The Final Battle (9 page)

“Ferrero the puppet having her strings pulled by Polk the puppet master,” Jaruzelska said. “You know what? I think we’ll make you a psyops man of you yet,” she added with a smile.

“I don’t have your sneaky, devious mind, sir. Niccolò Machiavelli would have been proud of you, though. So what came next?”

“The final step was persuading President Diouf to—”

“Whoa, hold on, sir! The president is in on this?”

“No, she’s not. All you need to know is that a mutual friend, a man whose advice and guidance Diouf has relied on for most of her adult life, convinced her that the Federated Worlds would be at grave risk if she did not turn down your request for clemency. The president was told only as much as she needed to understand why she was being asked to do something … so extraordinary. In the end she agreed to go along with us, but only when we convinced her that you would not actually be executed.”

Relief flooded through Michael; he had not been wrong to trust Diouf.

“And that was when things got very dirty,” Jaruzelska went on. “When Diouf turned you down, we had to convince the Worlds that you had been unfairly treated. The Hammers helped us there. We have holovid of the dumb bastards trying to bribe Diouf to let your execution go ahead. Twenty million FedMarks they offered her. She refused it, of course, but we slipped a story to the trashpress saying that she had taken the money. To muddy the waters a bit more, we concocted another story that the Hammers were so pissed by Diouf’s refusal that Polk forced Moderator Ferrero to blackmail Diouf into turning down your appeal for clemency.”

“Diouf’s the closest thing I know to a saint,” Michael said; he looked incredulous. “How do you blackmail a saint?”

“Easy. You cook up a story, backed by lots of seemingly credible evidence, that Diouf financed a child slavery racket operating out of the Rogue Planets in the ’50s, and then …”

Michael grimaced; that would have hurt Diouf.

“… you give it to the trashpress and tell them that Ferrero was using it to blackmail the president. The story was so juicy, so hot, they just couldn’t resist the temptation. They went public with it the day you were executed. The timing could not have been better.”

“Then what?”

“The story’s already been retracted—needless to say, that’s seen by some as part of the government’s cover-up—and Ferrero and Diouf are going to sue for defamation. But that still leaves people wondering if they’ll ever get the truth. Was the president bribed by the Hammers? Did Ferrero blackmail her into abandoning all her principles? And if Diouf wasn’t bribed or blackmailed, then why did she go against all her principles and allow your execution to go ahead? Not that it matters, not now. We’ve got what we need. We’ve turned you from villain to victim, and the process has seriously undermined Ferrero’s credibility, so much so that the average Fed now thinks her appeasement of the Hammers will come back and bite the Federated Worlds in the ass. They don’t know how, they don’t know when, but they think it will. And that’s the environment we need to support what we’re trying to do here.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s really … I was about to say clever, but maybe evil would be a better word.”

“I prefer to call it a work of genius,” Jaruzelska said with a touch of smugness.

“Maybe it was,” Michael snapped. Jaruzelska’s conceit angered him, and it showed. “I understand why it had to be done, but from where I’m sitting, it looks much more like a work of bloody-minded torture. I thought I was about to be executed. You could have told me it was all an elaborate hoax. You should have!”

“But we did,” Jaruzelska protested. “We made sure Colonel Kallewi told you.”

“Hah!” Michael snorted with derision. “That was way too late. By then I wanted to believe what she was saying, but I couldn’t. When they strapped me down, I knew for a fact that I was about to die. Didn’t matter what anyone had said. I thought they were just trying to make things easier.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaruzelska said, her voice soft, “really I am.”

“You damn well ought to be. You should have told me sooner. And there’s one more thing you should know.”

“Oh?”

“I got a message from Chief Councillor Polk.”

“From Polk?” Jaruzelska’s stared at Michael, eyes wide with disbelief. “How could you?”

“One of the guards smuggled it in. I wish I could show it to you, but it was one of those damn one-time messages.”

“What did it say?”

“That Polk had authorized my old friend Colonel Hartspring to set up a team to snatch Anna; Team Victor he’s called it, and that’s a v for ‘vengeance’ in case you’re wondering.”

“I remember Hartspring,” Jaruzelska said, “but why would they do that?”

“Polk was happy that I was to be executed, but not that happy. If he couldn’t have me killed his way, then he wanted to me to die knowing that Hartspring was going after Anna, knowing what would happen to her once Hartspring got his hands on her, and—” Michael broke off, unable to speak anymore.

“Oh, Michael,” Jaruzelska whispered; she stretched out her hand to take his. “We had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“What difference would it have made?” Michael said. “I’ll tell you: none. After all, what was I? Just another pawn in the game.”

“We should have told you earlier,” Jaruzelska conceded, “but the group was concerned it would take the edge off what had to be the performance of your life. I’m sorry, but there was a lot at stake, and before you ask, your parents—”

“Shit! I’d forgotten. They think I’m dead! Anna too.”

“I’m sorry about Anna. There’s no way we can tell her what’s really going on, but your folks are both in on the conspiracy, have been for a while now, so don’t worry.”

Michael’s head went down; he was quiet for good minute. “I don’t think there’s much to be gained in going over this anymore,” he said at last, looking up. “What’s done is done. All that matters to me now is making sure Anna is alive and stays that way. Well, that and hunting down Polk and Hartspring and killing them when I find them. And I will,” he added, his voice raw with anger. “But do me a favor, please. All that Team Victor stuff—can you keep it to yourself? Hartspring is my problem, and I’ll deal with him. And I don’t want Anna to find out. She has enough to worry about.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Now, any more questions before we move on?”

“Yes, one. You said there weren’t many spacers who agreed with what I did … not to start off with, I mean.”

“Yes. Most of Fleet thought you were nothing more than a criminal.”

“But what about you? Did you agree with that?”

“Initially, yes, of course I did. Mutiny is mutiny, and we needed those three dreadnoughts you smashed into Commitment planet. But as I read and reread your message telling me what you were doing and why, I began to understand. Then it became obvious that Ferrero would form the next government sooner than anyone thought. When I worked out what that meant, I realized that you and your people had been right and I had been wrong.”

“So when you came to Asthana looking like you wanted to tear my head off, that was all an act?”

“Yes.”

Michael shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

“You will be, almost certainly,” Jaruzelska said with a faint smile. “Now, here’s how we’re going to do this. Juggernaut, we call it, and it starts with …”

• • •

Michael sat tucked out of the way, a welcome cup of scalding hot coffee in hand, content to let the fear-induced stress of the past months leach out of his abused psyche. It felt good to know that the controlled chaos around him marked the beginning of the end for the Hammer of Kraa, that soon he would be on his way back to rejoin Anna, that the time when he would stand over Polk and Hartspring and see the terror in their eyes before he killed them both was coming.

Oh, yes
, he thought as he took a sip of coffee,
I do feel good
…
not that I don’t have my doubts
.

What Jaruzelska and her fellow conspirators planned to do was mind-boggling in its size and complexity. For all her reassurances, for all her confidence, for all her steely determination not to fail, Michael was struggling to believe they could pull it off. There were a million things that could go wrong, and Michael was in no doubt that his old friend Mister Murphy would be hard at work to make sure they did.

Even if everything did go right, none of it would count if Anna did not make it; he wished he knew how she was. What with her joining the
NRA
to fight the Hammers and the fact that Hartspring and Team Victor were after her, her life was hanging by a thread. He sighed in frustration. Jaruzelska had promised him a detailed briefing on the situation back on Commitment but wasn’t sure when that would happen, so he would have to wait.

Michael put the mug to his lips only to choke on the burning hot coffee, distracted by the arrival of a familiar figure. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. He got to his feet and threaded his way across to where a woman in dark gray one-piece shipsuit had followed General Yilmaz into the room.

“Lieutenant Commander Fellsworth!” Michael said, putting out his hand, a broad grin splitting his face.

“Hey, Michael! Admiral Jaruzelska told me I’d find you here,” the woman said, taking his hand before folding him into a crushing bear hug. She pushed Michael back and put her hands on his shoulders, then looked right into his face. “It’s good to see you,” she went on. “I really thought you were a goner this time.”

“You and me both.”

“I take it you know each other?” Yilmaz said with a good-natured smile.

“Sorry, sir,” Fellsworth said. “This man saved my ass back on Commitment. And not just mine. He saved the lives of my people. I … we owe him.”

“I remember,” Yilmaz said. “After the
Ishaq
was ambushed, right?”

“Yes,” Fellsworth replied; her face twisted with pain for an instant. Michael understood. Pain had nothing to do with it; guilt did.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Captain,” Yilmaz said. “I need to see Admiral Jaruzelska before she heads back.”

“Sir,” Fellsworth said.

“Captain?” Michael said when Yilmaz had gone, spotting Fellsworth’s rank badges for the first time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice. Congratulations. Well deserved, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, though it has little to do with my talent, such as it is. No, we’ve lost a lot of good people, too many, so promotion’s been fast.”

“A bloody war and a sickly season,” Michael said.

“An old saying but a good one, and it’s certainly been a bloody war. But if those Hammer pigs think we’ll let them come out on top after all we’ve been through, they’re damn fools. Right, enough of that. The admiral says I’m to answer any questions you have, but before I do, are you hungry?”

With a start, Michael realized he was, ravenously so. He had lost a good ten kilos since his arrest. Now his body was telling him it was time to put the weight back. “Since you mention it, I am.”

“Me too. Come on; the canteen’s this way.”

• • •

“That’s better,” Fellsworth said, pushing her tray away. “So how’s Anna?”

“Anna? Wish I knew,” Michael said. “That bloody woman always was a wannabe marine, and now she is one. Last time I heard from her, she was a captain in the
NRA
’s 120th Regiment, so she’ll be in the thick of things.” Michael sighed. “She always is. Oh, and we’re married now. It’s Anna Cheung Helfort now.”

“I’ll be. Well, congratulations and all that. The bride wore white, I hope.”

“Combat fatigues, actually. Weddings back on Commitment are low-key affairs.” The pain in Michael’s voice was obvious.

“It must be hard,” Fellsworth said, her voice soft. “Leaving her, I mean.”

“It was. It still is. But what’s worse is knowing that she’ll think me dead, though at least I can see a way through now.” His eyes locked onto Fellsworth’s. “Will it work?”

“Hmm,” Fellsworth replied, “that’s the only question that matters, of course, but before I answer, I need to check something. Can you sit tight for a moment?”

“Sure,” Michael said, mystified.

Five minutes later Fellsworth was back. “I was right,” she said, dropping into her seat. “Jaruzelska’s authorized your security clearance, but I can’t talk to you until we’ve uploaded a bomb into your neuronics.”

“A neuronics bomb?” Michael’s eyes flared wide with alarm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Fellsworth said with an emphatic shake of her head.

“But a neuronics bomb? Talk about extreme.”

“We can’t afford any leaks, so every last member of the conspiracy has one loaded.”

“That’s as may be, but if anyone puts a neuronics probe into me or I leak any information to anyone not cleared, then
pffft—
” Michael snapped his fingers. “—my brain implodes and I’m dead.” He shivered at the thought. “But you’re right,” he went on when he saw the sense in it. “There’s too much at stake to worry about someone screwing up and dropping dead.”

“There is. Jaruzelska’s told you what we’re planning?”

“She has.”

“Well, in that case you already know too much. We need to get that bomb uploaded right away.”

“Do I have to? Jaruzelska didn’t drop dead. If you can trust her, I think you can trust me.”

“She is one of a tiny handful of exceptions. She has to be able to talk to people outside the conspiracy without her head imploding. But you won’t be doing that. You’re dead, remember?”

“Oh, yes, I am, aren’t I?”

“You are, so let’s get that bomb into your neuronics.”

Michael shivered again; he had been too close to death to want this even though he knew full well he had to do it. “Go on, then,” he said with obvious reluctance.

Uploading the bomb was the work of seconds; a few more seconds and a tiny green spot appeared in front of his eyes to confirm that he was talking to someone with the right clearance.

“You good to go?” Fellsworth asked. “See the green spot?”

“Yes,” Michael said; he licked lips that were suddenly dry.

“Remember, never give or transmit any operational information to anyone unless that green spot is showing. If it turns red, the neuronics bomb will arm; any breach of security after that and it will trash your brain, and you’ll be dead two seconds later. If it’s flashing amber, you are outside a secure facility and must talk neuronics to neuronics, nothing out loud. Got all that?”