Traitors of Sol: Part One of the Sol Sequence

by J Porteous

  Zura cursed under his breath, his breathing becoming frantic. 'Are you going to give me the stones? Daria has already shown you how much she believed in the cause. Come on, Hawke. She is dead because of you. Don't make me kill you too.'

  'Just do it,' Hawke muttered. 'Do it. Shoot me. Here. Now. You've already taken everything else.'

  Zura stared down at him. 'I don't want to do this, Hawke. I really don't. They want me to.' He clutched his head in a moment of burning pain. 'I know!' he whispered fiercely. 'I'm doing it now!' He pressed the hand cannon squarely against Hawke's forehead, his hand shaking. He stared back at Hawke, their eyes burning into each others. Zura's eyes brimmed with tears. 'There's no going back now. It's either me, or you. I'm truly sorry, old friend.' He pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Hawke threw himself forward, his pent up fury unleashed in a maelstrom of adrenaline and violence. He threw fist after fist towards Zura, raining down pent up vengeance upon him. Everything that had built up inside of him, that had festered within him for years was released in an unrelenting orgy of blood and thunder. If Zura did try to fight back, Hawke did not notice.

  'Hawke? Hawke, come in.'

  Hawke fell backwards in a daze, knuckles swollen and bloodied.

  'Hawke?'

  Hawke opened his communication unit. 'Yeah?'

  'Are you okay? What's going on? I'm hovering outside the bay now.'

  'I'm fine,' he managed after a moment. 'Get ready to pick me up.'

  Zura coughed and spluttered, deep red blood splattering out over what was his pristine white Admiral uniform. His eyes flickered open, his mouth moving but only a gargling sound could escape from his clotted throat. He cleared his throat painfully. 'The stone.'

  'You trying to buy your redemption?'

  Zura brought a battered hand up to his jacket and slowly felt around the inside. He fumbled for a moment, then carefully pulled the stone free of his jacket. 'I'm sorry...' His words crumbled as they left his mouth, like autumn leaves.

  The words did not reach Hawke. He knelt over Zura, leaning in close, and snatched up the stone. 'Do you remember our bargain, Zura? I was meant to leave Sol, and you were meant to protect Daria. You broke it. Now it's your turn to pay.'

  Fear widened the Admiral's eyes, the gargling noise attempting to desperately form words to beg with.

  Hawke slowly heaved himself to his feet. He looked down at Zura. 'Don't go escaping, will you?' He made his way through the corridors of the ship. The immaculate interior soon fell victim to Hawke's dirtied and bloodied body. Trails of dark crimson followed him, both his blood and Zura's mingling into one congealed mess. 'You traded my life, Daria's, to live in this finery, Zura?' Hawke shouted over his shoulder. 'You bought this ship with blood, and now you're going to pay it back. Every last drop.' Hawke opened the cockpit door and engaged the autopilot system. He punched the console, activating it. The Solitude hovered slowly, then slowly creaked forward.

  Justinia crackled through his comm unit. 'Hawke, the Solitude is taking off.'

  'I know,' Hawke said. 'Pick me up and we'll take care of it.'

  Hawke returned to the cargo bay and dragged Zura through the corridors of the Solitude, his moans of pain echoing in the dead hallways. He grabbed Zura by his soaked collar and heaved him up into the pilot's chair. Hawke reached around the rear of the seat and strapped the helpless Zura in firmly with the emergency restraints. He grabbed Zura's chin firmly, wrenching his face up to meet his, a yelp of pain escaping his bruised, swollen lips. 'I didn't want to do this, old friend. You brought this on yourself.'

  Zura's eyes widened again, his swollen jaw now too inflamed to speak.

  'They aren't coming for you,' Hawke said, standing to his full height. 'No one is coming to save you. Nothing can protect you from me now, not even those scaly bastards.' Hawke stood beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Hope it was worth it.'

  Hawke found himself back in the drop bay of the Solitude. He paused hesitantly at the sight of Daria's body. He did not recognise her anymore. It had not been how he had imagined their meeting, the images of their longing for each fading from his mind. She had not come bounding up to him, to wrap herself around him, and him in her. She was a stranger. An unknown quantity. Strangely, he felt at peace.

  He had mourned her all those years ago, when the thought of never seeing her again was a very real truth. This person was not the woman he remembered, and he doubted he was the man she remembered either. The moment he was exiled from Sol was the moment both of them died. The old Hawke Sparov was dead, leaving only the Traitor of Sol in his wake. All that filled his mind was that Elpis was alive, enslaved by the Oligarch of Lanak. He turned away from the stranger's body on the floor.

  The Solitude was already through the docking bay doors when Hawke clambered into the War Goddess. He stumbled through the dim corridors of the ship, his laboured steps haphazard and pained.

  'Hawke, what's going on? Why are we letting them go?'

  Hawke opened his communication unit. 'We're not. I'm heading to the topside turret. Get us in front of the Solitude.' Hawke clambered up the ladder, head throbbing from the blow to the head Zura had gifted him, and slumped down into the turret seat. The War Goddess was alongside the Solitude with ease, out-pacing the slow autopilot Hawke had programmed. He opened up his comm unit again. 'Justinia, I need you to get in front of it.'

  The War Goddess swooped in front of the Solitude effortlessly. Hawke swiveled the turret, with all the energy he could muster, and trained the cannons at the military ship. He looked out of the turret target-finder at the cockpit of the Solitude, but only the reflection of the darkness of space showed in the tinted view-ports. Somewhere, beyond that tint, sat a terrified man. A man that had betrayed Hawke in every was possible. A man that Hawke had once called a friend. He brought the turret to bear on the cockpit of the Solitude, taking time to make his aim perfect.

  This is for Daria. Not the Daria that lay silent on the ship, but the Daria he had left on Callisto.

  Hawke squeezed the triggers firmly. Slug after slug ripped through the vacuum of space, denting panels around the cockpit before breaking the view-ports under sustained fire. Hawke held the triggers, watching the cockpit get ripped apart piece by piece until only a gaping maw into the interior of the Solitude was left. A bitter grin spread across his lips. Some small justice, at least.

  'Hawke, are we done?' Justinia said through the static of the intercom.

  'Yeah,' Hawke said, letting his muscles relax as he sunk back into the turret seat. 'We're done. And Justinia?'

  'Yes?'

  'Send a comms to Goban, tell them to find Nelson and keep him locked away until we get there.'

  She paused for a moment. 'Nelson? The AI?'

  He reached a hand out his comm unit. 'The AI is a danger. It's one of them.' He squinted as a searing pain burnt inside his skull.

  'What about Daria?'

  'She's gone.'

  Justinia did not reply.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Carl

  Nelson had been nowhere to find on the Winter Dawn. The communication from the War Goddess had confused Carl at first, especially given the lack of information that Justinia had given him. Arrathnar had offered her services, and Bjarke put out the word among the crews he had worked with in the past, but the AI was nowhere to be found. The disappearance of Nelson was not the only thing that was bothering Carl.

  Several days had passed since the War Goddess had returned to the Winter Dawn, yet Carl was still to see an appearance of Hawke. He had managed to track down Justinia, but all she would tell him was to leave Hawke to himself for the time being. He had tried to push her harder on the subject but she had deflected all questions, simply saying that things had not entirely gone to plan at Watcher station.

  Just as Justinia had made herself busy with tending to Hawke, Arrathnar had locked herself away in her studies. She slaved over the diagrams and words that the dying creature had given
them, trying to reap what information she could. Now, with the complete set of Sender stones, Arrathnar had given up any attempt at being social, instead shutting herself away with the Grand Researcher and other Harathdans in an attempt to decode some meaning from it all. This left Carl with one other companion to spend time with. Bjarke.

  'What are we doing here?' Carl asked, as the large man approached him in the middle of the crowded docking bay. Almost all of the mercenary fleet were here now, docked with the Winter Dawn. The bay buzzed with ships and their crews, bickering and quarreling with each other as to why the council had been summoned. 'Have you found Nelson?'

  Bjarke snorted. 'No. Just as I have reported for the last few days. That AI is long gone if you ask me. Strayed into one of the ventilation shafts and junked itself no doubt.' He looked out across the sea of bodies that flooded the docking bay. 'Why are we here?' he mused to himself. He cast his eyes down at Carl. 'I want to see him. I have not seen him since he became the Faceless Man. It is why so many others still litter the docking bay.'

  Carl shook his head, none the wiser. 'Sorry, Bjarke, you've lost me here.'

  An annoyed sigh left Bjarke's lips. 'The Mercenary Council, Carl. Most of them are already here. Daven Farman, Skee Lorman, Arona Kepti, Hawke Sparov and Pront Havan. Only the Faceless Man is not here. Word is, his ship is has been sighted on approach.'

  All Carl heard was Hawke's name. 'You still haven't explained how Hawke came to be on the Council? I'm surprised someone with the title of the Traitor of Sol managed to get such a seat in a mainly human organisation.'

  Bjarke laughed his low, gruff laugh. 'It was not taken well, I'll tell you that much,' he said. 'The Faceless Man would be the Dead Man, if not for Hawke. It was a long time ago, ten years perhaps?'

  The answer Bjarke gave only bred more questions from Carl. 'Is that all? Not going to explain at all?'

  'Always with the questions,' Bjarke sighed, shaking his head. 'The story goes that the Space Bastards were assigned by the Council to accompany Lars Anders, as the Faceless Man used to go by, to assist in completing a coup of a refinery world. Word was that workers had discovered that a private force had murdered the actual owner and were using his name and ID to siphon off funds. If you ask anyone, most reckon that the Bastards were chosen as they wanted Hawke out of the way. It had suicide mission written all over it.' He nodded a quick greeting to another mercenary squad, who made their way past them and out into one of the many halls leading off from the docking bay. 'Anyway, the mission was mostly a success. They stormed their way through the streets of the capital and fought their way towards the tower, fighting against overwhelming odds and making their way to the offices of the deceased owner. I heard that Hawke beat the leader of the private force to death with his bare hands due to lack of ammunition.' A thuggish grin spread on his face at the thought of it.

  'What's that got to do with the Faceless Man?'

  'Alright, I'll skip straight to it, shall I?' Bjarke grunted. 'The remaining militia weren't going to let the refinery world go with out a fight so overloaded the fuel towers, part of which ran parallel to the offices. You can probably tell where this is going?'

  'An explosion?'

  'An explosion,' confirmed Bjarke. 'It ripped the offices apart. Lars was trapped underneath a girder which had fallen from the ceiling above, and the burning fluid spilling through the roof and burnt his face. Hawke went right back in there and pulled him out. Lars survived, thanks to Hawke, and offered him a perk. Hawke said he wanted a seat on the Council.'

  'That easy to get a seat is it?'

  'You try doing that then come and tell me how easy it was.' Bjarke said, missing the humour in Carl's voice entirely.

  'I was jok-'

  Bjarke held a hand up, silencing him. Carl followed Bjarke's stare, which happened to be looking at the now opening doors of the docking bay. Silence fell across the room. Ammunition was set down, welders turned off, and bickering between rival mercenaries fell flat. Something loomed forwards from the darkness, slowly coming into the light of docking bay.

  The ship was a deep crimson colour, the dents and scorch marks of countless battles peppering the hull. The ship was unlike anything that Carl had seen before. Two large prongs surrounded the cockpit, reaching forward. Three turrets sat along each of the prongs, brandishing enough weaponry to ensure that no one would be unsure of the ships purpose. The body of the ship slowly entered, its harsh angles bouncing the bright lights of the docking bay back towards the high ceiling.

  The ship quickly settled, its docking ramp descending slowly but surely. The throng of mercenaries rapidly surrounded it, each person vying for a glimpse of the man Bjarke so clearly admired. Carl moved his head around, trying to get a view through the jostling crowd. Bjarke had no such problem, standing a good head span higher than those that surrounded him. He looked at Carl and laughed to himself.

  A man stepped out from the ship, his crew falling in behind him. Their armour was a pristine collection of crimson plates, undoubtedly high end material, but it was the figure that led them that garnered the attention of the crowd. He stood tall and proud. His armour plating matched that of the crew in colour, but was of closer comparison, in state, to that of the ship, with great gouges and battle scars riddling its surface. What looked like a helmet covered his face, the front plate bearing an emotionless face carved and teased from the metal itself.

  The man stopped and his face turned to look upon all those in the crowd. Carl could not help but shudder as the dead expression of the mask fell over him, dulled eyes staring out through the crudely gouged eye holes.

  'It is good to see you all here,' the Faceless Man said, his voice emanating not from his mask, but from a speaker hardwired to his shoulder. 'If the urgency of this UEMC is as stated, we should spare no time in forming the council.'

  Carl watched a figure make their way effortlessly through the bustling crowd. Arrathnar. She approached the Faceless Man and spoke quietly to him. He nodded in return and followed her through the crowd, who now stood applauding and cheering. Carl watched the Faceless Man and his crew pass into the main hallway and disappear beyond view. He looked at Bjarke, who's eyes did not leave the Faceless Man, an admiring look holding his face.

  'You see,' Bjarke said, motioning towards the Faceless Man's parade. 'Something like that would have killed a lesser man, but not him, no. He carved victory from defeat, wearing it as a symbol of power.'

  Carl stood silently, letting Bjarke have his moment. The large man rumbled on, speaking many times over of victory, power and respect, until the last of the Faceless Man's crew passed from sight. 'What happens now?'

  Bjarke tore his eyes away from the doorway that the Faceless Man had disappeared through. 'Now the Council will convene to discuss the situation,' Bjarke said. 'No vote. The decision must be made unanimously.' He looked back to the crowd as they filtered down the hallway after the Faceless Man. 'Come on,' he said. 'We must go. I have a promise to live up to.'

  The Grand Researcher had graciously allowed the Mercenary Council to be hosted in the Grand Hall of the Winter Dawn. Considering the usual reaction Carl had received from the Researchers when in a mercenary capacity, he was surprised at this offering. Perhaps Arrathnar has pulled some of the many strings she seemed to have gathered? The Grand Hall was filled with company upon company of mercenary companies, each adorned with their own uniforms and armour. The occasional bright splash of vibrant colour stood out among many hues of dark brown, grey and black. Bjarke had disappeared as they had entered the hall, going to confer with Hawke regarding their evidence. Someone grabbed Carl's arm.

  'Hey,' Justinia said, spinning him around.

  'Hey,' Carl said, a touch of hesitation tugging at him. She almost felt like a stranger since she had secreted herself away with Hawke. 'Good turnout,' he said awkwardly.

  She smiled. 'Near enough three hundred and seventeen ships are sat in the docking bays, I should hope it is a good turn out.' She pulled Carl in close
, bringing her lips close to his ear. 'Don't be shocked when you see Hawke. He is...not himself. Whatever happens, we back him up, okay?'

  Don't be shocked when I see him? Carl swallowed the nerves that rose from his throat. 'Just tell me what's going on, Justinia.'

  'You want to fight the Kalindros, don't you? To get some kind of closure for your parents, for Rix?'

  Carl nodded a silent response.

  'Good,' she said, patting his cheek with her palm. 'Then, whatever happens, go with it.'

  Carl was about to respond when a huge cheer rose from the crowd, deafening him. He turned back to the higher area where the six council seats had been placed. The Faceless Man emerged, the other council members trailing him. The crowd bayed, and shouts of dedication and victory arose from those around Carl. He watched as each member emerged out into the seating area, wanting to get a glimpse of Hawke. He appeared behind the others.

  Is that...Hawke? What happened to him? Carl turned to Justinia, who simply shook her head at him, shutting down his questions before he could even ask them.

  Hawke was bruised and beaten. One side of his face was painfully swollen and discoloured. He had none of his posturing swagger that usually carried him around the place, looking more like a defeated man. He dropped into his seat heavily, as if powerless to stop himself falling into it. His eyes scanned the sea of people before him until they met with Carl. His body may have been beaten and broken but his eyes held an intensity, a bright spark burning bright. He nodded an acknowledgment to Carl. Carl returned the gesture.

  'Silence,' the Faceless Man said, standing from his seat. The Grand Hall quickly fell quiet, only the occasional whisper or murmur coming from those nearest to Carl could be heard. 'Your attendance is noted. I am pleased to confirm that every mercenary crew has reported for duty.' Utterances of agreement could be heard around the room. 'We are here to discuss a case for the UEMC, raised by Captain Hawke Sparov.'

  Carl fought hard to contain himself as the crowd grumbled around him. Voices sounded their dissatisfaction to each other, unhappy that the reason they had been called out of their current contracts was due to a traitor. Carl folded his arms in an attempt to cover the black and yellow of his uniform as best as possible.