Graham Paul: The battle for Commitment planet

De Mel said nothing.

Polk sighed. "Okay. Next."

"Yes, sir. You will have read my report on…"

Polk watched de Mel leave his office. Why was there never any good news? Kraa, it was depressing. Everywhere he looked, the Hammer Worlds were in the shit up to their ears, and there seemed to be very little that he or anyone else in the Hammer government could do about it.

The heretic New Revolutionary Army still refused to accept that fact that they were fighting a war they could never win.

Despite the billions and billions of k-dollars invested in them, the PGDF-Planetary Ground Defense Force-had failed to dislodge the NRA from its bases in the Branxton Ranges.

Instead of fighting the NRA, the PGDF preferred to bitch and moan about the marines. Things were so bad, Polk was convinced that the PGDF and the marines would rather kill each other than the NRA.

Then there was Doctrinal Security. The pressure was beginning to tell: Morale was poor and getting worse, desertions were at their highest in a decade, and DocSec was so riddled with NRA agents, it was a miracle they had any secrets left at all.

Add to all that the widespread social unrest, fueled by a sagging economy and endemic corruption, sparked into widespread street violence by every NRA success. How much worse could things get? Let me see, Polk thought, how about if the-

"Chief Councillor, sir."

The self-effacing tones of his personal assistant cut across Polk's litany of woes.

"Yes, Singh?" Polk replied.

"Councillor Solomatin's shuttle has landed, sir. He will be here in twenty minutes."

Polk's chest tightened, a mix of fear and anticipation; maybe the day would bring some good news. "Fine. I'll see him when he arrives."

"Yes, sir."

Taking a cup of coffee from the drinkbot, Polk walked to the window. Perhaps things weren't so bad. Helfort was all but in the bag, Solomatin had promised good news, and best of all, the war against the Federated Worlds was going well. The Feds had neither the ships nor the spacers to force the war to a conclusion, so the conflict was dragging on in an endless sequence of minor engagements that did nothing to tip the strategic balance away from the Hammers. Polk had no complaints; the Hammer fleet would keep the Feds on the defensive for another five years, and five years would see the Hammers' new antimatter plant operational. Then it would be game over. He grinned a hungry grin of anticipation as he contemplated the prospect of the once proud and arrogant Federated Worlds bludgeoned to their knees by Hammer antimatter warheads. And when that happy day arrived, the Feds and every other inhabited system would acknowledge the new power in humanspace: Jeremiah Polk, chief councillor of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds.

It was an intoxicating thought, and his head swam as he imagined how it would feel to stand a man alone, with all of humanspace at his feet.

Polk stared at Viktor Solomatin, councillor for foreign relations, while the man found his seat. Solomatin was one of the least attractive human beings Polk had ever had the misfortune to work with. Given the way the Hammer Worlds' political system favored amoral thugs, that was saying something.

Not that Solomatin was an unattractive man. Far from it: Men and woman alike loved his raffish good looks and effortless charm. No, the man's ugliness was all on the inside: His good looks concealed a vicious temper fueled by a dangerous combination of sadistic brutality and ruthless opportunism concealed under a veneer of urbane sophistication. A tiny shiver caressed Polk's spine with icy fingers; one had to know Solomatin to find him unattractive. If the man thought for one second it would be to his advantage, he would reach out across the desk and strangle the life out of Polk with his bare hands.

"So, Councillor," Polk said. "I've read your report. I must say I am surprised our Pascanician friends are being so accommodating."

"You shouldn't be, Chief Councillor," Solomatin grunted; he waved a dismissive hand. "They are venal, mercenary scum, which is why they refused to join the allied trade embargo after the last war: too much money to be made smuggling contraband. They'd sell their mothers for a buck. I think it's that simple. They see the upside, and we both know it's huge. With the Feds on the ropes, there's not much downside for them. We'll need to keep a lid on this, though. If the Feds find out before it's a done deal, they could still make things difficult."

"I agree. We'll hold off briefing the rest of the council for the time being. What's the next step?"

"Well, we have agreement on the main principles, so now it's down to the details."

"How long?"

"Hard to say, Chief Councillor. Agreeing on the time of day with the Pascanicians is like negotiating with a barrel of snakes, so it's not going to be easy, but I'd say year's end at the latest. I've agreed with Minister Felgate that we'll work toward a December meeting between you and the Pascanician president to tie up any loose ends. Provided we can, I think you'll be able to sign the treaty there and then."

"That's doable?" Polk said, doubt creasing his forehead and narrowing his eyes. Solomatin did not do the Pascanicians justice; they were worse than a hundred barrels of snakes.

"Yes, it is," Solomatin said, radiating an easy confidence. "Most certainly it is. Believe me, Chief Councillor, those greedy sonsofbitches want this every bit as much as we do. We stand to gain what we want and more, but so do they."

"Year's end," Polk said. "I think that would be most satisfactory. Of course the Feds will find out, but when they do, it will be far too late. Well done, Councillor, well done."

"Thank you, Chief Councillor," Solomatin said. Saturday, August 4, 2401, UD FWSS Redwood, in pinchspace en route to Nyleth-B

"How are you feeling, sir?" Ferreira said.

"Not so tired… you know…" Michael's voice trailed off into silence. He was lying, of course; he felt drained to the point of exhaustion.

Redwood's executive officer nodded. "I know," she said. "I've been thinking about what you told me. I have some questions for you."

"Okay."

"First, is Anna that important to you?"

Michael sat bolt upright, anger flooding his face. "What do you mean, is Anna important to me? Are you going to tell me I should just walk away, let Hartspring's goons-"

"Steady, sir," Ferreira said, her voice calm, reasonable. "I'm not the enemy here. I'm just trying to understand things, okay?"

"Ah, okay," Michael said, slumping back in his chair, the anger gone. "Sorry, Jayla."

"No problem. So is she? That important, I mean."

"Yes, she is. From the day I met her back at Space College, I've known that she's the one I want to spend my life with. In this whole screwed-up universe, she's the only one who means anything. So yes, she's important, more important than my life, my career, this ship, Fleet, everything."

"Even the lives of your crew?"

Michael's eyes narrowed; he looked at Ferreira for a long time. "No," he said eventually. "That is the one exception. No, Anna Cheung is not more important than the lives of my crew." His face twisted into a bitter smile. "I haven't lost the plot, Jayla."

Ferreira smiled back. "I never thought you had, sir."

"Let me put it this way, Jayla. If it takes my life to save hers, then that's the way it'll be. I won't allow Colonel Hartspring to destroy Anna because of me. I can't. For some reason, this whole fucked-up war has become personal, who the hell knows why. The Hammers hate me so bad, they'll do whatever it takes to get their hands on me. For chrissakes, I'm just a damn lieutenant doing his job, so why me? Don't they have better things to do with their time? Anyway, who cares why? The plain fact is that Anna's got nothing to do with any that, and I won't let her pay with her life for whatever it is I've done to piss off the Hammers. Simple as that."