Graham Paul: The battle for Commitment planet

"Command, assault."

"Go ahead."

"We're done here, sir. Pulling back now. Demolition charges set to fire in twenty minutes."

"Roger that. Nice job. Command out."

Satisfied that the ground assault was running to plan, Michael turned his attention back to the command plot. That looked as it should. Red River hung motionless a kilometer from Redwood, its gigantic shape cutting a black hole out of the star-curtained immensity of deepspace. Redress was on her way back to rejoin the rest of the squadron, the last of the Hammer lifepods recovered. Best of all, no Hammer ships appeared on the threat plot. The Nyleth squadron was alone.

Michael sat back. If all went well, they should be on vector back to Nyleth within the hour.

Michael climbed out of his combat space suit, his body stiff and uncooperative. Breath hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled to ease his left leg free of the suit's awkward bulk, the stabbing pain impossible to ignore. You would think, he said to himself, finally free, that the goddamned thing had had more than enough time to get over it. His shipsuit was a sweat-sodden wreck thanks to the stress of combat. Tossing it into the recycler, he prepped his combat space suit before allowing himself the luxury of a long hot shower and a fresh shipsuit. He ignored the demands of duty. He should walk through the ship to make sure that Redwood and her crew had come through okay, but the effort that demanded was beyond him. He slumped into an armchair, the last few dregs of the euphoric high of combat draining away the instant he turned his mind to the crisis that threatened to overwhelm him. He still did not have the faintest idea what to do about it.

A knock on his cabin door announced the arrival of his executive officer.

"Come in, Jayla," Michael said to the XO, waving her into a chair. "Drink?"

"Coffee, sir, thanks," she said.

Michael waited until the drinkbot served Ferreira her coffee. "So, Jayla," he said when the bot withdrew, "I've scheduled the hot wash-up for 18:00. Any initial thoughts?"

Ferreira looked at him for a long time before responding. "Sir," she said at last, "may I speak freely?"

Michael's eyebrows shot skyward. This was a first. "Yes, of course. What's on your mind?"

"You, sir," Ferreira said.

The determined set of her jaw unsettled Michael. "Me?" he said.

"Yes, you. Something's bothering you, sir. I've racked my brains, and I can't work out what it is, but I do know this. You're not the same person who took us into battle at Devastation Reef. Not the same person at all."

Michael's heart pounded; were his personal concerns that obvious? "How, Jayla? How am I different?" he said, with an effort keeping his voice casual.

"You're tired, you're easily distracted, you lose focus, and-with the greatest respect, sir-I don't think you're… I don't think you are handling the squadron the way you used to. Today was a good example. We were lucky, damn lucky, that only three Hammer heavy cruisers waited for us. We knew we had a problem, but we ignored it. We should have taken the time to make another reconsat run, but we didn't even though we had all the time in the world. That was wrong, sir, and it risked this ship and the lives of all onboard. It's not the first time, either. The Barcoola operation. Grendell and Tyrlathi before that. Too many chances taken, too many corners cut. I'm sorry, sir, but this cannot go on."

"Shit, Jayla," Michael muttered. "Now, that's what I call speaking freely."

"Well, sir, I'm your executive officer, and I did ask your permission," she said. "I have a duty to be straight with you, and I wouldn't be much of an exec if I wasn't."

"True," Michael said, wondering how to fix a situation fast spinning out of control. He understood Ferreira well enough to know she was worked up about something right now, and he was that something.

A long and uncomfortable silence followed before Ferreira spoke. "I've checked Fleet Regulations, sir"-her voice hardened into a flat monotone-"and specifically section 34, subsection 15, Duties and Responsibilities of the Executive Officer."

"Ah," Michael said. "I see."

And he did. He knew where this was heading. One part of him wanted to rip Ferreira's head off, another wanted to tell her to do whatever the hell she liked, and a third wanted to curl up in some dark corner until the demons went away. Truth was, he did not know himself how much longer he could go on. The unseen burden on his shoulders was killing him, and now that Ferreira knew something was wrong, the load was close to unbearable.

"May I continue, sir?"

"Yes, yes. Go on," Michael said.

"Well, sir. We both know what my responsibilities are. 3415 is clear. If I have reasonable doubts-"

Michael raised a hand to stop her. "I know, Jayla," he said. "I know what 3415 says. If you have reasonable doubts about my fitness for command, you are obliged to report that fact to the relevant authorities. It is your duty. I understand that."

A long silence followed before Ferreira spoke again.

"I will, sir," she said. "I'm sorry, but I will meet my obligations under 3415. This cannot go on because if it does, well… ah, let's say that I think there is a better way."

"Well, then," Michael said, rubbing eyes gritty with stress, "I suppose… I suppose I'd better tell you what the problem is."

Ferreira looked right at him, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a stubborn line that brooked no dissent. "Yes, sir," she said. "I think you should."

Michael sighed, a sigh of capitulation, a sigh of resignation, the sigh of a sinner brought to repentance. "Okay, okay, I will," he said. "Watch this. It's a personal vidmail I received from one of my Hammer friends. It's self-explanatory."

"Okay, sir," Ferreira said, face screwed up into a look of pure bewilderment.

"Here we go, then," he said comming the vidmail file to the bulkhead-mounted holovid screen.

A man appeared, dressed in the black high-necked uniform and woven silver badges of a senior DocSec officer, a thin smile doing nothing to soften a face dominated by eyes of pale, washed-out amber.

"What the hell?" Ferreira hissed softly.

Michael's heart pounded, kicked into frantic life by an ugly mix of fear and hatred. He could never forget the eyes of a man devoid of compassion, the eyes of a killer, the eyes of a man who had seen so much suffering that he had lost all capacity to care.

Ferreira sat transfixed, silent, unmoving, eyes locked on the holovid screen as the man started to speak.

"Hello, Lieutenant Helfort, or may I call you Michael?" the black-uniformed man said. "Do you remember me? Yes, I'm sure you do, but just in case you've forgotten, I'm Colonel Erwin Hartspring, Doctrinal Security, Section 22. You made me look like such a fool the last time we met, so I've certainly not forgotten you. I know you think we Hammers are a bunch of clods, but we're not. So when an opportunity as good as Lieutenant Anna Cheung falls into our laps, we know what to do with it. She made a big mistake, talking about you openly the way she does.

"So, Michael," Hartspring continued, "we know how you feel about Lieutenant Cheung, and since we've been having such trouble getting to you what with all those damned security drones, we decided it would be much easier if you came to us. Our chief councillor is so insistent. He wants to shake your hand before we… well, let's leave that bit to your imagination, shall we?

"So this is what I propose, Helfort," the man said, "and it's nonnegotiable, so don't waste time or energy trying to wriggle out of it. You've got three months to present yourself to our embassy on Scobie's World. Three months. If you're even a day late, just one, the first Lieutenant Cheung will know about this little plan of mine is when I collect her from her cozy little prisoner of war camp for handover to some of my more… now, let me see, how can I put it? Um… yes… for handover to some of my more high-spirited and energetic troopers for a week of fun and games. They've seen holovids of her, and let me tell you, they are very, very keen for the party to start. They love the way Fed women are so perfect, and I must say your Anna is one of the prettiest. They can hardly wait. Did I mention that there'll be ten of my boys at the party? No? Oh, well, now you know. Anyway, I don't think she'll look quite so attractive when the week's over, so I think I'll send her to one of my firing squads.