The Battle of the Hammer Worlds

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