Graham Paul - The battle for Commitment planet

Michael scanned the holovid with interest. Hammer prisoners littered the deck of the mine magazine, a scruffy bunch dressed in gray shipsuits and plasfiber boots churned out by Redwood's overworked clothesbot. What made them stand out was the way they looked. Thanks to the Hammer's blanket prohibition on cosmetic geneering, they were-Michael could not think of any other way to say it-an ugly bunch. By comparison, even the least attractive Fed had supermodel looks.

"Look quiet enough to me, Corp."

"Well, sir, I hate tempting fate and all that, but unless there's a thermic lance in there we don't know about, they're not going to cause us any problems."

"Let's hope so. The good news is we're on schedule, so we won't have to tolerate them much longer. Anyway, looks like the green machine has things in hand, so I'm off to the CIC."

"Sir."

Back in Redwood's combat information center, Michael settled himself into the command seat, his eyes instinctively scanning the holovids carrying the command and threat plots. Not that he needed to. There was nothing to see. Despite investing billions of FedMarks trying, nobody had been able to find a way to intercept starships in pinchspace, but the habit was deeply ingrained. Redwood's coxswain, Chief Petty Officer Matti Bienefelt, had the watch. Michael waited until she finished talking to the ship's navigation AI about a minor instability in the pinchspace generators.

Satisfied that Redwood was not about to make an unscheduled drop into normalspace, Bienefelt turned to Michael. "Welcome back, sir," she said, the concern on her face obvious. "You had me worried."

"I'll be fine, Matti," he said, ignoring yet another twinge of conscience. He and Bienefelt had been through a lot in a short space of time; Redwood was the sixth ship they had served on together: DLS-387, Eridani, Adamant, Tufayl, and Reckless were the others, and Redwood would not be the last. Bienefelt had volunteered to be his coxswain, and more than anyone else onboard, he owed it to the woman to keep her alive. It pained him to think how cavalier he had been about her welfare, so absorbed in problems that were his and his alone that he had forgotten that looking after the people entrusted to his care came second only to achieving the mission. One of the golden rules of command, his mother always said, and he had treated it with contempt.

Bienefelt's face made it clear she was not convinced.

"Really, I will," Michael protested. "I will."

"Mmm," Bienefelt said, forehead creased by a skeptical frown.

Michael sighed. Redwood's coxswain knew him well enough to work out that something was wrong; quite rightly, she would be asking herself why Michael did not trust her enough to ask for her help. So what was he to do? She might be one of the best spacers in the fleet, but she could do nothing to get him out of this mess. He wished she could.

So he did the only thing left to him: nothing. Settling back, he watched the distance to run counter spinning off the light-years as Redwood hurtled through pinchspace toward home, the massive bulk of an unhappy Bienefelt sitting in silence alongside him. Sunday, August 5, 2401, UD FWSS Redwood, in pinchspace en route to Nyleth-B

"Captain, sir."

"Yes, Jayla?"

"You free at the moment, sir? I'd like some of your time if I may."

Michael's heart kicked. Had she found a way to save Anna? "Of course. My cabin?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I'll see you there, sir."

Michael studied Ferreira's face as she walked into his cabin, disappointed to see that it conveyed what it always conveyed when she came to talk business: nothing. "Have a seat," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"This is not an official visit, sir. It's about Lieutenant Cheung."

"Oh?" Michael's mouth had gone dry. Ferreira's face might have been a wooden mask for all it told him. Had she found a way out for him, for Anna?

"Yes," Ferreira continued. "I've thought long and hard about what you told me yesterday."

"And?" Michael asked, moving forward in his chair until he was perched on its very edge, leaning forward, his eyes locked on Ferreira's face.

"And not much, sir, I'm sorry to say."

Michael slumped back in his seat, bitter disappointment flooding through him; for an instant he had allowed himself to hope that against all the odds, Ferreira had found a way through. "Okay," he said, his voice crushed by despair, "no surprises there. I haven't been able to find a way out, either, so I suppose it was silly of me to expect that anyone else would. If there's no way through, there's no way through."

"No way through that's legal, you mean, don't you?"

"What the hell does that mean, Lieutenant Ferreira?" Michael barked, all too aware that his executive officer was about to cross a line she should not even come close to, never mind cross.

"Steady, sir," Ferreira said, her voice even. "Just trying to keep an open mind."

"I think this meeting's over, don't you? I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Anna's my problem, not yours." He looked right at Ferreira. "I'm sorry, Jayla," he continued, speaking so softly that he was barely audible. "I'm sorry I ever mentioned it to you. I should not have done that. It was wrong to involve you."

"I'm not sure that's right, sir. Isn't that what execs are for? To share the burden of command?"

"Yes, they are. But Anna's a personal problem. She has nothing to do with my command of this ship."

"That's arguable, sir, with all due respect."

"I know, and you're right. Which is why I've made a decision. I am required by Fleet Regulations to raise any personal problems that might adversely affect my ability to command this ship with my superiors, so that's what I am going to do. A bit late, but there you go. As soo-"

"Sir!" Ferreira protested. "Sir, you can't-"

"Don't interrupt me, Lieutenant."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Apology accepted. Now, from here on out, this matter is no longer up for discussion. As soon as we get back to Nyleth, I'm going to see Commodore Anjula. If she asks, I will tell her that I told you of the problem and that you advised me to report the matter to her as soon as possible. And maybe she and the powers that be can come up with something to get me out of this mess."

"As you wish, sir," Ferreira said, her words taut with bitterness and anger.

"Come on, Jayla," Michael said with a half smile. "I'm pretty sure the first thing Anjula will do is relieve me of my command. I know I would if I was in her place, so it looks to me like you're going to get your first ship rather sooner than we expected. And what a ship; I'm going to miss Redwood."

"Sir!" Ferreira objected, her face coloring.

"Sorry, bad time to be kidding around. Anyway, there it is. My decision's made, and I want you to respect that. You are not to raise this matter with me again. Is that clear, or do I have to give you a formal, written order?"

"No, sir," Ferreira said, her face an expressionless mask. "No, that's clear and I understand the order."

"Good. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. You may carry on."

"Sir," Ferreira said. Without another word, she climbed to her feet and walked out of Michael's day cabin.

"Shit," Michael said softly as Ferreira's exit hammered home the brutal fact that he would never see Anna alive again.

"Captain, sir."

"Yes, Jayla?"

"Can you meet me in Conference-2, sir? There's something I want to show you."

"Okay," Michael said with a puzzled frown. "Anything I should know about?"

"I'd rather show you, sir, if that's okay."

"Fine, fine. I'm on my way."

When Michael opened the door to the conference room, what he saw brought him to an abrupt halt. The fact that the people who made Redwood an effective fighting ship-her officers and senior spacers-sat at the table waiting shocked him, not least because he knew they were not there to talk about the weather back on Nyleth.