Graham Paul: The battle at the Moons of Hell

If the shit hit the fan before they finished, not only would Merrick be gone but his own life would be forfeit, too. He had seen too many changes of chief councillor to have any illusions about what happened to the loser’s people. And if they actually completed the project, Merrick would dispose of everyone involved-from Prison Governor Costigan and himself down to every last man, woman, and child who helped build Eternity-before revealing it to the Council and the rest of the Hammer Worlds.

He laughed out loud. You’ve done a great job, Digby, he thought. So busy looking at the details that you failed to see that win or lose, your life is over. And worse, this insignificant little affair in all probability would be the trigger for the next war between the Kraa Worlds and the rest of humankind.

If you stood back, it was obvious what would happen. Yes, Merrick would be hailed as the savior of the Hammer Worlds. Yes, the man in the street would buy the divine providence claptrap that Merrick would feed him to explain the miracle on Eternity. Yes, the apparatchiks would go along with the deception. Yes, the clans that controlled the Hammer economy would fall into line; why wouldn’t they? A new planet meant growth, and growth meant money. And yes, Merrick’s position as chief councillor would be unassailable.

But none of that counted for a pinch of shit. Sooner or later the Feds would work it out.

Knowing what he did about the Feds and their awesome technological capabilities, his plan for terraforming Eternity would be a success. But that success would tell the Feds, if they hadn’t already found out, that technologies well beyond the capabilities of the Hammer Worlds had been applied to terraform Eternity.

And when they worked that out…Well, all the Feds would have to do would be to connect the dots and then the shit would really hit the fan. In very large bucketloads.

And that meant only one thing-another war. But this time Digby didn’t think the Feds would settle for anything less than the unconditional surrender of the Hamnmer.

As if the previous three hadn’t been destructive enough. Kraa’s blood. It was only twenty years since the last fracas, and Kraa only knew how many had died that time around!

He reflected on the matter for a few more minutes, and then all of a sudden his mind was made up, all doubts gone so quickly that it took his breath away. A quiet commitment settled over him. For all its military power, the Hammer Worlds could not afford another war, and he would do, must do, anything in his power to try to make sure that the Mumtaz did not become a casus belli. The chances weren’t good, but he would do, must do, his absolute best.

All of which was fine, he mused as his car pulled up in front of the low gray fortresslike building that housed the supreme headquarters of the Hammer Defense Forces. But how the hell was he going to derail the Mumtaz project without being killed either by Merrick if the bloody man survived or by the rest of the Council if Merrick did not? There was a nasty little problem, but it would just have to wait for another day.

“Thank you, Corporal. That’s all for today. I’ll walk home tonight.”

“Sir.”

Federated Worlds Space Fleet College, Terranova Planet

The serried ranks of graduating cadets, resplendent in dress blacks and the gold of their newfound rank of junior lieutenant, broke apart as friends and parents dressed in every color imaginable rushed the parade ground to seal the moment. In an instant, the tightly choreographed performance of military discipline that had brought three years of cadet training to an end had been replaced by a milling mass of people, the air bright with laughter, excitement, and relief.

Michael hung back.

This should have been his day: Right up to the end he had been a strong contender for the Sword of Honor. But at least, he reflected, it had gone to one of the team. He consoled himself with the thought that Jemma Alhamid might have beaten him anyway, they were so close in the rankings; she had shaded him in the final tactical exercise of the year, after all. Michael stood alone. In a difficult and long conversation with his father, he had been emphatic that nobody from the family was to attend, a hard thing to ask of a retired Space Fleet commodore mother, not to mention a Space Fleet captain father, he had to admit. But as he had pointed out, the time for the family to be present was when he had achieved something he was proud of and could celebrate in the eyes of the world.

As it was, it wasn’t easy. The sideways glances, the hurried looks, the whispered exchanges-isn’t that the cadet who… — were almost more than he could bear. All Michael wanted to do was to be away from this place and alone. Well, give it another hour and he would be alone, alone, that is, except for Lieutenant Hadley, his assault lander command qualification instructor. Michael wasn’t sure how happy Hadley would be at being kept back; not so unhappy, he hoped, that getting the required 98 percent he needed to requalify would be mission impossible.

Gradually the mob thinned, leaving Michael alone at the bottom of the imposing steps leading up to the main entrance of the college. Time to go, he thought as he turned to make his way back across the huge college parade ground. He might as well put in a solid couple of hours on the assault lander simulator to get ready for Hadley the next day.

“Michael, wait!”

Michael turned back to see Anna, followed by every member of the team, hammering down the steps two at a time-well, in Karen Sutler’s case, three at a time. Or was it four? God knew, she had the legs to do it. The group came to a shuddering halt in front of Michael.

“Oh, hi, guys. Thought you’d all be gone by now.”

“You didn’t think we would all piss off without saying goodbye, did you?” Charlie Mbeki’s tone was indignant, as if, Michael thought with a smile, he had just suggested that Charlie had been sleeping with the provost marshal’s incredibly ugly offsider, Chief Petty Officer Ramona Diaz. Come to think of it, he had seen Charlie trying to kiss Chief Diaz once, but it had been very late at night and very, very dark, and Charlie had been more than a bit drunk. That little lapse in judgment had cost Charlie seventy-five demerits. Even the officer of the day appeared to have great difficulty accepting the idea that any cadet in his or her right mind would want to kiss Chief Diaz; the team suspected that only that thought had stopped him whacking Charlie with a hundred demerits.

“No, no, no,” Michael protested, relieved that they hadn’t gone. “I knew you’d track me down. A lot easier than the other way around. I’ve seen better-behaved sheep, I have to say.”

“Smart-ass. If you’d met my mother, you’d understand why I move around in random jerks. If she kisses me one more time and tells me how wonderful I am…” Nicco Guzevic grimaced at the thought.

“Bull, Nicco. You love it when your mom tries to cheer you up. You don’t fool us,” said Bronwyn Kriketos, planting a huge wet kiss on his cheek. “I’d be depressed, too, if I only graduated in the third quartile.”

“Heartless bastard,” Nicco responded amiably. “Michael, I’ve got to go. The up-shuttle won’t wait, and neither will Carlsson Space Lines. It’s been an honor. Stay in touch. You know where to find me.” With a firm shake of the hand and a pat on the cheek, he was gone.

Two minutes later and with a bruised hand courtesy of one of Karen Sutler’s power grips-Michael swore she practiced for maximum effect-everyone was gone except Anna. The melange of Chinese, Asian, African, and European blood that ran in her veins together with generations of very expensive cosmetic geneering combined to produce a face so striking that it nearly stopped Michael’s heart when he looked at it.