“Hmm,” the fresh-faced man sitting across the table said. “The Federated Worlds was behind your abduction from Asthana; there can be little doubt about that. The problem is that we have no way of proving it.”
“Hah!” Michael snorted his derision. “One hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” he said.
“Of course it is, but without hard evidence, that’s all it is. I’m sorry, but how you got to Jamuda is irrelevant.”
“So what are my options?”
“Limited, to be blunt. The provisional arrest warrant specifies that you will be charged with aggravated grand larceny.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Michael said. He tried to sound flippant. “I did steal three dreadnoughts, after all.”
“I know you did, and the Federated Worlds were at war, which is why the charge specifies aggravated grand larceny. The bad news is that’s a capital offense …”
“Oh,” Michael whispered.
“… and unfortunately for you, Jamudan law permits extradition for capital offenses.”
“So what?” Michael said, dismissing the problem with a wave of his hand. “The Federated Worlds haven’t executed anyone for centuries.”
“That’s not a precedent you can rely on,” Hammel said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his folder and pushed it across the table. “This is a transcript from one of the Federated Worlds’ news networks, and needless to say, your arrest is the headline story.”
“Those scum-sucking lowlifes,” Michael hissed after he’d read the page. “Bastards,” he said, and pushed the page back. “They don’t like me … not that they ever did.”
“No, they don’t, and they’re not alone. There’s enormous pressure on your government not to waive the death sentence, and that pressure will not go away.”
Michael’s head dropped into his hands; his mind raced. He looked up again. “You think they’d ask for the death sentence?” he asked.
“I think they will.”
“Let them. President Diouf will never allow it.”
Francois Hammel threw his hands up in frustration. “How can you know that?” he snapped. “Things have changed since you were last back home. The Hammers have your people running scared, and even Diouf has her limits.”
“I’ve met the woman, Francois. I can trust her with my life. I don’t think the death sentence will be a problem.”
“Your call,” Hammel said with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“Any luck tracking down Lieutenant Sedova? Was she kidnapped too?”
“There is no sign of her here on Jamuda. The Feds are only interested in you. Anyway, that’s it for now, so I’ll see you … let me think … yes, tomorrow afternoon,” Hammel said. He pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. “That’ll give me time to talk to the people at Justice. I need to see how they feel about handing a man over to the people who had him kidnapped.”
Unable to sleep, Michael lay awake long into the night. If the young lawyer from the public defender’s office was right, he was headed for a Fed court. The thought of the fear-fueled storm that would break over his head the minute he stepped onto Fed soil terrified him. He’d had a taste of what lay ahead after the Battle of Devastation Reef. What Giorgio Pantini from World News and his fellow gutterscum from the trashpress had in store for him would make that unhappy time pale into insignificance.
Not that the trashpress was the problem. Staying alive was the problem, and he had trouble seeing how he’d do that.
If he escaped extradition, he would end up dead. Jamuda might be a neutral system, but that would not stop the Hammers from coming after him. By now, it would be no secret where he was being held. He had seen the news reports; the Hammers would have seen it too.
If he was extradited, he’d be tried in a Fed court, found guilty, sentenced to death, and, if his faith in President Diouf was misplaced, executed. And even if he escaped the death penalty, he’d be jailed for the rest of his life.
“Oh, crap,” he said under his breath. “I am screwed.”
“How are you today?”
“Bored shitless,” Michael replied. “You guys have the worst holovids.”
Francois Hammel smiled. “True enough,” he said. The smile vanished. “I have news, and not good news, I’m afraid.”
“Add it to all the rest,” Michael muttered. “Come on; tell me.”
Hammel pushed a piece of paper across the table at Michael. “This is a warrant for your arrest pending a formal extradition request from the government of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds.”
A hand reached into Michael’s chest and squeezed his heart hard. “Fuck,” he whispered; his head dropped into his hands. “The Hammers never give up.” He looked up at his lawyer. “Same old bullshit. The charges, I mean.”
“Let me see. On December 17, 2399, Universal Date, in the town of Barkersville, Commitment Planet, Hammer of Kraa Worlds, you murdered Detective Sergeant Kalkov, Commitment Planetary Police Service, and Trooper Askali, Hammer of Kraa Doctrinal Security Service, both in the course of their duties.”
“Like I said,” Michael muttered, “the same old bullshit.”
“Maybe, but this-” Hammel poked the piece of paper. “-means the Feds will have to wait to get their hands on you. I know, I know,” he said, putting up a hand to preempt Michael’s response. “It’s crap, but the court needs to agree that it’s crap before it gets thrown out.”
“Which it will, right?”
“Jamuda has never extradited anyone to the Hammer of Kraa, because it is a well-established fact that they use torture as a matter of routine …”
“Tell me about it,” Michael said.
“… but even the Hammers are entitled to due legal process, and that will add to the time it all takes. We’ll go through the Hammer request in detail as soon as I get it from Justice. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve had a chance to look at the Hammer’s paperwork.”
Back in his cell, Michael lay on his bunk, hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. The Hammers’ extradition request was a worry. Not because of the request itself-Hammel’s assessment of its chances was probably correct-but because of what it said about the Hammers’ determination to get their hands on him.
Michael felt very uncomfortable. Once back on the Federated Worlds, he would be safe. Here on Jamuda, he was not, and that meant the Hammers would be coming for him and soon. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
He banged the button on the wall-mounted intercom.
“Yes?” a disembodied man’s voice said.
“I need to talk to my lawyer. It’s urgent.”
The guard closed the door of the booth; Michael flicked on the privacy screen and waited in patient silence until the earnest face of his lawyer appeared on the holovid screen. “Hi, Francois.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to see someone from the Fed embassy.”
Hammel frowned. “That won’t be easy. You’re not their favorite person. Can I ask why?”
“The Hammers aren’t serious about extraditing me. They-”
“Hold on. I don’t think you can say that.”
“I can. Like you said, they’ve never extradited anyone from Jamuda, ever, which means they’re wasting their time, and they know it.”
