Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

Solanki nodded, though Michael saw the anger burning ice-cold in his eyes.

"One last thing," Adrissa said. "You may be mutineers, but the rest of us are not. So, effective immediately, I'm ordering the establishment of Fleet Detachment, Commitment Planet. Um, let's see… yes, let's call it FLTDETCOMM for short, shall we? I think it will be a good thing if you and your people agreed to be part of the detachment under my command. What the detachment's mission will be is something I'll leave for another day. You happy about that?"

Michael needed only a moment to think the proposition through. "Yes, sir, very," he said, feeling like a massive load had been taken off his shoulders.

"Good. The fact that you and your people agreed to come back into the chain of command will help in mitigation if we ever get to that point. Well, I think we're done here. No, wait, one more thing."

"Sir?"

"Do you trust me, Helfort?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Good, because the first order I'm going to give is that you issue all of my people with weapons. I'll be damned if I let them sit, surrounded by Hammers, armed only with sticks."

Michael's heart skipped a beat; if Adrissa was not the woman he thought she was, he would be dead before the week was out. "Er, yes, sir," he said, swallowing hard. "I'll get onto it right away."

"Good. Now, since this is your setup, I'm happy to take your advice. What's next?"

"Well, sir. I've sent a message to the NRA's head man-his name is Mutti Vaas-outlining what we were doing and why. I've asked him to send us someone to take us to his headquarters. Once we're there, we'll make our case. Beyond that, who knows, but we think he'll be receptive to our offer of assistance."

"We do, too, Lieutenant. He'd be mad to turn you down. Any idea when they might-"

A tap on the door interrupted Adrissa. "Yes, come in."

It was Ferreira. Licking her lips nervously at the sight of the assembled brass, she turned to Michael. "Sir, we've had-"

Michael lifted his hand to cut her off. "Jayla. Captain Adrissa is the senior officer present. Make your report to her, please."

"Oh, right," Ferreira said, her confusion obvious. She turned to Adrissa. "Sorry, sir," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about it. You were saying?"

"Umm, yes. Lieutenant Kallewi says there is an NRA patrol on its way in and can you… er, can Lieutenant Helfort please come to meet them. Kallewi's taking them to Hell Bent."

"Okay. Michael… may I call you Michael?

"Yes, sir, please," Michael said, reddening, embarrassed by Adrissa's sudden thaw.

"The NRA, eh? Well, that was prompt."

"Yes, sir. It was. Their communications must be good, and obviously they had a patrol nearby."

"Well, I'm happy to see them. I hope they're happy to see us. Why don't we go and find out what the NRA has to say for itself? When we know what they propose, I'll clear lower deck so I can talk to everyone. The troops need to know how we intend to play things."

"Sir."

Michael and Adrissa made their way to Hell Bent. Kallewi stood waiting for them; Michael was relieved when Kallewi snapped to attention as the captain approached. "Lieutenant Kallewi, sir," he said formally.

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant," Adrissa said. "I hear the NRA has arrived."

"They have, sir. They're asking for Lieutenant Helfort."

"I understand that, Lieutenant Kallewi," Adrissa said, "but just so's you know, from here on out we will do things by the book, follow the chain of command, all that boring Fleet Regulations stuff. Okay?" There was no mistaking the steel in Adrissa's voice.

Kallewi hesitated, but only until Michael caught his eye and nodded his approval. "Yes, sir," the marine said. "Understood. Follow me, please."

The group made its way up Hell Bent's ramp to where the NRA patrol waited. The troopers were a woeful sight: four men and two women dressed in combat overalls that had seen better days, hard faces tight with hunger and fatigue. But it was the eyes that caught Michael's attention-a blend of fear, suspicion, and hate-and their weapons: assault rifles shiny from months, maybe even years of hard use but clean and well cared for.

"Which one of you is Helfort?" one of the men said abruptly.

Okay, let's not waste time on the niceties, Michael thought. "I am," he said, stepping forward, "and this is my boss, Captain Adrissa. You are?"

"Sergeant Farsi. General Vaas wants to see you."

"Fine. Just me?"

"Bring who you like. Provided they can keep up, it doesn't matter. You have chromaflage capes?"

"We have."

"Bring them, plus your personal weapons and food for a week. We leave in two hours."

"Okay. We've got a few things to get done, but we'll be ready."

"We'll wait for you down the ravine."

"Hold on," Michael said. "Want some hot food? We've got enough to go around."

Farsi paused to think about that for a moment. "That would be good," he said. His face softened; the tip of his tongue flicked out and across his lips. "Really good."

Michael grinned. "Thought it might be. Follow me and I'll get you sorted." He turned to Adrissa. "Anything you need to ask, sir?"

"No. Get the sergeant and his team fed. I'll talk to everyone. Once that's done, we can go."

"Sir."

"… so, to sum up, you have two choices: stay part of FLTDETCOMM under my command or join the NRA and the Nationalists in whatever capacity best suits your talents. It's your choice, and you are free to decide what is in your own best interests. All I ask is that you make your minds up before I leave to talk to General Vaas if you can; it will help me tell him how many of you they can expect. When you've decided, let Lieutenant Commander Solanki know. That is all. Carry on, please."

The assembled spacers and marines broke up into a milling mass. Trying not to think about Anna-she had made a point of avoiding him-Michael set off to get his gear together, his mind worrying away at the problem of just how the hell he might handle Vaas. One thing was for sure: Vaas was no-

"Michael?"

He turned. It was Anna. She gave nothing away, her face expressionless. "Yes?"

"Can you talk?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, eyes wary. "Over here. What's up?"

"What's up?" she hissed, her face flushed and her eyes blazing with anger. "What's up? Screw you, Michael Helfort, you sonofabitch. You know what's up!"

Michael shoved his hands palms out as if to keep Anna at bay. "Anna, please," he said. "I know things aren't the best, but I just… I just hoped this was going to work out. What was I supposed to do? If I'd left you to Colonel Hartspring, you'd be dead inside a month, and it was never going to be an easy death."

Anna's head slumped forward; face in her hands, her shoulders shook. She sobbed softly, so Michael did the sensible thing. Folding her in his arms, he held her tightly for a long time. Eventually, she pushed him back to look him right in the face, red-rimmed green eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, shit," she said, her voice breaking, wiping the tears away, "it wasn't supposed to end up like this. This fucking war was supposed to be over when we destroyed the Hammer's antimatter plant, but it's not, and the way things are going, it never will be."

"But Anna, you're safe," Michael protested. "I'm safe; we're together. What does anything else matter? It doesn't, Anna; nothing else matters. It's just us. Me and you, and the rest of humanspace can go fuck itself."

Anna stared at him for an age. A smile flickered across her face, gone no sooner than it appeared. "Michael Helfort, you are thick. Thick as pig shit, you know that?"

"What? Thick? Me?" Michael spluttered, utterly confused.

"Yes, thick… dumb, stupid, dopey, half-witted. I know it's just you and me. Why do you think I'm so upset?"