“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
The courtroom was a shabby underventilated room fitted out with cheap furniture, its proceedings overseen by his honor, Superior Court Judge Corey Anderson. Michael’s experience of courts was nonexistent; the endless hours of vids presented by the Court Channel back home were not something he had ever been interested in. But he was sure Fed courts were nothing like the shambolic three-ring circus he was being made to sit through. With not a legal AI in sight to keep things on track, Michael felt trapped in a time warp, shot back five hundred years.
After a lot of self-indulgent waffle by the lawyers spiced with occasional angry exchanges, their indiscipline amply encouraged by the judge’s erratic behavior, proceedings seemed to be getting to the point-Michael’s lawyer was back on his feet-so he forced himself to pay attention.
“… so once again, Your Honor, for the reasons I have outlined, there are no grounds for remanding my clients in police custody.”
“Is that so, Counsellor?” Judge Anderson demanded, his voice a belligerent bark. A pained look crossed Anderson’s face before he let go of a clearly audible belch. “Sorry, folks,” he said, “must ease off on the chili. You were saying, Counsellor?”
“I was saying, Your Honor,” the lawyer said, no less belligerently, “that there are no grounds for remanding my clients in custody.”
“Yes, yes, so you say,” Anderson snapped. “I heard you the first time, so sit down. I’ve had quite enough from you, Counsellor. And from you”-he pointed the handle of his wooden gavel at the Serhati table-“so don’t waste any more of my time. Right, here’s my decision. Bail is granted to respondents Helfort and Kallewi, subject to lodgment of sureties in the amount of 100,000 Serhati dollars each. Yes, yes, yes, Counsellor Markov, sit down!” Anderson barked at the Sovereignty of Serhati’s lawyer when he started to stand. “Of course you don’t like it, of course you want to appeal. I’m not stupid. I’ve known you for twenty years. You’d appeal the time of day, Counsellor”-Anderson cackled at his own joke-“yes, you would. Eh, what’s that you say … the surety’s not enough? It damn well is enough if I say it is, Counsellor Markov. Where was I? Oh, yes. Other conditions: Respondents to be sighted daily by an officer of the Sovereignty of Serhati Police, respondents to remain interned at Hajek Barracks. Now, Counsellor Markov.”
“Yes, Your Honor?” the counsellor said, getting to his feet and eying the judge warily.
“Do I need to remind you that the Sovereignty has thirty days to submit its formal request to extradite?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Congratulations. You’ve got something right at last. Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than listen to you lot,” the judge said, smashing his gavel down, “so this hearing is closed.”
Jaruzelska was at the barracks door when Michael and Kallewi returned. “Welcome back,” she said. “How were things?”
“Bizarre,” Michael said.
“Entertaining,” Kallewi added. “Never seen such a bunch of comedians. But the ambassador was right about bail, thankfully.”
“Yes, she was, though you’re not out of the woods yet. You already know the Sovereignty’s appealing the decision. You still need to get through that. We’ve just heard; you’re due back in court at 15:00 tomorrow.”
Michael grimaced. “Can’t wait.”
“Anyway, the ambassador wants to talk to us about that in person. She’ll be here soon. I’ll give you a shout when she’s ready to brief you.”
“Sir.”
Ambassador Sharma’s face was troubled.
“It’s not looking good, Admiral. Judge Anderson did what he was paid to do, and he did it well. Given he ruled against the Hammers, Anderson has chosen discretion over valor and is now taking an extended vacation. A prudent decision on his part, I have to say, but one that leaves us with a new problem: the judge scheduled to hear the appeal against the grant of bail, one Judge Kavaji. He’s as corrupt as the rest of them, so I suspect-no, I know- the Hammers will have made it well worth his while to allow the Sovereignty’s appeal.”
“We can’t outbid them?”
“Normally, yes. Serhati justice is simple. The highest bidder usually wins, but not this time. Judge Kavaji refuses even to talk to us. My guess is the Hammers are probably offering him hospital time if he takes our money. So unless we do something, your boys will be spending the rest of their time here on Serhati in police custody, which I don’t like. My guess is that they will just short-circuit the whole business by kidnapping Helfort and Kallewi.”
Jaruzelska nodded her agreement. “Knowing our Hammer friends, I’d bet a month’s pay on it. They are not the most patient people. As for their commitment to legal process, I don’t think they even know what legal process is. And they have a real bee in their bonnet about Helfort.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Once your two officers have been cut out of the herd, one way or the other, it’s only a matter of time before the Hammers get their hands on them.”
“Which I will not allow,” Jaruzelska said. “Time for direct action, I think, don’t you?”
“Funny you should say that, Admiral,” the ambassador said, trying not to look smug, “so it’s a good thing I’ve had my people working on a fallback plan.”
Jaruzelska’s eyes widened a fraction. “I think I may have underestimated you, Ambassador Sharma.”
“You might. Klera Willems, the assistant trade commissioner, is on her way. She’ll brief Helfort and Kallewi on what happens next.”
Assistant trade commissioner? Jaruzelska wondered why they bothered. The Serhatis would know perfectly well that Willems was one of Department 24’s field intelligence spooks.
Saturday, April 7, 2401, UD
“Okay,” Kallewi whispered so softly that Michael strained to hear him. “We’re good to go. Follow me, stay close, and move slowly. No sudden movements. Serhati surveillance gear may be secondhand, obsolete Hammer crap, but it’s not completely useless. Remember, hand signals only, no talking, and make sure your neuronics are switched off. They may have scanners running outside the perimeter. Ready?”
Michael nodded silently.
Carefully, Kallewi cracked open the door and eased his head out. He checked both ways and crawled out into the darkness, the night cut through-apparently at random-by the blue-white bars thrown by the searchlights. Adjusting his chromaflage cape to expose just his eyes, Michael followed, the ground under his belly still warm from another long, hot day. Slowly the pair eased their way across the expanse of dusty dirt that doubled as muster ground and futbol field, the light splashed on the ground by the searchlights coming close but never touching either of them. Despite himself, Michael was impressed. Ambassador Sharma said that everything on Serhati had a price, and she was right: Seemingly, even the bored troopers guarding the barracks perimeter could be paid to keep their searchlights off a narrow strip of darkness leading from the barracks to the wire. Michael hated to think what this little stunt was going to cost her: The troopers behind the searchlights would not be the only ones to benefit from her largesse that night.
Safely across the muster ground, Kallewi eased himself over the trip wire and paused at the single wall of interlaced razor wire that fenced the Feds’ compound. Taking an agonizingly long time, he first cut away and then gingerly eased a panel of wire to one side with gloved hands. Kallewi waved Michael through and pushed the panel roughly back into place; he dropped the wire cutters-obviously homemade-beside the hole before they left.
Forty minutes later, they were well clear of the barracks, now an island of darkness flayed by bars of light, and were holed up in a culvert under the base’s perimeter road. When did it ever rain enough to need culverts? Michael wondered in passing as a heavy cargobot thundered overhead. So far as he knew, it rarely rained on Serhati. More to the point, what idiot would build a culvert under a perimeter fence and then secure it with a grating a five-year-old armed with a penknife could undo? Obviously, Serhati was not a planet that worried too much about security, and for good reason: So far, Michael had not seen anything remotely worth stealing.
Kallewi waved him in close. “Right,” he said softly, breathing heavily from crawling hundreds of meters on his
