The battle of Devastation reef

when Jaruzelska spotted him. She waved him over to where she and Sharma stood.

“Sir?”

“Michael, the ambassador has some worrying news. Ambassador?”

“Thank you, Admiral. Good to meet you, Michael,” Sharma said, shaking his hand. “Yes, I have a source inside the Serhati government. It seems that the Hammer ambassador was overheard to say that his government will agree to let the internees go home if you and one of your crew, a Lieutenant Kallewi, are transferred to them for whatever passes for a fair trial in the Hammer Worlds.”

Michael’s mouth sagged open. “You’re kidding me, sir. Jeez! They never give up, do they?”

“It’s fair to say, Michael, that they seem to have it in for you.”

“And I know why,” Michael said bitterly, “but Kallewi? What’s that about?”

“He was the commander of Reckless’s marine detachment, yes?”

“Yes, he was.”

“The Hammers say he shot a civilian technician during the attack on their damn antimatter plant. They claim to have vid of the incident from their security holocams.”

For a moment Michael did not know what to say. Chances were that it was bullshit, of course, but in the heat of battle such things had been known to happen. “So where do we go from here?” he asked.

“Well, needless to say, there’ll be no trade-offs. I think we are agreed on that. Admiral?”

Jaruzelska shook her head emphatically. “We certainly are. No trade-offs.”

“Did not think there would be. So let’s sit tight and see how this plays out. Okay?”

“Sir.”

“One thing, though, Admiral,” Sharma said, “Serhati is a poor system. Everything is for sale, and everyone has his price, including the planetary defense force troopers that guard this place, so I don’t think you should leave Helfort and Kallewi alone at any time.”

Jaruzelska nodded, her face grim. “We won’t.”

“If you’re asked, you had these on you when you landed”-Sharma passed two small plasfiber-wrapped parcels across-“and they weren’t picked up when you were searched.”

Michael and Jaruzelska glanced at each other. The shape of a needle gun was hard to mistake. When he took his, Michael wondered how much getting them past the guards had cost Sharma.

Michael hoped his spirits would not get any lower. He was wrong.

The embassy-supplied package of news reports was the usual junk, and in particular one from World News, by a huge margin the worst of Terranova’s trashpress notwithstanding its tagline: “Trusted to Inform.” It was crap; the only thing he trusted World News to do was mislead. He had to fight to breathe through anger and fear as he read the headline: “Fallen Hero-How One Man’s Insubordination Cost Ships and Lives.” No prizes for guessing who the man was. The detailed report that followed was a one-sided account of Operation Opera’s closing stages, big on Rear Admiral Perkins’s heroic struggle to hold off overwhelming Hammer forces despite the willful insubordination of Lieutenant Helfort but-strangely-not once bothering to mention the fact that Reckless and its crew had achieved Opera’s primary military objective.

“Goddamnit,” Michael swore angrily. Perkins, Rear Admiral Perkins: the lying, unprincipled sonofabitch. He had to be feeding information to the trashpress. Who else could it be?

Too depressed to watch any more, Michael was about to drop the feed when a local news item caught his eye. A Hammer heavy cruiser, Keflavik Bay, had dropped into orbit: The reporter took great pains to point out that the Hammer warship would stay only long enough to fix an unspecified problem with her main engines.

Here we go, Michael said to himself, the tension tightening his chest and stomach. Keflavik Bay’s arrival was no accident.

The Hammers had made their opening move.

Friday, April 6, 2401, UD

Hajek Barracks, Serhati

Michael was finishing his breakfast when the admiral commed him.

“Admiral?”

“Find Lieutenant Kallewi and come to my office.”

“Sir.”

When Michael and Kallewi reached Jaruzelska’s office-a tiny cubicle tacked on to the back end of the mess hall-she waved them in.

“Take a seat, guys … right. I have bad news, I’m afraid,” she said briskly. “The embassy has been in touch. The Hammers have lodged a request for your extradition with the Serhati government. Don’t have any details yet. The police have warrants for your arrest; they are on the way to execute them. We’ve managed to get a lawyer to have a look at them, and the warrants appear in order. An emergency court hearing is scheduled for eleven this morning. Here’s the hard part. I want you both to cooperate with the police. The ambassador is confident that we can get you out on bail, so rather than fight them here, I’d prefer to follow her advice and take them on in court, but I’d like to know what you think first.”

Michael sat, sandbagged by the ambassador’s news. He was not alone: Kallewi’s jaw sagged, his mouth open in a small O of surprise. Michael had trouble believing it: Instead of the Hammer snatch squad he’d expected, the Hammers had resorted to the damn courts. That was a first. He forced himself to think. Stay and fight or rely on the Serhati courts? What a choice.

“Well,” Michael said, finally, glancing at Kallewi. “I don’t know how you feel, Janos, but I don’t think two needle guns will keep the Serhati police at bay for too long.”

“Not a chance,” Kallewi said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t think so.” Michael paused. “If the ambassador thinks she can get us out on bail, I’d be inclined to trust her on that. Much as I hate to trust anyone when it comes to the Hammers.” Another pause. “Janos?”

“Even if the Reckless is long gone, you’re still my skipper, sir, and I am a marine,” Kallewi said with a lopsided smile, “so just give me the order and I’ll be there.”

Michael nodded. “Okay.” He threw a glance at Jaruzelska. “If you think the ambassador’s called it right, let’s do what she suggests.”

“I think she’s right,” Jaruzelska said; she sounded confident. “Let me talk to the Serhatis while you guys go and make yourselves presentable. I’ll let you know when the police turn up.”

The Serhati Superior Court occupied a tired-looking plascrete building right in the heart of Serhati City. As the busbot made its way down the ramp, loneliness almost overwhelmed Michael despite the comforting presence of Kallewi alongside him, not to mention an unnecessarily large contingent of Serhati police. If things went wrong, he was a long way from help. When they pulled up, the police hustled Michael and Kallewi out of the busbot and along a bewildering succession of well-lit corridors before pushing them into a holding cell, the door slamming shut behind them with a crash. Throughout the process, their guards said not a word.

“Jeez,” Kallewi said, “don’t muck around, do they?”

“Let me tell you something, Janos. After the fucking Hammers, the Serhatis are a bunch of pussies, so they can do their strong-but-silent thing all they like. Provided they don’t start beating the crap out of me, I won’t complain.”

“Yeah. Heard about what they put you through.”

“Ancient history, Janos, ancient history.”

Kallewi leaned forward, his mouth to Michael’s ear. “Just so you know,” he whispered. “If we need to get out of here, we can. I’ve never seen such a sloppy bunch of amateurs.”

“You sure?”

“Yup, I am. Easy. Don’t know where we’d go, but breaking out of here won’t be a problem.”

“Well, if the bastards deny us bail, I think we might just have to exercise our God-given right to fuck off. I need some sack time, so”-Michael stretched out on one of the plain plasfiber bunks-“wake me up when something happens.”