by J Porteous
'You don't have any clue as to what you are doing,' the trooper wheezed, his voice gurgling as if speaking through some viscous liquid.
Hawke stood straight, his shadow falling over the dying trooper. 'And I suppose you did?'
The trooper managed a weak laugh. 'What did they promise you? Money? Power?'
Hawke fought to hide his surprise. How does he know? 'You don't know what you're on about,' he said. 'Dying men have a tendency to ramble. I should know, I've met my share of them.'
A sickly laugh wracked the trooper. 'Your face betrays you,' he said. 'You can feel me can't you? I can feel you. Not that I need to, your mark is harder to hide than mine.'
Hawke reached up and felt the scar on his face. The trooper laughed again.
'You don't think they made promises to me, to all of us?' the trooper said, words slurred as his life force slowly drained from him. 'Look where their promises take us.' He pushed himself forward in his seat, groaning as the embedded metal twisted his insides. 'They won't give you what they promise. I can see that now.'
A thundering crack jolted Hawke's mind as a voice broke through.
He is lying. Even in death he still wants the stone. He was not worthy. You are.
Hawke shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the voice. Daria flashed in his mind again, then Elpis. He must be lying, he decided silently to himself. I just need one more stone after this. Hawke clenched his fists. 'Shut the fuck up.' He reached forward and wrapped his hand around the shrapnel again.
The trooper gave his gurgle of a laugh again. 'Do it,' he said. 'Do it. I'd rather die than live with knowing what I've done. I'm a military man, I should be protecting people, not this.' He gasped for breath. 'It won't make them favour you any more than the others.'
So there are others. Hawke heard himself growl. 'I said shut the fuck up.' He drove the shrapnel deep into the trooper, firmly and fiercely, painting his own arm crimson. The man's hand shot up and gripped Hawke's arm. Hawke pushed the metal forward again. The grip on his arm loosened with each thrust, until it finally fell limp.
'Captain Sparov? Do you read me?'
Hawke stood back, chest heaving with breaths. The feeling of presence faded as the trooper fell limp. He sucked in ragged breaths, in an attempt to placate his burning lungs. 'Yeah,' he said eventually. 'What is it?'
'Are you okay, Captain? You have not been responding.'
Confusion clouded Hawke for a moment. 'Responding to what?'
'I've been trying to hail you, Captain.'
He looked down at the dead trooper. His rage had deafened him from anything outside of that moment. His mind cooled as his anger sluiced away. 'What is it, Nelson?'
'We need to leave, Captain. I've been getting communications from Lieutenant Clarke. We are needed immediately.'
'On my way.' Hawke pulled the case close to his chest and made his way back to the War Goddess, taking one last glance at the motionless trooper in the cockpit as he left. The feeling of presence was no longer there.
The view from the external cameras was grim and foreboding. The occasional limb poked through the thick ash, the remains of a Combat Synth stood motionless, and the ground led scarred and battered, monuments to the savage battle that had taken place.
He zoomed in on the landscape below, scanning for any movement. He reached up and switched on the communication unit. 'Justinia? Watts? Anyone, respond.'
The line crackled in response. 'Get down here now, Hawke, now!' Carl still sounded fired up from the battle.
Hawke turned to Nelson. 'Descend on that location, now.'
The War Goddess lurched as it changed direction, thrusters blasting away the ash and revealing scores of dead troopers. Looks like they had a good fight. He swiveled the camera upwards, scanning the ground ahead, and saw what looked like a group of bodies huddled behind a rock. One of them stood and started waving.
The communication unit sparked back into life. 'Hawke, we've got a visual.'
The figure on screen pointed frantically back towards the rest of the group. Hawke zoomed again, the grain of the image slowly processing into a higher quality. Someone's on the floor, a prisoner maybe? He zoomed in further, the image becoming enhanced again. He recognised the wiry frame dressed in Space Bastard colours which led on the floor. Watts.
Before he knew it, Hawke found himself sprinting towards the group, leaping over freshly uncovered corpses. Everything else disappeared from his mind. His eyes were fixed on Watts, who was propped up against Justinia, his head cradled in her arms. Carl ran towards Hawke, closing the ground between them quickly.
'We tried our best,' Carl said, voice strained with emotion. 'We tried our best...'
Hawke ignored him. Instead, he ran towards the rest of the group and skidded to a halt over top of them.
Justinia looked up at him. 'What took you so long, Hawke?' she said, her voice breaking. She glanced back down to Watts, his body lying motionless, head rested on her lap.
'Get him back to the ship,' Hawke ordered. He reached down and grasped the engineer's legs. He looked up at Justinia, frozen where she knelt. 'I said get him back to the ship, Justinia.'
Her head snapped up to gaze at Hawke in puzzlement, then she nodded erratically. She wrapped her hands under Watts' arms and lifted him up. Arrathnar propped his centre, helping them back to the drop bay.
Hawke placed Watts gently down on the cold floor of the drop bay and reached down to the check the combat suit's vital signs. The usual dim green glow of a heart rate was replaced by a black nothingness. Come on you son of a bitch. He hefted his fists onto the centre of Watts' chest, pumped frantically, and checked the heart monitor again. Still nothing. His vision blurred, eyes welling. This can't be real. He knelt, watching Watts with pained eyes. He hoped for some sign, some slight movement, anything. Nothing. He pounded his fist into the deck of the drop bay. 'Fuck!'
'Where the fuck were you, Hawke?' Justinia repeated. 'We hailed the Goddess countless times, Nelson said he couldn't get you to respond.'
Hawke slumped back against the hull of the ship, his eyes not once leaving Watts. 'Getting the stone,' he said flatly.
Arrathnar perked up. 'You managed to-'
'Not now,' Justinia said, pushing a firm finger into Arrathnar. It failed to even slightly move the Harathdan who towered above her.
Arrathnar stood her ground for a second, a retort half crossing her lips, before shrinking back. 'I'll be in my quarters.' she said, then quickly left.
Hawke leaned forward and slowly prised the combat helmet away from Watts. I'm sorry, old friend, I truly am. Blank eyes stared back at him accusingly, the unnatural stillness in his face unnerving him. Hawke shifted uncomfortably before running his fingers over Watts' eyelids, giving him the impression that he died in peace. He did not know whether he did it more out of respect, or more that he could not stand his stare anymore. He glanced up to see Justinia stood over him.
'Congratulations on finding the stone,' Justinia mumbled. She threw her helmet to the floor and abruptly left the room.
Hawke looked towards the one figure left. Goban. His face was hard to read, expressionless. Poor kid has seen enough death recently. He motioned over to him. 'Give me a hand, Goban,' he said. 'Please?'
Carl stood motionless for a moment, staring back at him, before something brought him back into the room. He gave a quick nod and helped pull Watts out of his combat armour.
Hawke pulled part of Watts' combat jacket off. 'Hope you found the answers you were looking for, Goban,' he said, not wanting to risk meeting his eyes. He realised he had not properly spoken to Carl since he had returned from the New England.
Carl grunted. 'Yeah. Doesn't mean it was the answer I wanted.'
'It rarely is.'
Quiet settled over the pair of them again. They continued in silence, stripping away Watts' combat armour until he was left in his usual scruffy, oil-stained shirt and combat trousers. A small smile tugged Hawke's lips, thoughts of their first encounter comi
ng to the front of his thoughts.
'Do you know how I met Dareth?' Hawke said, not looking up to see if Goban paid attention to his words. He carried on without waiting for an answer. 'I was slumped in a bar on Jesar, trying to wash away the glut of bad jobs we had just run through. Really down on our luck, you know?' He nodded at Watts' body, a vision of sleep in front of him. 'Anyway, this guy bumps into me, knocking my drink flying. I got up and threw the clumsy bastard across the table, slurring all the names under the sun. I picked the scrawny runt up, blood streaming from his nose, and asked him if he knew who I was. He nodded and told me that he did, and that I just lived up to every story he had heard.' Hawke laughed to himself. 'Apparently his job as a military engineer didn't pay enough and he needed the credits. That's the Watts I remember.'
He glanced up to see Carl simply staring at him, blank eyes hardly registering his presence. The smile dropped from Hawke's face, his head dropping down to regard Watts. 'And now he is dead, because of me.' Hawke stopped for a moment and sucked in a deep breath. 'I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me, Goban, feel sorry for Watts. I'm just an old man reliving better times.'
'I'll make sure the drop door is secure before we go,' Carl said.
Hawke sighed and bit his bottom lip. Of course he's not going to understand. He thinks I'm a traitor, no sense of honour, just like everyone else does. His heart jumped at the realisation of what he was doing now. If I do take the stones to the Kalindros, doesn't that make me exactly that?
Hawke placed his hands on Watts' still chest. You've done well friend. You deserve your rest. He wrapped Watts in a rough blanket, which Justinia had brought down from his cabin earlier, and took one last glance at his face before covering him. 'You secured that door, Goban?' Hawke called over his shoulder. No response. He looked around.
Brawny arms held Carl still, a hand clamped firmly over his mouth. A man stepped out from behind the aggressor and walked towards him, the shell casings in his braided beard gently jingling.
'Hawke, you should know that I'm a man of my word. Big mistake to think otherwise.'
Hawke recognised him instantly. Bjarke.
Bjarke's vile grin cracked his face. 'You look surprised, Hawke,' he said. His height appeared doubled to Hawke, who still knelt beside Watts. Bjarke glanced at the blanketed body. 'Makes less trouble for me. I should thank you really.'
Hawke felt his grief twist on itself, a burning hot rage threatening to overcome him in place of it. He stood sharply, noting the weapon rack on the opposite side of the drop bay.
Bjarke followed his gaze. 'I don't think so, Hawke. They want you alive.' He paused for a moment, and what passed for a thoughtful look bounced across his face. 'Actually they do want you dead, but they want to be the ones to do that.' He nodded out of the drop bay door and two of his crew entered.
Hawke struggled as the two thick armed men grasped him, overcoming him with surprising ease. 'I'm going to fucki-'. A firm hand clasped his mouth, muting his threat to incoherent noises.
'You're going to fucking what?' Bjarke stepped towards him, pointing to his skewed nose. 'Remember this?' he said. 'I may not be able to kill you, but I can at least hurt you. A lot.' He stepped back, nodding to one of the men behind Hawke.
A crack rang out against the back of Hawke's skull, then he slipped into darkness.
A voice, that voice, echoed in his mind. You cannot die here, not yet. You are still needed. You have the highest probability of success.
The voice faded and light slowly filtered through the darkness, slowly rousing Hawke back into the room. It wasn't a familiar place, but he was on a ship. His arms were tied firmly around his back, securing him to the chair he sat on. He winced as he looked around the room.
Arrathnar, Justinia and Carl were positioned in a circle facing him and each other. Arrathnar and Carl stared back at him, their rudimentary gags of ripped material wrapped firmly around their faces. Justinia was slumped unconscious in her chair, her face bloodied.
'He's awake,' a voice said.
'Good,' Bjarke said, stepping in front of Hawke's view of Justinia. Bjarke noticed Hawke's worry and glanced over his shoulder. 'Don't worry, Hawke, just repaying a debt,' he said. He stepped back and pulled her head back into the light, illuminating a map of colourful bruising. 'She'll live. For the moment.' He snapped his fingers and someone reached down and loosened the gag around Hawke's mouth, the blood quickly flowing back into the area. 'I think we need to have a little chat, Hawke.'
Hawke forced his head to rise and meet his captor, staring back into Bjarke's eyes.
'That's a good little soldier,' Bjarke said. The large man crouched next to Hawke, bringing them nose to nose with each other. 'You want to tell me what business mercenaries have shooting up a squad of troopers on a trash planet?' He tutted loudly. 'On an ash planet too? I thought you were smarter than that, Hawke. Maybe I gave you too much credit.'
Hawke cleared his throat. 'It's not what you think...'
'No?' Bjarke said in feigned surprise. He looked around the room at some out of sight Sons of Odin, who laughed heartily at his show. 'Don't tell me, you thought they were Junkers? I can understand the confusion, Hawke, I really can, what with one having two legs and another with six.' Laughter erupted again. 'Then again, you've got a track record for shooting your fellow man, haven't you?'
Hawke sucked in a deep breath. 'They weren't real troopers,' he said, purposefully ignoring Bjarke's barbed comment. 'Someone sent them there to kill us, to take the stones.' He squinted, his head throbbing painfully.
'Oh, Hawke,' Bjarke said, shaking his head. He looked back between Hawke and Arrathnar, then did it again. 'Don't tell me you're getting all religious on me? Didn't think Harathdans were your thing?' He stood up, towering over Hawke once more. 'The great Traitor of Sol, finding solace in religion, who would have thought it?'
'Bjarke, we need to go,' one of the Sons of Odin said. Hawke recognised him as one of the mercenaries that had grabbed him earlier. 'They're requesting that the Valkyrie heads back immediately.'
'Shut it,' Bjarke barked. 'They've waited this long, they can wait a little longer.' He looked back to Hawke. 'You've made things a lot worse for yourself, you do know that, don't you? Mincing one squad of troopers was bad enough, yet you followed more here, destroying a Starblade and three squads of troopers in the process. It's the kind of thing that is frowned on, you know?' He tutted again. 'Taking out the Blistered Suns as well? I wonder what the Mercenary Council will have to say about that.'
Hawke breathed heavily, trying to control his confined anger. Save it for when you need it. He breathed again, slowing his breaths, concentrating on each in breath and out breath. He watched as his breath appeared in front of him. Oh fuck. He breathed out again, watching his breath rise before his eyes. Pinpricks of cold sparked across his skin.
'Suddenly lost the ability to speak?' Bjarke said, a triumphant glint in his eyes.
Hawke checked his breath again and caught a glance of Carl doing the same, his eyes widening. He looked up at Bjarke. 'We need to get out of here.'
Bjarke laughed. 'Eager to meet your death, are you? Some kind of penance for your crimes I assume?'
An alarm sounded, emergency lighting flooding the room in the familiar deep red glow.
'What the fuck is going on?' Bjarke yelled, his eyes darting around the room. He grabbed the mercenary that had approached him a moment ago. 'Get out there and find out what is going on.'
A deep explosion shifted the floor and muffled gunshots rang out somewhere in the depths of the ship. Bjarke didn't even flinch. He reached down, clasping a hand around Hawke's jaw. 'What friends have you got out here, Hawke?' he said, spittle dotting Hawke's face. 'You really think they can save you?'
'No,' Hawke managed, through his gritted teeth. 'They're going to kill us all.'
Bjarke looked back in disbelief. He let go of Hawke and hit his communication unit. 'Give me a status report. What's going on out there?'
'Somethin
g...something killed them,' a panicked voice replied. More gun shots rang out.
'What's happening?' Bjarke snarled. He reeled back in surprise as three Sons of Odin burst back into the room, blockading the door behind them. He marched over and grabbed one. 'What the fuck is going on?'
The Son stuttered, losing his words. 'H...hull breach, Bjarke, a large one.'
'Who's left out there?'
The large man was shaking. 'J...just us.'
Hawke watched the exchange, seeing Bjarke glance back at him several times. 'Cut us free,' Hawke said, trying to raise his voice above the din. 'We're all dead otherwise.'
Bjarke snarled at him, looked back to the Sons at the door, then back to Hawke. He marched over and ripped away Hawke's bindings. He gripped Hawke's jaw again, pulling him to his feet. 'So far as put a foot out of line and I will kill you where you stand, understood?'
Hawke looked back with fierce eyes. 'It's not you I'm worried about.'
The door thudded loudly. The Sons stepped back, shakily holding their weapons towards the entrance. Another thud, and the door buckled in the centre, metal screeching as it bent out of shape.
Hawke untied Arrathnar and Carl, both of them flexing their now freed wrists. He held Justinia up as he loosened her bindings. She was breathing but did not stir. Must have been one hell of a punch. He looked up, catching Carl's eye. 'Goban, grab Justinia.'. He grabbed Bjarke by the arm. 'How the fuck do we get off this thing?'
Bjarke sucked his teeth, trying to tear his eyes away from the buckling door, and the baleful noises coming from the other side. He spoke without taking his eyes from the door. 'Follow me.' Bjarke grabbed one of the Sons' shoulders. 'Fall back behind us. Keep close.'
Hawke nodded back to the others, motioning them to follow. They did not need any encouragement. Hawke piled ahead, following Bjarke's broad back through dim corridors. A mixture of shearing metal, gunshots and screams followed them along the corridor, threatening to overtake them. Keep on going, he willed himself.