Graham Paul: The Battle of the Hammer Worlds

Even as he repeated a promise already made countless times, something deep inside, something cold and dangerous, started to pull him down into darkness. Abruptly, the urge to curl up and shut out the world and all its fear and pain started to overwhelm him.

Panic engulfed him; Michael started to slide over the edge into the black pit of depression. For a moment he let himself go, unwilling to stop the fall, but then his training kicked in, the routines ground into him by the combat trauma counselors after the Battle of Hell’s Moons taking over. Slowly, he pushed the tide of hopelessness back. Bit by bit, he recovered his mental balance; it took another ten long, hardfought minutes to bring a racing heart and heaving lungs back under control. Shakily, Michael took a deep breath, almost defeated by the sheer physical effort it had taken to claw his way back to normal. Well, as normal as he could be under the circumstances, he thought wryly, if a flat, sick tiredness was normal.

Michael pulled up the holopix of his last visit with Anna. He knew full well that the sight of her would do nothing to help his mood, but he did not care. Then there she was, and for the umpteenth time Michael marveled at her beauty, wondered at the luck that had made him the man she wanted in her life. Well, he reminded himself, so he hoped.

Anna’s face was beyond striking. It was breathtaking. Dominated by large green eyes, her geneering-enhanced face drew its classic beauty from every one of Old Earth’s major gene pools. The mix of Asian, Chinese, African, and European bloodlines had produced a result that was all of them and none of them at the same time. Michael forgot everything as he stared at a face the color of dark honey, his whole being falling helplessly into eyes framed from above by fine black hair cut unfashionably short at the sides and set wide over sharply defined pink-dusted cheekbones.

No two ways about it; Anna Cheung was some work of art.

Michael commed his neuronics to stop the holopix. If he watched any longer, he would feel even worse than he already did. With a heartfelt prayer that things would work out for the two of them, he turned over, determined this time to get to sleep.

FWSS Ishaq, berthed on SBS-44, in orbit around Jascaria

The Ishaq ’s conference room was packed. A murmur of conversation washed over every officer not on watch while they waited for the captain to arrive.

Michael, Aaron Stone, and the rest of Ishaq ’s junior officers were seated where all prudent junior officers sat: right at the back of the conference room, well to one side and out of the line of sight of prowling senior officers, of which Ishaq, being a capital ship, had a depressingly large number.

Everyone was stumped. Nobody knew why the meeting had been called. Something was up, that much was clear, but Captain Constanza was not acting normally. It was no secret that Constanza did not like face-to-face meetings; in particular, she did not like groups as large as the one that waited for her now. She much preferred to use her neuronics for virtual conferences. Why Constanza was breaking the habit of a lifetime had been the subject of an energetic debate conducted in carefully hushed tones.

Thus far, the most popular theory was that Constanza’s time as Ishaq ’s captain was finished and that Morrissen would take over.

Michael-and many more in the conference room that day, he suspected-wanted this to be the reason so badly that it hurt, if only for Ishaq ’s sake. Sadly, he was not convinced that Constanza had convened this meeting to announce her own demise. Why would she endure such public humiliation? There had to be another reason. From the little he knew-mostly secondhand from his father-Fleet was more than willing to chop nonperforming captains if it had to, but it liked to do so quietly. Announcing a change of command at a three-ring circus, which was what they had here, was not Fleet’s way. So what the hell could it be?

Michael had a leaden feeling in his stomach. He thought he knew even if his peers had howled down his theory. Please, God, he thought, not a program change; anything but a program change. He and Anna had booked a weekend away, and more than anything else, he wanted that weekend. He would give anything to get away from Ishaq for a few days. That was how badly he wanted to see Anna again.

“Attention! Captain on deck.” The executive officer’s crisp tones snapped Michael and all the others to their feet.

Captain Constanza strode into the conference room and went straight to the lectern. She ignored Morrissen.

“Sit down, everyone.” Constanza paused for a moment, looking around at the mass of Ishaq ’s officers arrayed in front of her. Michael could not help himself. He shrank down into his seat.

“I’ll make this as short as I can.” Constanza paused again.

“Doesn’t look too comfortable,” Michael whispered to Stone, who nodded.

“The reason for this briefing is to let you all know that we have been retasked by Fleet in response to new intelligence. .”

A barely audible sigh swept through the room. No spacer liked program changes.

“. . suggesting that mership traffic on the trade routes between the Old Earth Alliance and the Federated Worlds is to be the target of significant pirate activity over the next few months. Our task will be to provide enhanced security for all ships using those routes. We will be part of Task Group 225.2 under the tactical control of Rear Admiral Chavez in Recourse. However, in accordance with antipiracy standard operating procedures, the Ishaq will operate independently. The program change is effective on completion of our formal visit to Kelly’s Deep. How long these patrols will last is anyone’s guess. Fleet tells me they are open-ended at this stage, but they have assured me that Ishaq ’s docking for scheduled maintenance next June still stands. Before I hand over for the intelligence briefing, are there any questions?”

Constanza was met by a stunned silence. The personal plans of Ishaq ’s entire crew lay in ruins, and the officers present would have to clean up the mess.

“No? Okay. Commander Nandutu?”

“Thank you, sir. Now. .”

Michael tuned out. He would look at the detailed intelligence summary in his own time. One thing was for sure: He would not be asking any questions of Constanza, Nandutu, or anyone else. He cursed softly under his breath. His long-planned and much-anticipated weekend with Anna had been flushed down the crapper. Damn, damn, damn, he thought despairingly.

Finally Nandutu finished and sat down. Michael had taken in not a single word. Constanza came to the lectern again.

“That’s all I want to cover right now. The operations planning group will have the preliminary operations order out by Monday. .”

Bang goes their weekend, Michael thought.

“. . so I think that does it. Before we close, are there any questions?”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael peered around the officer in front of him to see who the brave soul was. “Foolhardy idiot” might be a better description. According to his neuronics, it was some lieutenant commander from navigation. Jenkins was his name. Michael had not met him yet.

“Go on,” Constanza muttered. Her body language was unmistakable. She was not interested in questions.

“Thank you, sir. As a member of the ops planning group, I had a chance to study the intelligence summary before the meeting, and I must say that while it is long on the bloodstained history of these pirates, it is short on the tactical detail we need to put together an effective operation: their order of battle, ship types, weapons systems, likely tactics, logistics arrangements, that sort of thing. Now-”