the ground.
Michael was confused. Why was his face cold and wet? Why was he so tired? He just wanted to sleep, but he was being shaken and the light was getting brighter and brighter. It drove splinters of agony into his brain. His head thrashed from side to side in an attempt to get away. “Too bright,” he mumbled. Then a hood was slipped over his head, and the light was gone.
“He’s awake,” a distant voice said. It was a man’s voice: flat, metallic, nasal. The man was using a processor to conceal his accent. With a rush, memory flooded back, and with memory came a raw terror that devoured his self-control, a terror fueled by the awful certainty that somehow the Hammers had found him. “I’ll get the medics,” the voice said.
Michael put up with the indignity of being stripped naked for a complete medical examination.
His sprits sank into utter despair.
The examination over, hands grabbed him and lifted him to his feet. “Who are you?” he asked as he was hustled forward.
“Don’t waste your time asking questions,” the same flat voice said. “You’ll get no answers from us. Now, we’re going to put you in the shower. You can take your hood off, but do not turn around. If you even think about trying, I’ll stunshoot you. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. When you’ve finished and dried off, tell us. We’ll put the hood back on, and you can get dressed. Then we’ll take you to a cell. Once you’re inside, you can take the hood off, and we’ll get you some food. Any time we bang on the door, stand up and put the hood back on. Is that all understood?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“Right, let’s do it.”
The days had dragged by. The daily routine did not change: three good meals, a shower, and a change of clothing. Other than that, he was left alone, no doubt watched by surveillance holocams every second of the day.
He was onboard a starship in pinchspace; Michael had worked that much out. He’d learned nothing else since he’d been kidnapped, and not knowing who his kidnappers were-logic said it had to be the Hammers, since nobody in humanspace wanted to get his hands on him as badly as his nemesis, Chief Councillor Jeremiah Polk-gnawed at him. But no matter how often he asked, he never got an answer.
He lay on his bunk. Boredom and frustration had long since displaced fear; he was beginning to think he would to go insane if the starship didn’t get to wherever it was going and soon. He wondered how Anna was; he stifled a stab of anxiety at an unwanted image of her charging forward, assault rifle spitting death as she took on a mob of Hammers single-handed.
A metallic voice interrupted his silent prayer that he would live long enough to hold Anna in his arms again. “We’ll be dropping out of pinchspace in five minutes.”
“And about time, you asshole!” Michael screamed with sudden fury, erupting to his feet, fists hammering out his fear against the door. But there was no response, and the silence hung heavy. “Jerks,” Michael muttered, slumping back onto his bunk.
Hours after they had dropped into normalspace, Michael sensed the subtle changes in the artgrav that told him the starship was decelerating in-system.
A fist hammered on the door. “Stand up, hood on,” a voice said.
Michael took a deep breath to steady himself, then did as he’d been told. The door banged back. He was grabbed, plasticuffed, and hustled out of his cell, all without a single word being said, his repeated demands to be told what was going on ignored.
After a long walk, a change of air gave him part of the answer he was looking for: He was in a shuttle.
He was headed dirtside.
A lifetime later, Michael climbed out of the mobibot he had been pushed into after the shuttle had landed. The sun was hot on his back, and even through the hood, the air was thick with the smell of plants running riot.
“Right, this is what’ll happen,” a voice said, cutting his plasticuffs off, “so pay attention.”
“Yeah,” Michael muttered. “Like I give a shit.”
He was ignored. “Stay where you are,” the voice continued. “In five minutes, take the hood off. You’ll see a road. Walk down it. Half a klick on you will come to a small village. You’ll be met there. Don’t try to run, don’t turn back, and don’t leave the road. We
“Yeah, but what the hell is this all about?”
“Just do what you’ve been told. You’ll find out when you’re supposed to.”
“Fuck off, you prick,” Michael said, by now hopelessly confused. None of it made any sense, but he waited the five minutes anyway. When the time was up, he ripped the hood off and tossed it away. He looked around. It didn’t help; he might have been anywhere in humanspace. He started to walk down the road, too tired and dispirited to do anything else. He reached the village and stopped. It was not much of a place. There was not a soul in sight, but the fact that it was not a Hammer village-for a start, there were none of the propaganda banners the Hammers liked to plaster everywhere-lifted his spirits a fraction.
Why he had been taken off Asthana the way he had, he could not understand, but wherever he had ended up, it was not on a Hammer planet. That was all he cared about right now.
But what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Baffled, he began to think he should go knock on a few doors when a large mobibot came down the road and stopped in front of him. Four men climbed out; they spread out into an arc and walked over to where he stood.
“Michael Helfort?” one of the men asked. “Lieutenant Michael Helfort?”
“Yes,” Michael replied, his face twisted into a puzzled frown, “but how’d you know that?”
“I’m Detective Inspector Macauley, Jamuda Planetary Police. I have-”
“Jamuda? What am I doing-”
“Lieutenant!” Macauley barked. “You can ask all the questions you like, but not now, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” Michael snapped back, glaring. “I’ve been stunshot, kidnapped, dragged halfway across humanspace, and dumped on some shithole of a planet I’ve never heard of, so if you don’t mind, I’ll ask all the damn questions I like, and I’ll keep on asking until I get some fucking answers, all right?”
Macauley’s face hardened. “Listen to me, Helfort. Shut your damn mouth or I’ll stunshoot you myself. Is that understood?”
Common sense prevailed. Taking a deep breath, Michael nodded.
“Good. Lieutenant Michael Wallace Helfort, I have here-” Macauley held out a piece of paper. “-a warrant for your arrest pending a formal extradition request from the government of the Federated Worlds. You will be remanded in custody until your extradition hearing. Do you have any questions?”
Hundreds, Michael thought as he took the warrant. He could not speak, stunned into silence by the terrible realization that he must have been betrayed by the one person in humanspace he’d thought he could trust: Vice Admiral Jaruzelska.
“… and then the police turned up,” Michael said, “and I was arrested. The rest you know, Francois.”
