The Battle of the Hammer Worlds

demands to reduce thrust completely ignored.

Tuesday, June 13, 2400, UD

Korndapp Mountain Resort, Scobie’s World

Chief Councillor Polk walked out onto the sprawling deck that fronted his suite. It was going to be a beautiful day, and in more ways than one, he promised himself.

He took a deep breath. The mountain air was pure and cool, the early morning sun cutting long slanting bars of light and dark through the mist eddying up from the valley far below him. In the distance, the Korndapp Range dominated the horizon, its rock faces thousands of meters high. Long tendrils of meltwater dropped down walls slashed by vertical fissures and ravines, unraveling into thin white skeins that twisted and danced in the early morning breeze. Above them, snowfields dusted a soft pink by the morning light crowned impossibly sharp peaks climbing high into the sky, a few stars still bright against the fading blue-black of night.

It was stunning, and in more ways than one.

Polk had to laugh out loud; he could not help himself. The sheer joy of presiding over the final humiliation of the Federated Worlds was as good as any drug. No, it was better, much better, because today was the start of something that would cement his position as chief councillor until the day he died. There was a wonderful twist to it all, though it was a minor detail, a mere bagatelle. Even so, it greatly amused him every time he thought of it. The Polk clan owned the Korndapp Mountain Resort, home to the negotiations with the Feds. Not that anyone knew that, of course. The endless layers of nominee companies and blind trusts were completely opaque; his many enemies had never found out, and if they could not, the damned Feds never would, either.

Polk laughed out loud. Even he had trouble keeping up with the Byzantine complexities of the Polk clan’s business affairs.

Ah, the wonderful, delicious irony of it all, he thought. The Feds were paying the Polk clan for using the Korndapp Mountain Resort, the place where he would make their defeat final and absolute, where the foundations of future Hammer greatness would be laid.

Friday, June 16, 2400, UD

FWSS Eridani, in orbit around Comdur Fleet Base

“Come in, Michael. With you in a tick.” Lenski waved him into a seat.

“Thank you, sir.” Michael sat down. What on earth was going on?

Lenski finished what she was doing and, pushing her chair away from her desk, turned to look right at him. “Well, Michael. All good things come to an end.”

“Sir?” Michael said, puzzled.

“Yeah, apologies, Michael. Teasing my officers. Bad habit of mine. Anyway, I have orders for you, a new posting, I’m sorry to say. We’re going to miss you.”

“A new posting?” Michael looked shocked. This he had not expected. “Where to? Why so soon? I’ve only been in the Eridani for what, two months?”

“Not even that. Anyway, you’re posted to leave immediately, and then it seems the Fleet Advanced Projects Unit has need of you, reporting to one Commander Baker care of the Transit Officers Quarters, Comdur base, by no later than 0900, July 3. And before you ask, no, I haven’t the faintest idea what the Fleet Advanced Projects Unit actually does, so don’t bother asking me. All I know is that they run out of Comdur.”

“Baker,” Michael said thoughtfully, dredging through his neuronics until he found the recording he had made. “Yes, Commander Baker. I know him. I met him during the Hammer attack on Comdur. Seemed like a smart man.”

“That’s as may be, Michael. Far more important is your farewell dining out. Don’t care what you’re doing tomorrow night. Clear your diary and make sure you have your drinking boots on. You’re going to need them.”

As the dirtside shuttle pulled away from the Eridani, Michael had mixed feelings about leaving.

He had enjoyed his short time in Eridani. She was a great ship, and he was sorry to be leaving so early. Lenski was one of the better captains around, and leaving Bienefelt behind was a blow. Michael was not superstitious, but he could not shake a deep and growing conviction that the huge woman brought him luck.

However, the Advanced Projects Unit sounded intriguing, and if Commander Baker was anything to go by, it might prove to be an interesting place, though he wondered why they wanted a junior lieutenant. He prayed it was not for some bullshit administrative post.

Anyway, the Advanced Projects Unit was a problem for another day. Damishqui was in one of the orbiting shipyards around Paradise for planned maintenance, and after a heart- stoppingly long delay, Anna had agreed to meet up.

Quite where things went from there, Michael could not be sure, but he had put his foot on a nice beachside shack dirtside on Paradise, and if all went well. .

The only sounds were the soft rustle of palm trees and the gentle intermittent hiss of the surf as it ran up a beach invisible in the darkness beyond the light thrown by a single, guttering candle.

Michael was drowning in Anna Cheung’s eyes, the outside world slipping effortlessly away as he drifted down, hopelessly, utterly lost. He could not help himself; he never could. The first time he had met her, a lifetime ago as a brand-new cadet, her eyes had been the first thing he had noticed. Every time they met, they had the same hypnotic effect on him, an effect that made the rest of the world fade away into irrelevance.

“Michael!” Anna said sharply. “For heaven’s sake, pay attention!”

Michael came back to earth with a bump. “Oh, sorry, Anna. Honestly, you really should wear glasses. Dark glasses.”

Anna laughed softly. Michael’s addiction to her eyes was the longest of long-running private jokes, even if it did drive her to distraction at times.

“Michael! Concentrate!”

“Yes, will do. Sorry,” he said contritely.

“Thank you so much,” she said with exaggerated patience. Screwing up her courage, she took a deep breath before resuming. “Look. I understand you want to, well. . I know what. . How can. . Shit! I’m making a real mess of this, aren’t I?” she whispered, putting her head in her hands to hide the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. “Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered. She looked up, wiping her eyes. “Goddamn it, Michael. I know what you want, I really do. Even though in the best part of what, six hours, you haven’t actually managed to say it out loud.”

Michael looked guilty. She was right. He had been so afraid that Anna would tell him to get lost that his speech-carefully rehearsed a thousand times over-never saw the light of day.

Anna looked right at him, remnant tears dusting her eyes with tiny jewels, gold in the candlelight. “So believe me. If we were anything other than Fleet officers,” she said fiercely, taking another deep breath, “I would bloody well ask you to marry me, settle down, get a day job, have kids, the whole nine yards.”

She shook her head despairingly. “But damn it, Michael! We’re Fleet officers. Another war with the Hammers is definitely in the cards no matter what those bloody politicians might say. So I’m sorry. It won’t work. I can’t make that sort of commitment right now. Nor can you, Michael Wallace Helfort. Especially you. God knows, you seem to have a death wish. So. .” She shook her head again. “Commitment? Marriage? Forget it. It’s not possible, Michael. Surely you know that.”

Miserably, Michael stared at her. With unerring accuracy, she had picked out the fatal flaw in his position. “So what do we do? Jesus, Anna. Is that it for us? All over?”

“No, you dummy,” she whispered fondly, shaking her head. “Of course it’s not. Look. I love you. You love me.