The Honour of the Knights (First Edition)
Page 26
“Good. Now get down to the cargo hold and get going. There is not much time to spare. Security will escort you back down. Dismissed.”
Dodds and Estelle started out of Parks' office and caught his last words to them as the doors opened.
“Good luck, Knights. I'll meet you upon your return to Griffin.”
* * *
A little way from where Dodds and Enrique stood, Estelle ascended the ladder into her ATAF, just as they had all done only a few hours earlier, crew milling around to make preparations for her departure. As Kelly was beckoned forward to board her fighter and perform safety checks, Enrique sensed Dodds lean over in his direction.
“Doesn't this strike you as weird?”
“How do you mean?” Enrique asked, keeping his voice low as Dodds had done.
“That starfighter is monstrously powerful compared to the anything else I have ever seen.”
“Of course it is – it's the next generation of fighter.”
Dodds shook his head and leaned closer. “Mate, listen: it took just three of these things to take down an Imperial frigate; Kelly had a head-on collision with a heavy class Imperial fighter. That thing was blown to pieces but there isn't one single, tiny little scratch on her ATAF; and now we're being told that these things can cloak? I mean, don't you see? You don't build something like this for no reason. This is a lot more significant than just the next generation of fighter. What the hell is going on?”
Enrique thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Dunno, man. We'll probably find out a little later on.”
“I'd rather know sooner. There's something about all this that doesn't feel right.”
The pair stood in silence for a while, watching as Kelly affixed her helmet and the ladder was wheeled away from the side of the craft. Dodds was then called forward to prepare for takeoff, leaving just Chaz and Enrique together on the cargo bay floor.
“You okay?” Enrique asked the big man, as Estelle taxied forward.
“Will be once this is all over,” Chaz replied.
Enrique noted the usual enthusiastic tone in his voice. “Shouldn't be more than a few more hours,” he said. “Let's say, four hours there, one hour to find that spy, four hours back. Then we can relax.”
Chaz said nothing, the air about him somehow deader than ever.
* * *
“So, let me get this straight,” Enrique was saying, his voice coming in through Dodds' intercom. “We have to go and rescue a spy? Shouldn't those guys be able to look after themselves?”
“Agent,” Kelly corrected him.
As ordered by Parks the Knights had positioned themselves beneath Griffin, the starfighters not a few meters from the underbelly of the vessel. Just ahead of them hung the small, grey, uninspiring planet that was their destination.
Dodds felt an unwelcoming vibe coming from it and thought it not a place that would traditionally be home to a starport. As he had positioned himself underneath the carrier and awaited Enrique and Chaz to join the others already there, he had studied the overview of the Phylent system on his starfighter's computer, discovering it to be home to a number of asteroid belts and planets. For the most part the system was uninhabited, though it was rich in raw materials, minerals and other elements. It occurred to him that the port would be favoured by those seeking their fortunes, typically frequented by miners and entrepreneurs.
It made him think back to the time before he had joined the Navy, when he had entertained dreams of mining asteroids for their raw content. He had been talked out of it by his father, who had told him horror stories of the incredible hard work, long hours and many terrific accidents that went hand in hand with such a life style. He still sometimes wondered if he may have managed to make enough money to retire after a couple of decades of hard labour. It didn't have to be anywhere fancy, but so long as he had enough cash to buy a bar on a laid back planet and become the proprietor, he would be happy.
“Preparing to engage cloak,” Estelle said, returning Dodds to reality.
“Think it'll work?” Enrique asked before their wing leader activated the system; it was obvious he was leaving Estelle out of this particular conversation.
“I heard about the last time they tried something like this and how it all went horribly wrong,” Kelly answered.
“It did?” said Dodds.
“If it does then she'll either end up several hundred miles away from here or she'll travel into the future.”
“That doesn't sound too bad,” Enrique said.
“Before coming back a few minutes later having either gone mad or become one with the ship.”
Dodds said nothing and just swallowed hard as Estelle activated the cloak. He found, however, that there was nothing for any of them to fear: the cloak worked just as Parks had described, and Estelle's fighter faded gracefully from view. Whilst his ATAF's radar could still detect and report the presence of an object in place of where Estelle once appeared, he could see nothing else.
After each of them had tested the system for themselves, Estelle confirmed to Parks that they had blanketed themselves from detection. Then, as one, the five invisible ATAFs slipped out from beneath the carrier and set off towards Arlos.
XVIII
— Of Daggers —
Sitting amongst a huddled group of blanket-wrapped men and women, Daniel Sullivan's suspicions that he was being watched and followed had been confirmed. A woman - he assumed it was, by the way she carried herself - also wrapped in a blanket against the small chill of the starport, had been hovering just out of sight for the last hour or so. The blanket rested on the top of her head, the folds enclosing her and hiding her face from sight. He was now aware that she had been tailing him as he walked around the port, whilst he had been attempting to find someone who was interested in his wares; his efforts so far having been met with disinterest and the occasional outburst of anger from those wishing to be left alone.
Usually the massive central hall of the starport was bustling, filled with all kinds of people: miners, resting from their labour; traders and couriers seeking work and contracts; and many, many travellers. Bright, animated signs, and warm inviting lights from coffee shops, pubs, various food bars and trading posts lining the walls created a welcoming ambience. Even in the most backwater star systems the familiar branding of intergalactic corporations provided the port's guests with a sense of home and comfort.
Laugher and chatter no longer filled the port, the signs of the shops were inanimate, and the doors were locked, never to be reopened. Many of the windows of the stores had been smashed and the contents looted. The central hall had been transformed into a sea of people, settled on the floor, bags and other personal belongings surrounding them. Young children lay asleep, cuddled up to their parents.
Sullivan found that, though the port was not bitterly cold, it could have been warmer. Keeping warm could be achieved either by wrapping up, consuming hot food and drink or by moving around. The scarred man opted for latter.
Standing up, he began to stride away from his stalker, partly to put distance between the two of them and partly to get away from the place. Though he had only arrived at the port hours earlier he'd already had enough of Arlos starport. It was time to move on and find another place to sell his spoils. Perhaps he'd have better luck in the inner systems of the Imperium; the frontier systems that he had visited so far had been almost devoid of life.
In the grand scheme of his chosen career, he could be considered a petty thief. He found smuggling, weapons trading and gang associations too much like hard work, and there were too many risks involved. The boarding of the vessel within Confederation space had been one of his biggest jobs in recent years, working alongside an ad-hoc group of others he had met in a dingy bar sometime ago. They had been useless, some succeeding in getting themselves killed even before boarding the ship. He had decided to cut his losses there and then, putting a round into the back of the heads of the survivors, before rigging up booby traps and fleei
ng with what he could.
That had not been a venture he had enjoyed; not something he was used to. Instead he preferred to focus on the things that were easiest to carry and dispose of, mostly stealing to order. The trades were quick, for the most part effortless, and low-key. Starports were his greatest outlet, travellers and entrepreneurs being his best customers. Today, however, Arlos had been a waste of time.
He started back toward the docking port he had left his ship in, with the intention of heading to the nearest jump gate and departing the system for greener and more lucrative pastures. Although for some reason he was having difficulty making headway deeper into Imperial space. The navigation buoys were oddly reluctant to provide him with the necessary data. He would dig through his ship's databanks and see if the previous owner, from whom he had so violently separated it, could be of any more help.
Glancing over his shoulder he noticed that his pursuer had also risen and was once again tailing him, although not as subtly this time as before. It was not the first time he had been followed when he was trading, but judging from the way the woman had kept her distance and her profile low she was not one of the usual suspects. At first he had thought her to be in the same line of work as he was himself: some found it easier to let someone like him do all the hard work, and then pounce on them in the middle of a transaction, relieving them of their hard-earned goods. Parasites; he hated them.
But this woman was far too cautious for that. He had dismissed the possibility that she was a bounty hunter, chasing the reward money for either his head or something he had stolen from the wrong person. If she had been then the pursuit would not have been such a slow, quiet affair - more noisy, violent and very quick. No, this was a new one to him and he could make few assumptions; though one thing he knew he could be certain of was that the woman had decided it was time to come out of hiding and was about to move in for the kill.
* * *
Clare Barber swept between the groups of people, settled on the floor around her. She watched her step as she did so, though she did not take her eyes off her target, who walked now with a greater purpose than just the wish to sell his haul and leave.
He still had the card, though. She had heard him enquire a couple of times in the past hour as to whether anyone would be interested in buying information. They weren't, of course; these people only wanted to get away.
It seemed to her that the man was either far too ignorant or far too arrogant to appreciate the terrible fate that had befallen the Imperium, and so it had come as little surprise to her that he was having difficulties in offloading his stock here. She thought it likely that he had, until some time ago, only operated in Confederation and Independent World star systems, returning to Imperial space now after attracting too much attention and needing to disappear for a while. If that was the case, he was not having much luck escaping unwanted attention here either.
He stopped walking and Barber, anticipating his next move, calmly reached inside the jacket she wore beneath the blanket and removed a pistol from within. Her finger clicked the safety off.
The man turned around, his and Barber's eyes meeting for the first time, his scowl telling her that he was not happy with being followed. Many scars covered his face, showing many permanent reminders of the cost of his chosen life style. His eyes seemed to tell terrible stories of all he had butchered whilst in the pursuit of that path. He presented a look that would have had many hastily reaching for their valuables, rather than incurring the pain and violence promised. Barber was immune: she had seen many more terrible things.
He sighed audibly before speaking. “
Though the man spoke in an Imperial dialect, Barber knew that he would understand everything she had to say to him. “You are carrying something I want,” she said, with equal calm. The pistol she gripped emerged from between the folds of the blanket that still enclosed her and she pointed it casually at the man's chest. “Hand over the data card. Nothing else, just the card. And do it slowly.” Her other hand slipped the blanket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind her.
Though she had her pistol in her hand, she was not about to approach and frisk the man herself. Her experience with people such as this raider had taught her that they could be slippery characters, unpredictable and desperate, and either very cunning or very stupid. It mattered little to Barber which of those he might be since, no matter what, she could be certain he would be very dangerous.
At the sight of the pistol people close to the pair started shifting, shuffling backward and clamouring to stand and escape the scene that was unfolding before them. Despite the sudden goings-on about her, Barber did not take her eyes off her target.
The man sneered, watching the people gathering up their belongings and trying to get loved ones to move out of the immediate area.
Barber's face remained stern. “I won't ask you again,” she warned. She could have shot him hours ago, but had refrained from doing so in case of a defensive knee-jerk reaction from one of those assembled in the immediate area, leading to her own death. She could no longer risk that the man might get away, though, and had taken the decision to confront him now.
The raider's eyes widened, but his sneer remained. “Well, if you want it so badly why don't you just come over here and take it?” he replied, reverting his dialect.
Barber straightened her arm, training the gun on the man's head, emphasising her point. The man's sneer disappeared, his face becoming serious. He reached into the coat he wore, his hand fumbling around in an inside pocket.
Barber tensed, anticipating the glint of a firearm and the need for her to react. The raider removed something and threw it at her feet, though it did not make the noise she was expecting: much louder and clunkier, and with a metallic clasping sound. The gasps and sudden cries about her confirmed her worries. She took her eyes off the man for just a moment to see, resting a little way in front of her, a tiny, flat octagonal device. A red light winked on the top of its dark grey surface, steadily growing faster and faster. It was a mini-mine, and it was about to explode.
Barber ran back, trying to keep an eye on the man as the device went off, fire, flames and smoke obscuring her vision. Through the haze she sighted him sprinting between the packs of people crowded together on the floor. Ignoring the screams of terror around her, Barber began a much more urgent pursuit of her target. The raider was fast, darting between groups and huddles, and hopping over bags, but Barber had few problems in keeping up. She kept a tight grip on her pistol as she ran, stopping every now and again to loose off a shot, none of which found their mark. The long coat the man wore flapped around as he zig-zagged, ducked and leapt about, concealing his form from her and making it much harder to know where to shoot.
She chased him for some time and soon had him cornered, the exit he had been making for unexpectedly closed. Barber had seen to that when she had followed him in, intending on minimising possible escape routes. He hammered at the button next to the exit, but it refused to open. She levelled her gun at his torso as he tried in vain to prise the door open where it met the wall, his fingers struggling to find anything to latch on to.
Barber had chosen a non-energy weapon for this assignment. Though an energy weapon was more effective, within the context of this fight it could destroy the data card she was after. Whilst she was aware that the impact of a bullet could also damage or destroy the card, the high amounts of energy dissipated by the impact of a plasma or other energy shot could cause destruction by proximity. And bullets served Barber's requirements just as well.
At the last second, just as Barber squeezed the trigger, the raider ducked along the side
of the adjoining wall, and the shot that had been intended for his heart slammed instead into his left shoulder. Barber fired once again, but with the raider still ducking the shot missed altogether, ripping through his coat and ricochetting off against the wall behind him. The third squeeze clicked on an empty chamber, the tiny digital counter on the top of the weapon flashing two zeroes.
“Bitch! I'll kill you!” her quarry cried out with a mixture of pain and anger, his right hand clasped around his bleeding shoulder. Barber saw him swing around and aim his own weapon. It looked like a laser pistol.
Barber ducked down close to an assembled family who panicked at the sudden realisation they were now in the line of fire. The raider appeared to be left handed, or at least held the weapon with his left, and with his shoulder wounded his aim was far from true. The first shot cleanly missed its intended target, as well as everything else, the thin red beam striking the floor behind Barber, letting off sparks and leaving a scorch mark at the point of impact. The second and third shots found targets, neither of which were Barber. The first felled a man, hitting him square in the forehead. The beam passed straight through his skull, leaving a small hole in the front and back of his head before striking the ground behind. The second struck a mother in the hand as she reached across to grab her daughter, and the little girl screamed in horror as three severed fingers fell into her lap.
Following his unsuccessful attempts to down his target, the raider lunged forward with his outstretched right hand, and yanked a young woman up off the floor by her long hair, just as Barber prepared to raise her gun once more. The man held the screaming woman in front of himself, shaking her head and shouting at her in the Imperial dialect he had spoken to Barber in. At first he placed his gun against the woman's temple, before he lowered his quivering arm and rested it across her shoulder for support.
Barber felt no pity for the dead man or maimed woman, they were nothing more to her than collateral damage. However, to shoot the innocent woman held by the raider as a human shield went against her code of conduct and her own moral values. Even though the Confederacy had pressed upon her the tremendous importance of the data card she was after, there were some things she refused to do.