“Humph!” Polk snorted. “It’s all taking too long, but I’ll defer to you on this one. Who’s the investigating tribune?”
“Kostakidis, sir, Marek Kostakidis.”
Polk frowned. “I don’t know him. He’s solid?”
“As a rock, sir. He was one of the tribunes who dealt with the MARFOR 8 mutineers.”
“Kostakidis … Ah, yes, I remember him now. Seemed very efficient.”
“He is, sir. But more important, he’s very precise. There’ll be no mistakes.”
“Good. We have-”
“Hey!” Michael said. “I’m still here, assholes.”
This time Hartspring did not hold back. The riding crop was raised high before slicing down, a vicious slash that laid Michael’s cheek open, blood pouring down hot into his orange coverall.
“Now look what you’ve done, Colonel,” Polk said. His voice displayed no emotion whatsoever. “You seem to have spoiled that pretty face of his.”
“My apologies, Chief Councillor,” Hartspring said. He wiped the blood from the crop and stepped back. “It won’t happen again.”
“Really? That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed watching you do that.” Polk put his face close to Michael’s. “You do know,” he said, “that I’ve told the colonel that he can do what he likes with you once the trial’s over? Yes, I think you do.” He turned back to Hartspring, wagging a finger in mock rebuke. “But you must not let him die, Colonel Hartspring … well, not until I say you can.”
“Oh, don’t worry, sir. He’ll wish he was dead, but we’ll make sure he hangs on. I’ve instructed my best interrogator to keep Helfort alive for three weeks at least.”
“I like the sound of that. And the film crew?”
“Briefed and ready to go. I think you’ll enjoy my daily reports.”
“Oh, I will.”
Michael had had enough. “So how’s the war going, Polk?” he said. “Not well last time I checked. The NRA won’t give you the three weeks Colonel Asswipe here-”
Another savage slash from the riding crop cut Michael short, but this time he expected it, twisting his head down and to one side to take the blow on his head. The pain was excruciating; the crop opened a cut deep into his scalp that send blood pouring down his neck. But it was worth it, Michael thought, staring from pain-filled eyes up into Polk’s face, worth it to see the fear on the chief councillor’s face.
“Well, well, well,” Michael said, forcing a smile through the pain, “so it’s not going well, then. Maybe you’re the one who’ll be looking at a firing squad-”
Michael was still focused on Polk when Hartspring’s fist slammed into the side of his face, the blow so powerful that he blacked out for a second.
“I don’t care about how the little bastard looks, not anymore,” Polk said to Hartspring. “I want you to hurt him. Make him scream, Colonel. Just don’t kill him. I want him in court next week, unmarked and on his feet.”
Hartspring smiled. “Yes, sir,” he said. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
• • •
Twelve hours later, Hartspring followed two DocSec troopers as they dragged the bloodied wreck that was Michael Helfort into the Gruj’s sick bay. They dumped him on the floor.
“You!” Hartspring barked at the duty medic, snapping the man out of a half doze and onto his feet. “This man is a Class A prisoner. I want him fixed up now, and if he needs to go to the hospital, then organize it. Just let me know before you move him so I can organize security.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you two,” he said to the two troopers. “You do not let Helfort out of your sight. Understood?’
“Yes, sir,” the pair chorused.
“Good. I want an update in an hour.”
Michael was bored rigid.
Even the prospect of appearing in front of Investigating Tribune Marek Kostakidis was not enough to get him excited. In fact, he was looking forward to it in a strange way. It would be a change from the tedium of being locked in a secure cell inside a secure ward with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. It also would give him a chance to say his bit, even though he knew full well he would not be given more than a minute or two, if that, to say anything.
The trial would be a farce. That much was not in doubt. The attorney appointed by the tribunal to defend him had handed him the brief of evidence only the day before. The meeting that followed had been a complete crock, and the attorney not much better. Over and over, he had refused to respond when Michael had pointed out inconsistencies in the evidence, saying only that the brief had been prepared by DocSec, was accurate, and could not be questioned.
Michael had never met a man so spineless. A jellyfish would have been more useful.
He pushed himself upright and swung his feet out of the bed before standing up, doing his best to ignore the protests from his abused body. Thanks to the best medical care the Hammers had to offer-as good as anything the Federated Worlds could provide-he was well on the way to recovery, his system still loaded with nanobots busy repairing the damage Hartspring’s interrogators had inflicted over the course of those terrible hours of unremitting punishment.
Michael stood swaying until the light-headedness had passed. He slipped on his plasfiber half boots before forcing his body into its regular routine of pacing out the few meters his cell afforded him, stopping every few circuits to do squats and push-ups. It was a huge effort, but he forced himself to move, relieved to feel his muscles loosening in response to the exercise, the pain that had wracked his frame the first few days now reduced to a mass of dull aches.
An hour later, his body had made it clear that enough was enough. Five more minutes, he told himself, and then he would stop. For the umpteenth time, he reached the wall and turned, but as he did, the floor shivered, a fleeting tremor that was gone almost before he realized what was happening. An instant later, the air filled with a heavy rumble that rolled on and on. Puzzled, Michael stopped, his head swinging from side to side as he tried to work out what the noise was and where it was coming from. It was an impossible task with the heavy plasglass windows and the thick ceramcrete walls robbing the sound of all life. There was a short pause; then the noise returned, louder, and this time it did not stop, building into an irregular thudding that shook Michael’s cell.
His mind raced. Only one thing made that noise: high explosive and tons of it. It had been almost two weeks since Hartspring’s men had captured him; could the NRA have broken through the Hammer’s defensive line along the Oxus River since then? They must have; why would the NRA be using its precious air assets over McNair if they hadn’t?
Without any warning, the door banged open. “Stand back!” the DocSec sergeant in charge of Michael’s security detail barked. Lojenga was the man’s name. Like every other DocSec trooper Michael had ever met, he was a brutal psychopath who was way too fond of using his baton and stun pistol.
Michael did as he was told, and Hartspring appeared. The colonel looked down his nose at Michael for a good minute. He made Michael feel like he was a piece of dog shit on the sole of one of his mirror-polished boots. Finally he nodded. “He’ll do,” he said, turning to Lojenga. “Talk to-”
“Wait, Colonel,” Michael said. “I’ll do for what?”
Hartspring’s lips thinned to bloodless slashes. “Did I speak to you?” he hissed.
“I don’t give a shit whether you did or not,” Michael snapped. He stepped back as Lojenga unholstered his stun pistol. “What will I do for?”
Hartspring waved Lojenga away. “Your trial starts tomorrow,” he said.
“No way. The doctor said I couldn’t be moved for at least another three days.”
“The doctor?” Hartspring smiled. “You think I care what the doctor says? Now shut your damned mouth or I’ll let the sergeant’s stun pistol finish this conversation.” He turned to Lojenga. “Have him ready to move out in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
