It was one hell of an outfit, Jaruzelska thought with considerable pride.
Together with the two light scouts 387 and 166, she would command fifty-two ships for the attack on the Hell system, the best warships, combat systems, and spacers the Federated Worlds could assemble.
And that wasn’t all of Operation Corona.
Add in the heavy scouts tasked with dropping surveillance satellite killers and pinchspace drop decoys, the ships of Corinne Kawaguchi’s Task Group 683, whose swarm of pinchcomsat killers and ship simulators even now were driving their way into Hell nearspace, and the ships of Admiral Kzela’s Task Force 681, tasked with recovering the passengers and crew of the Mumtaz from Eternity, and Battle Group Delta was a hugely impressive force.
All of which was well and good, but numbers never had been enough to ensure success. She hoped that the Hammer was impressed enough to get out and stay out of her way.
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Ministry of Interstellar Relations, Foundation City, Terranova Planet
Giovanni Pecora stood up as the perennially sour-faced Hammer ambassador was shown into the small meeting room that adjoined his office.
Ambassador Yoon was well-known for his view that the Federated Worlds were nothing more than a filthy degenerate cesspit of heretics. From the day he had stepped unwillingly onto Fed soil, he had made little attempt to conceal that opinion from his unwilling hosts, an attitude that accounted for the open contempt in which he was held.
“Sit down, Ambassador.” Pecora kept his voice as courteous as he could, even though in all his years of public service he had yet to deal with anyone as unappealing as the squat gray-haired man sitting in front of him. The only reward for his courtesy was a grunt as Yoon planted himself in the armchair on the other side of the small coffee table, with the registered observer seating herself unobtrusively to one side. Fuck you, then, Ambassador, Pecora thought, canceling his commed order for coffee.
There was a moment’s silence. Pecora had seen more than enough of Yoon during the Delphic affair, though he had enjoyed Yoon’s obvious befuddlement over the ruse. Yoon sat in silence, obviously wondering what the Fed heretics were up to now.
Pecora had no intention of keeping him waiting. “Thank you for coming, Ambassador.”
Yoon’s face actually managed to turn even more sour.
“The matter we wish to discuss is very serious, so perhaps the best thing I can do is to hand you”-Pecora paused to pick up a heavy bound document from the small table beside his chair-“this document. I think it will tell you everything you need to know. It makes our position quite clear.” Even to ill-mannered, superstitious primitives like you, Pecora thought as he settled back.
Yoon half grabbed the document from Pecora’s outstretched hand. He rolled his eyes at the heft of the bundle. It was much too thick to be the usual complaint about some Fed commercial spacer being handled roughly by DocSec. Yoon sat back in his chair and started to read.
From under hooded eyes, Pecora greatly enjoyed watching the blood drain from Yoon’s face as the implications of the diplomatic note and its declaration of limited military action sank into his shocked and disbelieving mind.
At last, Yoon finished reading. He looked up, mouth working but unable to get the words out. Pecora just sat and watched, his eyes pitiless, his stare unwavering, as he saw Yoon struggling to come to grips with the enormity of what he had been given.
Finally, Yoon managed to collect himself, clearly unable to believe what he had just read.
“This cannot be true!” he blurted out. “You cannot be serious. Attacks on two Hammer systems! For an alleged hijacking? This is just lies. Unprovoked aggression. I don’t think you-”
Pecora cut him off, rising to his feet, his voice brutal with barely controlled anger.
“Frankly, Ambassador Yoon, neither I nor my government cares what you think. It’s all there in the statement of facts, chapter and verse, as required by the New Washington Convention. So unless you have any questions that the note does not answer, I suggest you leave now. I am sure your government would like to know of our declaration sooner rather than later. My staff will show you out. Goodbye.”
With that, Pecora was out of his chair and gone. Yoon just sat, shocked into paralyzed immobility, the cheerful floral pattern of the armchair hugely at odds with the high drama of the moment.
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
The Palisades, Ashakiran Planet
High in the mountains above the upper Clearwater Valley, the old man sat staring into the distance, the stress showing in stark lines cut across a face that had aged a decade in only weeks.
The midday sun beat down relentlessly, bleaching the color out of the timber deck that looked toward the distant Karolev Ranges. The trees and mountains that framed the house were shimmering visibly as the heat of the day began to build up, the air trembling as it started its long climb thousands of meters into the sky. Behind the house, clouds already were building up as humid air started to fight its way across the Tien Shan Mountains.
Andrew Helfort knew there might be a serious storm later in the day. The air was thick and heavy with the promise of it, but he did not care.
Many minutes passed before he turned back to the young man sitting patiently beside him at the well-used table that had pride of place on the deck. The deeply varnished surface was immaculate, the deck around it pristine, kept that way by the habits of a lifetime of Space Fleet service. In the end, it had been all that had held the tortured mind, body, and soul of Andrew Helfort together.
Andrew Helfort could barely speak, his voice coming out as a half-strangled croak. “You couldn’t be wrong about this, could you?” His voice cracked with doubt. The terrible, aching fear that the news of Kerri’s and Sam’s survival might not be true wracked his body.
The immaculate young officer, his formal dress blacks at odds with the rough informality of the setting, shook his head emphatically. “Not a chance, sir, I can assure you. Federated Worlds forces are right now moving to recover your family and the rest of the passengers and crew from Eternity. Everything we know is available through the Corona persona. You have priority access, so please, see for yourself. Take all the time you need.”
Andrew Helfort finally allowed himself to believe.
The nightmare that had started that awful day when a police flier had arrived unannounced finally started to clear. The process was as slow and uncertain as the morning mist burning off the hills that surrounded the Palisades, tendrils of fear and doubt and grief coming back to wrap themselves around his mind, blotting out any newfound hope before disappearing as hope reasserted itself.
He nodded.
Reluctantly he commed the Corona persona. He half smiled as its avatar appeared. This one was a middle-aged woman clearly designed to radiate both sympathy and confidence in equal measure. He didn’t stay talking long. The holovids of Mumtaz in orbit around Eternity and the list of passengers and crew transferred dirtside, the names of Kerri and Sam there with all the rest, were all he needed. He broke the comm.
“No,” he said. “There really doesn’t seem to be any doubt.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “When do they come home?”
“The operation to recover them is under way now, and allowing for debriefing, they should be home in a bit over a week. But we’ll let you know an exact time as soon as we have one. But there’ll be no delays. We’ll be as quick as we can.”