“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
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.
Saturday, January 22, 2400, UD
Michael struggled to sit upright in bed as a tall, lanky officer walked in, gold shoulder badges flashing in the light of the late afternoon sun.
“Afternoon, Helfort. Feeling okay?” the man asked cheerfully.
“Better, sir. Thanks.” It was not quite true. The doctors and their damn nanobots had spent a long time inside his body over the previous three days, and he had the aches and pains to prove it.
“Good. The doctors seem pleased. You’ve come through well, and they assure me that you will be one hundred percent physically by the end of next month. We need to talk. Let me close the door and grab a seat.”
When Michael’s visitor was settled, he looked Michael right in the eye.
“I’m Captain Vitharana, deputy Fleet advocate general.”
Michael nodded. “I know, sir. I remember you. Space College. Two lectures on the laws governing the conduct of war.”
“Ah.” Vitharana smiled. “Gripping stuff, no doubt.”
“Certainly was, sir. Every minute.”
“Well, I’m glad someone was awake.” Vitharana laughed. “As I recall, cadets can sleep with their eyes open, and most probably did. Anyway, we digress. I need to talk to you about Barkersville.”
Michael’s heart sank. He was not stupid. He had seen how the debriefing team had reacted when he had described what had happened that awful night. Since then, it had been nagging at him, the nightmares starring Detective Sergeant Kalkov making damn sure not a day went by without his reliving the moment when he had slid his knife into the man’s heart. He knew Kalkov’s death was wrong-completely and unforgivably wrong. So how would the powers that be see it? He had a sinking feeling that he was about to find out.
Michael took a deep breath. “I think we do, sir,” he said levelly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Barkersville.”
“Well, Helfort, here’s the problem. We’ve looked in detail at your debriefing report as well as all the downloads you provided, and so has the attorney general.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “The attorney general, sir?” Michael looked confused. What was she doing getting involved? Surely this was a Fleet matter.
“The attorney general, yes. Unlike your attack on Kraneveldt-well done, by the way-the Barkersville incident involved nonmilitary personnel outside the defense force chain of command. It falls to her to decide how the matter should be handled. So let me cut to the chase.” Vitharana took a deep breath. “The attorney general believes she has grounds to indict you for the murders of, of. . now let me see. Ah, yes, a Detective Sergeant Kalkov, Commitment Planetary Police Service, and Trooper Askali, Hammer of Kraa Doctrinal Security Service.”
Michael lay there propped up on his pillows, a shocked look on his face, as Vitharana plowed on.
“So that’s what she thinks. Now, before you get too concerned, let me tell you what we think, and when I say ‘we,’ I mean everyone above me in the chain of command up as far as the president. It’s pretty simple, really. Irrespective of the merits of the attorney general’s views, Fleet cannot-will not-allow one of its officers to be tried for murders committed in the circumstances in which you found yourself. Which is fine, except Fleet cannot alter the facts of what happened. Nor can Fleet tell the attorney general what to do or what not to do. Legally, nobody can. Now, we have to find a way around this problem, and so I have a proposal for you to consider. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours to think it over. I’ll be back to talk to you tomorrow to see what you think. Understand?”
Michael nodded. “Sir!” What else could he say?
“Good. Now, here’s what we propose. In a nutshell, we intend to bypass the attorney general by petitioning the president to pardon you for the Barkersville matter. If she grants the pardon, the attorney general can proceed with the indictment if she wishes. But if she did get the matter into court, you would enter a plea of pardon, and provided of course the pardon was valid-and let me assure you, Helfort, it most certainly will be-then the court would have no alternative but to throw the matter out on its ear, so to speak.”
“That’s a lot of ‘if ’s, sir,” Michael said dubiously.
Vitharana shook his head. “No, not really. Suffice it to say that the commander in chief has every confidence that this matter can be resolved. With the president’s assistance, of course, and I think you can have every confidence in the commander in chief. It’s generally a good habit for junior officers to get into,” he added wryly.
Michael thought about it. It all sounded too easy. There had to be a catch. There always was.
“Fine, sir. That’s clear. So what’s the catch?”
“Ah!” Vitharana had the decency to look faintly embarrassed. “The doctors told me there’s nothing wrong with your faculties. Yes, there is a catch, I’m afraid.” Vitharana paused.
“Yes?” Michael asked. He wanted this business over with.
“Sorry, yes. The catch is that you must plead guilty before the pardon is even considered by the president.”
Michael did not like the sound of that, not one bit. “And let me guess. That plea is admissible in later proceedings? If the pardon is not granted, for example.”
Vitharana nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“So I put my head in the noose and hope like hell that the president cuts the rope? Sir, that’s an awful lot of trusting!” He shook his head. Suddenly, Vitharana’s plan was not looking too attractive.
“Helfort,” Vitharana said sternly, “listen to me. I can promise you this: Fleet will not let you down. One way or another, this matter will be resolved in your favor. So yes, there is an awful lot of trusting needed, as you put it, but sometimes that is what’s required. So that’s the decision you need to make. Do you trust Fleet or not? Simple as that.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Right. I’ll comm you the detailed proposal. Have a good look at it, talk to the Space College legal AI if you
