The Honour of the Knights (First Edition)

by Stephen Sweeney

  The sudden appearance of the Knights sent a ripple of shock to down the line and a man close to the group shot to his feet, screaming in terror. He stumbled and ran down the corridor as fast as he could, pushing aside a woman who was also trying to escape.

  “What the hell was his problem? Did we spook him or something?” Dodds said as they watched the man who had leapt to his feet round a corner on his continuing quest to escape whatever it was that had scared him. The remainder crawled backwards down the corridor, eyes fixed on the five people that had just entered the port, terror etched into all their faces. It was as if they had just seen their worst nightmare step through the airlock.

  “Beats me. Maybe he thinks he owes Chaz money,” Enrique said, looking around at the big man with amusement.

  Chaz said nothing, his face stern and his eyes sweeping over the groups of people. “Let's go,” he said, pushing the others gently aside and starting off down the corridor. “We've got to find Barber, get that data card, and get back to Griffin.”

  A stunned Dodds watched him go. He exchanged a confused look with Estelle, who was wearing her own muddled expression. The people on either sides of Chaz backed away as he passed them, the often silent man not giving them a second glance. Dodds, Estelle and Kelly looked around at Enrique, who shrugged.

  “Hey, look: he might talk to me more than anyone else, but that doesn't mean that I know what goes on in that head of his,” Enrique said almost inaudibly, not taking his eyes off the big man. “Don't go expecting me to provide all the answers.”

  “Come on,” Estelle said, following Chaz down the corridor, passing by the people who were now trying to crush themselves into the walls.

  “” a woman pleaded as she tried to move further back than the wall would allow.

  “What did she say?” Dodds asked Enrique.

  “Sounds like she was speaking some sort of Imperial,” Enrique said, looking at the woman.

  “Either of you guys understand any Imperial dialects?” Dodds asked of Estelle and Kelly.

  “Just ignore them,” Estelle said, striding around the corner and through a set of doors. She stopped in the doorway, where Chaz had also stopped.

  Dodds walked up behind the pair and peered around them. “Ah. We might be here a while.” A sea of people lay before them, occupying almost every inch of floor that could be found.

  The five pilots stepped into the central main hall of the starport, many heads snapping around to take note of the new arrivals. Dodds noticed that the White Knights received the same reaction from groups of people in the hall as they had done in the corridor, with many of those close by pushing themselves further back. Some sprang to their feet and moved away, appearing to not trust the new arrivals. It was obvious the man who had fled the corridor had passed through here already, putting everyone on edge.

  “You're right, Dodds. Something's spooked these guys pretty bad,” Kelly said as they began walking aimless between huddles, the search for Barber temporarily forgotten. The people gathered about did not take their fearful eyes off the Knights for one second.

  “What's this all about?” Dodds asked, looking all about the huddles of people. “Are they all waiting for transit or something?”

  “Yeah, and what's with all the bags? They look like refugees...” Enrique said. He stopped walking.

  Dodds stopped and turned to him. “Just like that guy said last night...” The realisation of what he was looking at dawned on him. Links were beginning to form from the conversation he now remembered. Refugees, secret projects, genocide... “Didn't he say that the Empire had been completely wiped out?”

  “What are you two talking about?” Kelly asked.

  “Last night whilst we were playing poker, this guy said that the Empire had been destroyed, that the civil war actually ended years ago, and that all that were left were a load of refugees.”

  “But... we just went up against Imperial forces when we attempted to take back Dragon,” Kelly said, appearing a little concerned.

  Dodds shook his head. “Those weren't them.”

  Estelle's irate demeanour appeared to have all but abandoned her for the time being. She then scowled. “Wait, what are you talking about? Kelly's right. Pay no attention to him. The Empire hasn't been wiped out!”

  “Estelle, you were there! What happened in that battle wasn't... well, it wasn't normal. I don't know who they were, but those were not Imperial pilots in those fighters. None of us would have survived that battle if we'd not been in the ATAFs.”

  Estelle folded her arms, but did not argue with him further.

  Dodds couldn't shake the feeling that he had his head in the lion's mouth. He looked again at the groups of people on the ground, some meeting his eyes before turning away, even those who looked as though they could handle themselves. “We'd better get on with this and get out of here,” he concluded.

  “How?” Enrique said. “How are we going to be able to locate Barber amongst all these people. She doesn't know we're coming, and like Parks said she's hardly likely to be jumping up and down waving to us.”

  Dodds' eyes swept over the groups and huddles, then turned back to his team mates, seeing none of them looking very optimistic. Even Chaz, who had been the first to step forward, seemed taken aback and a little out of his depth. There must have been hundreds of people in the main hall alone and, to make matters worse, a few sets of stairs at one end led up to another floor above. How many more floors were there? How many pockets would they have to search?

  “You know what? How about we just ask someone if they've seen her,” Dodds suggested. He broke from his team mates, making his way over to a man he had singled out at random.

  “Dodds...” Estelle started.

  “Estelle, it's cool, I've got it,” Dodds said. “I'm just going to ask if they've seen her.”

  “Be careful,” Estelle called after him.

  Dodds looked back over his shoulder with what he hoped was a confident smile. The man he walked towards was sat crossed legged on the floor, hunched over a bowl of noodles, two chopsticks clasped in his hand. He glanced up as Dodds approached him, a look of fear spreading across his features. He shuffled backward as Dodds drew closer and began shaking his head before turning his full attention back to his food, not wishing to make eye contact.

  “Hi, how you doing?” Dodds began. “I'm looking for a woman... er... girl? You know... not a man?” He gestured towards men and women as he spoke, hoping to make it clear which gender he was after.

  “” the man spluttered back at him. His hands started to shake and he tried to continue eating, unable to manipulate the sticks enough to grasp the food in the bowl.

  Dodds looked around at Estelle who shrugged with puzzlement, not understanding either. He tried again, “She's a bit shorter than me, long black hair...”

  “” the man spluttered again, before casting his bowl in Dodds' direction. He struggled to his feet, pushing aside those behind him in a bid to escape. His bowl of noodles clattering to the ground, spilling its warm contents across the white marble tiled floor. The Knights watched as he left, other refugees nearby moving closer to one another and a bit further back from the five pilots.

  “This isn't going to be easy,” Enrique said. Estelle was in agreement. They were going to have to apply a little more effort if they hoped to locate their contact amongst all these people.

  “We'll just have to search for someone who is a little more cooperative,” Estelle said. “Split up and see if you can find someone who is more willing to talk. We'll try this central area first and then move on into the other parts of the port. If any of you get into any sort of trouble, shout and we'll come get you. The moment you find out anything I want to know. Don't do anything without me, that's an order. Let's go, people. The sooner we find the agent, the sooner we can leave and get back to Griffin.”

 
; XX

  — Hawke's Ambition —

  On the bridge of Ifrit, helmsman Alan Cox stood waiting patiently as an engineer took a look at his console. It was not behaving as it should: the touch sensitive surface seeming to be off by a few inches. Every time he tapped at the screen there was a chance that a different control to the one he wanted might be activated. He had started to become concerned when some of the more delicate operations he needed to perform while the carrier continued to search for the missing Griffin became more difficult to execute. For a time he had traded places with the controller across from him, so that he could continue his duty. But now the carrier was holding position, pausing in its search, he had taken the opportunity to have the problem dealt with.

  “Looks like one of the calibration relay nodes has given out,” the engineer said from beneath the console, pulling out a small circuit board.

  “Do you have a spare?” Cox asked, toying with a screwdriver the engineer had used to remove the bottom panel of the console.

  “Plenty. I can go and get one and be back up soon. Shouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes. Do you need it urgently?”

  “So-so,” the navigator replied. “The captain has ordered us to hold position here. According to him Griffin should be somewhere close by. But so far we haven't detected anything, not even on the long range scanners.”

  The way Hawke had been acting had set Cox on edge. He had voiced these concerns with some of the other crew once his captain had departed the bridge, on his way to his private office to receive a communication that had come in from CSN HQ. Though they did not talk for long, it became evident that the rest of the crew shared his feelings.

  Upon his return, Hawke had ordered that they jump to an adjoining star system in which they would at last find Griffin. Within minutes of Ifrit arriving at its destination, the commodore had once again departed.

  Following the allied forces' failed attempt to retake Dragon, and the unusual disappearance of Griffin, Hawke had ordered Meyers to return to Spirit alone. He had then taken Ifrit and begun a systematic sweep of the nearest adjacent star systems to Aster, in case Griffin had become stranded in one of those. But though they had hunted for many hours their search had turned up nothing, the likelihood of finding Griffin close by diminishing with each system they came too.

  It was as they scanned their fifth system that Hawke had received the message from naval headquarters. It had informed him that Griffin had been located and, as luck would have it, was drifting in a star system alongside the one they were currently scanning. Hawke had ordered that Ifrit make that their destination. But upon arriving the crew had been greeted by nothing except another empty system, the only highlight of the region being the twisted hues of the nebulas that were so prominent in that part of the galaxy. Hawke had returned to his private office to watch the message again so as to, as he had put it, “ensure that he had not made a mistake”.

  After his lack of commitment to the previous battle, the crew were beginning to question his command. Cox was not about to challenge the man's authority, however; the thought of a stay in the brig and a court-martial were not high on his list of priorities.

  “Are you sure we're in the right place?” the engineer wanted to know, emerging from beneath and console and looking out the thick glass windows of Ifrit's main viewport to the empty space beyond. “You could have punched the wrong destination into the console? Wouldn't be surprising the way this thing is so out of whack.”

  “I was using that one,” said Cox, indicating the console across from his own.

  “Maybe I should check that one too?” the engineer suggested.

  At that moment Cox heard the bridge lift doors open and looking around he saw Hawke come striding down the long aisle, people on either side turning in anticipation of what Ifrit's captain would say about the situation.

  “Sir,” Cox requested his captain's attention. “We've performed a full sweep of the system and we've not been able to detect Griffin. Either it's not here or we're in the wrong place.”

  “No, Lieutenant, we're exactly where we need to be,” Hawke answered him, eyes focused on the space ahead of him, not shifting his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the man who had spoken.

  “Sir...” Cox tried to engage Hawke once more.

  “Wait, Lieutenant,” was all that Hawke said.

  Cox turned and looked at the engineer, who gave a slight shrug. It appeared to him that Hawke was watching for something. Cox heard confused whispers being exchanged across the length of the bridge, many seeking an explanation for Hawke's statement. The answer came in the form a number of consoles that all started to wail.

  “Captain, jump points forming!” a woman's voice called out. “We've got incoming on the port, stern... All sides, sir!” She, as did many others, looked to Hawke for the course of action to take. But despite what he had just been told, the man did not so much as even flinch. Hawke stood still, watching ahead of him as a large jump point swirled into existence. From out of it slipped the dagger-like form of Dragon, the enormous Confederation battleship slowing as it drew itself up to Ifrit.

  During the previous battle Ifrit had held back from the action, granting Cox only the merest of suggestions as to the tremendous size of the battleship. Now, with the hulking mass of Dragon bearing down upon them, Cox found himself wishing he could once again be much further away; the other side of the galaxy preferably.

  “Captain, radars indicate a number of Imperial frigates have exited jump points and are on approach vectors,” the same woman reported.

  Hawke said nothing.

  “Captain, I suggest we put full power to shields, arm weaponry and prepare to withdraw from the system,” Lucas Short, Hawke's second in command, said.

  “Stand down!” Hawke spun around, addressing the crew for the first time since returning to the bridge. Cox, stood the closest to the man, subconsciously backed up. Hawke's eyes were alight, almost daring anyone to challenge him. “We're completely surrounded! We make any sign of aggression and they will blow this ship to pieces!”

  For a moment Cox did not know what they should be more afraid of: the arrival of Dragon and a host of Imperial warships, or Commodore Hawke. He turned worried eyes in the direction of the engineer who had backed off a lot more himself.

  “Sir, Dragon is requesting communication,” the operative of the console adjacent to Cox's said.

  “Grant it,” Hawke said.

  A holographic screen sprung up at the front of the bridge moments later. The screen showed a man whom none of the crew failed to recognise, having seen his face not hours earlier that morning during the mission briefing.

  “This is Fleet Admiral Zackaria of the Imperial Senate battleship, Dragon,” began the highly decorated man on the holographic projection. “You will surrender immediately. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded.” Zackaria's face was impassive throughout his brief speech.

  “As you wish, Admiral,” Hawke said. Zackaria's statement was short, but to the point, and Hawke made no attempt whatsoever to argue against it.

  Cox felt his blood freeze as Hawke turned to look straight at him. There was something about the look in his eyes; as if all humanity had been stripped clean. Cox fought an urge to flee and escape the unwanted attention.

  “Relay the order that we are to receive boarders. All crew are to stand down. We are to give Admiral Zackaria full, unchallenged access to the ship.”

  “Sir, my console...” Cox somehow managed.

  Hawke's eyes lowered, seeing the panel beneath lying open on the floor. He looked to a man sat at the console across from Cox's.

  “Mr Parsons...” Hawke said.

  “Captain, might I suggest that we take immediate actions to...” Short interrupted.

  “We are surrounded, Mr Short,” Hawke flared. He looked again to the man he had addressed as Parsons. “Relay the order to stand down.”

  Parsons hesitated for a moment and then did as he was ordered, his
voice issuing from speakers and echoing down the numerous corridors of the ship.

  Cox began to wonder if this was some sort of ruse, designed to lure the Imperial admiral over to the carrier where he could be dealt with. If it was, it was a particularly dangerous one, with no apparent room for error.

  “Lower shields,” Hawke ordered.

  “Bow quadrant?” came the reluctant answer.

  “All shields,” Hawke said.

  The image of Zackaria remained patient and still in the hologram, waiting for the acknowledgement that the Confederation carrier had complied with his request.

  “Shields lowered,” Cox heard, his heart beat starting to increase. He fingered the screwdriver he still held, his grip tightening on it.

  “You're free to come aboard, Admiral,” Hawke prompted to Zackaria, who terminated the communication without another word.

  Moments later, from out the frontal viewport, Cox saw transport craft begin to depart Dragon, swinging themselves around from the launch bays running along the side of the battleship, and heading towards Ifrit. At first it appeared that only three shuttles were making their way over. It then became apparent that the enemy forces intended to fill every last inch of the carrier with their ranks; the three becoming five, then seven, then ten as the numbers built up.

  Out of the corners of the bridge's thick glass window Cox spied two Imperial frigates, hovering closed by. He looked to a display further up the bridge: Ifrit's radar told the whole story, indicating that the carrier was surrounded by a total of six frigates; three on each side. Not that their presence was required. Dragon needed no assistance. He swallowed and felt a chill run down his spine.

  Hawke turned his back on the crew, to instead follow the progress of the transports that were streaming from the former Confederation flagship. As he did so, Cox glanced down the aisle of the bridge. He noticed that Short had begun to whisper with two others sitting close to him, peeking at the commodore who was staring out at the enormous battleship that rested so close to them. He assumed they had come to the same conclusion as he: this was no ruse. Whatever the man was planning it did not appear to involve the capture of Zackaria. Whether he intended to bargain with him, whether it be with the crew or the carrier, matters could not be allowed to progress any further. He watched as they conferred for some time before they all nodded in agreement and prepared to make their move.