor Albrecht put the piece of paper down on the table. Probably Merrick’s most committed supporter, he was the first to break the stunned silence that followed. His voice was harsh and his face grim as he looked up the table directly at Merrick.

“True or not, Jesse? True or not?”

Merrick sat there, unmoving.

Fear and frustration that the man on whom his life depended could have been so stupid drove Albrecht’s voice into a cracked scream. “True or not? Tell me, Kraa-damn it! Is it true?”

“Answer the question, Merrick.” Polk was unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

The pause was a long one.

Finally, Merrick nodded once and sat back in his seat as if to say, Do what you want. He could have argued the point, tried to bluff his way out of it. Ten years earlier, he would have. Polk as usual overestimated the strength of his position even if it was probably strong enough to see Merrick at the bottom of a DocSec lime pit. No, he was tired, bone-tired, utterly spent. He really didn’t care anymore.

Despite the fact that his own life had been put in jeopardy by the unilateral actions of the man at the head of the Council table, Albrecht’s voice softened. He had always respected Merrick, and certainly the man had been better than most chief councillors of recent times. “Why, Jesse? Why? This is not how we do business. You should know that better than anyone.”

Merrick waved a hand uncertainly. “I…I had my reasons, but I suspect that most of you don’t want to hear them,” he muttered as Polk looked on, his face hard with triumph.

Polk knew there would never be a better time, and he struck. “No, we don’t, Merrick. You can explain it to Doc-Sec. I move that Jesse Merrick be removed as chief councillor and held for trial by the investigating tribunal. All those in favor.”

The vote was a formality, with every hand in the air within seconds. Polk’s lip curled in a half sneer; they had good reason to be quick, he thought, especially Merrick’s men. He would take his time about it, but they would know the meaning of the word fear before many months were out.

The next step followed as surely as day follows night. As Merrick was bundled away, hands tied behind his back with the ubiquitous plasticuffs so loved by DocSec, with three heavily built troopers towering over the bent and broken figure, the councillors were not able to keep the shock and surprise from their eyes. Moments later, the motion to appoint Polk as chief councillor was carried unanimously.

Polk savored the moment for a long minute, the shattered remnants of Merrick’s supporters silent and still, faces white with shock at the awful suddenness of it all. Then the orders flowed: the immediate announcement of Merrick’s arrest for dereliction of duty, his replacement by Polk, full holovid coverage of the outrageous Fed assault, military funerals for those killed, an immediate purge of the senior ranks of the military, a board of inquiry to look into the disaster, and a warrant for the arrest of Brigadier General Digby.

If there had been any doubt about who was in control, there was none anymore.

Then the meeting was over. As councillors fled with unseemly haste, Polk moved to the chief councillor’s chair at the head of the Council table. He sat down, exultant, his victory complete. The one order he hadn’t given-to hunt down and exterminate every influential supporter of Jesse Merrick-could wait until tomorrow. He was inclined not to talk up Merrick’s role in the Fed attack. He had a feeling that the more he could portray the Feds as unprincipled aggressors, the more pressure he could bring to bear on the insurgents who plagued Faith.

If the Feds thought that the fallout from the Mumtaz affair was now a matter for the diplomats, they’d badly underestimated Jeremiah Polk. After all, centuries of human history had shown that there was nothing better than an external threat when it came to crushing internal dissent. He didn’t think he would have much trouble convincing his people-he liked that, “his people”-that the Feds’ real agenda was the destruction of the Hammer Worlds. And even if it took ten years, he would make sure the Feds suffered for the humiliation they had heaped on the Hammer of Kraa.

The tiny fires lit by the news of Merrick’s arrest and transfer to McNair State Prison smoldered for a while before bursting into life and spreading like wildfire.

Within the hour, people began to emerge onto the streets of the sprawling industrial suburbs to the south of McNair, small groups coalescing first into large groups and then into mobs, the anger building as leaders emerged to whip emotion into action. The message was the same, hurled out by angry and defiant men at angry and defiant people in hundreds of impromptu street meetings: Merrick was one of them, he’d come from the same mean streets as they had, and they’d be damned if they would allow an off-worlder like Polk to take over.

By late morning, smoke began to darken the sky over McNair, the air split with the sirens of DocSec convoys deploying to cordon off the city center. Their instructions were clear and simple: Stop the mobs converging on McNair State Prison. At any cost.

Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD

DLS-387 and DSLS-166, Hell Nearspace

Michael and the tattered remnants of his crew had worked like they’d never worked before.

With 166 alongside, the crash bags of the living had been ferried across to 166’s sick bay and those of the dead had been transferred to external storage containers