by Paul Barrett
Hawk slumped back, his head resting against the side of the pool. “I know.”
“You need to start living again. It’s been five years. The Sara you knew is gone.”
“Don’t say that,” Hawk whispered, “I…” he couldn’t continue.
“It’s true. There are times I wish I had truly died that day because of all the pain I’ve caused you. If I had known you would suffer for all these years, I never would have fought so hard to come back. If I had died that day, you would have mourned me for a time and then gone on with your life. I’m happy to still be a part of your life, and I want you to be happy. It hurts me to see you so self-destructive. You are not the same man I fell in love with.”
Hawk looked over at the bottle, thinking back over the past years: his sudden fondness for drinking, the one-night stands, the almost suicidal way in which he threw himself into things. “I have changed, haven’t I?”
“Yes. And not for the better.”
Hawk felt a bitter smile on his lips, hearing the simple truth from Sara. He replaced the bottle cap.
“I think you’re going to be spared the pain of telling them,” Sara said.
“What do you mean?”
“Wolf is telling the crew about us.”
“What?” Hawk yelled, standing. He started out of the pool, sending water sloshing to the deck.
“Sit down.” Anger tinged Sara’s voice. Hawk stopped, shocked.
In a softer voice, she continued. “There’s no reason to be mad at Wolf. He’s doing what should have been done years ago. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. I gave him permission.”
His shoulders sagging, Hawk slumped back into the warm water. They said nothing else as Hawk lay there; conflicting emotions—anger, regret, self-loathing—washed through him.
He had no idea how much time passed; seconds, minutes, hours. As he thought, remembering the past, both good and bad, one thought rose to the top of his muddled contemplation and stood above his all-too-clear memories.
For five years, ever since that terrible day, he had wallowed in self-pity, hiding it behind a bottle and reckless abandon. Though he was the leader of the Knights, he hadn’t been acting like much of a commander. His slipshod attitude was affecting not only the Knights’ reputation but the crew as well. They had managed, with skill, talent, and a little luck, to get out of the situations his flaws had gotten them into. He knew that would only get them so far. Skill and talent ebbed, and luck ran out. It was time to return to using his brains, and he couldn’t do that through a cloud of liquor and misery.
“Okay, Sara, you win.” He stood up purposefully and grabbed the half-empty bottle. Striding to the trash receptacle, he dropped the bottle and pushed the small red button on the side. There was a whoosh of air and Hawk smiled. He could almost hear the bottle breaking as it landed in the large garbage hold. He had told himself many times before that he would quit drinking, and every time something had pushed him back into the corner, shoved him beneath the bottle. There would be no setbacks this time. He had slogged through the worst and lived to tell about it. Enough people had disappeared from his life. I’ll be damned if I’m going to disappear on myself. “Crew meeting in fifteen minutes, Ship. It’s time to get our act back together.”
“Aye, Captain,” Sara answered.
Catching her tone, Hawk smiled and got dressed.
What’s wrong?” Wolf asked as Laura entered the wardroom on the verge of tears.
She looked at him as she walked over to a chair and sat down. “Something’s wrong with Hawk.”
“You mean aside from his penchant for going berserk at a moment’s notice?” Ashron asked.
At Laura’s puzzled stare, Ashron quickly recounted their grisly discovery in the dungeons of Meta Brévé and Hawk’s subsequent violent outburst. “I would have done the same thing, but I would have kept someone alive and made them tell us what they knew and what they were trying to do.”
“Hawk already knows what they were trying to do,” Wolf told him. “As do I.”
When it became apparent Wolf wasn’t going to say any more without prompting, Laura said, “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Ship, with your permission.”
“Certainly,” Ship said. “It’s time the air was cleared anyway. I’ll get Gerard and Trey.”
Laura and Ashron exchanged a perplexed look, and then gazed back at Wolf. Ashron started to speak.
“Wait for the other two,” Wolf said.
After a minute, Gerard and Trey walked in.
“What’s up?” Trey asked, leaning against the doorway.
Wolf looked at Ashron, Laura, and Trey. “I guess it’s time you three knew something about the Knights before you joined, so I’m going to give you a history lesson.”
“You mean you’re actually going to speak more than two sentences in a five-minute period?” Ashron asked.
“Yes.”
“Grab a seat, Trey. This could be good.”
“Some of this you may already know,” Wolf began. “Hawk and Moran were friends from childhood, having grown up under the care of the same man.”
“Tahorton,” Ashron interjected. “Hawk told me about him.”
“You mean Hawk is an orphan, too?” Trey asked.
“Not like you were,” Wolf answered. “His mother died when he was seven. His father didn’t die until five years ago.”
“So why did he live with this other man?”
“His father used him as a bet in a poker game and lost him.”
“Lost him?” Trey asked. “You mean he just gave him away?”
“Yes. According to Hawk, his father was happy to do it.”
Laura spoke up. “I remember Hawk telling me that he would never forget the look on his father’s face. The bastard was grinning.”
Trey squirmed and moved closer to Laura.
Wolf continued. “Hawk went to live with Tahorton, and he met Moran and the other boys who lived there. According to Hawk, he and Moran instantly became friends.”
“Not a great surprise if you knew Moran before he went insane,” Gerard said. “He was a very genial person.”
“Using the skills Tahorton drilled into them, they both made it into Force 13. Hawk quickly showed his aptitude and was given a chance to form his own C5 unit, although he was able to talk them into letting him get seven members.”
“Why seven?” Trey asked.
“He talked it over with Moran, and they decided on seven. They were both romantics at heart…”
“Hawk a romantic?” Ashron snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a three-headed Gundite.”
“There is a slight resemblance,” Laura said.
Wolf glared at Ashron and Laura.
“Please continue,” Ashron told him.
“They were both romantics, so they named their group the Knights of The Flaming Star. Zerus, a star in the night sky where they lived, was the inspiration for the name. It’s a red star with seven points; there appears to be fire leaping off of it in the night. That’s why they wanted seven members, so there would be one for each point.
“The original members were Hawk, Moran, Gerard, Sara, Terafin, Alexander and me. After two years working with Force 13, Hawk talked them into letting us work as mercenaries when we weren’t on assignments.
“We started out small. Over the years we managed to build up a reputation as honest, expedient, and proficient; traits not always easy to find in mercenary units. Ship had been a gift from Tahorton, bequeathed when he died. Things were going well for the Knights, but even then there was tension between Hawk and Moran. They both had definite ideas about how things should be run. And then there was Sara.”
“Sara? Hawk’s never mentioned anyone named Sara,” Laura said.
“No, I don’t imagine he would,” Gerard said.
Wolf continued. “Sara was the medical officer before Laura and the main source of contention between Hawk and Moran. They both loved her; she wasn’t at all interested in M
oran. I’m sure that’s what ended up driving him over the edge.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re about to hear a Shakespearean tragedy?” Ashron asked.
“Because you are,” Wolf said, letting the humor fall flat. “Her last mission was on a planet much like Meta-Brévé, six months after Hawk had kicked Moran out of the Knights.”
“Last mission?” Trey said. “Did she retire?” he asked, without much hope.
“No,” Wolf said. “The mission was fairly standard, as such things go. A group of dukes had taken hostage of the king and his heirs. The corporation who hired us had contracts with this king to mine the planet’s resources, so they wanted this king alive and in power. We were sent in to extradite them and eliminate the threat. Since Hawk, Sara, and Alex were the only humans, they would go into the castle alone. The rest of us would be too conspicuous.”
“If the rest of us had been there,” Gerard said, “things might have gone differently.”
Nodding in agreement, Wolf began his story.
Hawk glided across the floor, careful to avoid the roaming eyes of the guards on the balcony. Sara moved in unison with him. As they approached the door, he held up his hand and signaled to her. She nodded her head.
He hated these low-tech missions. A robust communications rig was so much easier than hand signals and vocal imitations of local wildlife. But one learned to take the good with the bad. Hawk had signaled he wanted ten seconds, so Sara waited ten seconds and threw the flash powder grenade toward the back of the hallway. It landed and fired off with a roar and a burst of brilliant white light. It distracted the balcony guards, allowing Hawk and Sara to enter the chamber room unnoticed, and it was a signal for Alex to move in.
Hawk kicked open the door and walked in. When he saw what lay before him, he stopped. Sara moved in behind him and gasped.
Moran sat on the throne, dressed in his full Knight uniform, black with red flashing. A loaded crossbow rested in his lap, and four dead bodies lay on the floor: the King and his two sons lay to one side, and at Moran’s feet rested the thin, pale body of Alex.
Stunned, Hawk barely heard the sound of rattling armor as the guards moved in behind them, cutting off their escape.
“What have you done?” he asked. His friend had betrayed him and killed one of their crew. Hawk could not have said which twisted his stomach more, Alex’s death or Moran’s betrayal.
“Alex never could keep his mouth shut,” Moran said. “He mentioned this little mission to me when I saw him a few weeks ago, so I told your employer’s competition about it. They were very interested. By the way, I hereby consider this a formal separation of the Knights,” Moran stood up, stepping over the bodies. “You know, assassination pays much better than extradition.”
“We had a code, damn you,” Hawk said.
“What code?” Moran threw back at him. “The only code I saw was we went to the highest bidder and then justified our actions with some twisted philosophy about justice and morality. That’s all I’ve done. These three were despotic weaklings who deserved to die, and I found someone willing to pay me to do it.”
“What about Alex?” Hawk asked. “What was his crime?”
Moran shrugged. “He tried to stop me.”
“And who is your employer going to put in place of those three?” Sara asked. “Some corporate puppet.”
“Of course not, darling. I’m going to rule.”
“You?”
“Yes. I’m going to be king.” He looked at Sara; the madness in his eyes softened. “I would like for you to be my queen.”
Sara stared back at him. “You really are insane, aren’t you? I would rather die than be your queen.”
Moran grabbed the crossbow and pointed it at Hawk. “Would you rather he die? Come here, or I’ll put this through his heart.”
Sara stepped in front of Hawk. “You’ll have to send it through me first.”
Moran looked at her, his face a mask of anguish that slowly twisted into insanity. “So be it.”
He fired.
Hawk screamed as the bolt sunk into Sara’s chest. The force of the impact knocked her back. Hawk caught her as she fell to the floor, the color draining from her face. She looked at Hawk. “I…” she started. She gasped and collapsed in Hawk’s arms.
“Guards, take him alive,” Moran said.
In one fluid motion, Hawk stood, drew a dagger, and threw it. It whistled end over end. Moran ducked; the knife still smashed into his eye. It struck hilt first; there was a popping sound as his eye was crushed. Viscous blood poured from the socket.
Screaming, Moran put his hand over the gaping hole. “Kill him!”
The armored guards drew their swords. Without even looking back at them, Hawk raised his left hand and uttered three words. Flame leaped from his hand and shot back into the courtyard. The heat incinerated five of the seven guards. The other two ran.
Hawk, blood pounding in his ears, drew his sword and rushed toward Moran. With almost inhumanly quick speed, he leaped through the air, slashing at Moran’s head. Moran raised his left arm to ward off the blow. The sword bit into flesh and Moran’s arm parted from his body, severed at the elbow.
Blood gushed from the separated limb as Moran screamed. Hawk pulled the sword back, preparing for another swing. Moran raised his right arm and fired a shot from the palm blaster concealed in his hand. The bright blue beam struck Hawk square in the chest. It caught him off balance and sent him tumbling to the floor on his back.
Moran ran behind the throne and struck a hidden switch. With a soft grinding sound, a portal revealed itself in the wall as the stone panel slid aside.
The throne burst apart in a spray of splintered wood and shredded cushion, destroyed by a blast of aetheric power from Hawk. Before he ran down the secret hallway, Moran glanced back. Hawk stood, sword in hand, arm extended, a smoking black hole in the breastplate of his armor. The steel suit had absorbed most of the blast from Moran’s weak weapon.
Moran fled into the hallway, tripping the switch that resealed the secret door.
“Moran!” Hawk screamed at the top of his voice as the secret door slid shut. He started to run forward. The force of the blaster, coupled with the drain from the energy bolt he had fired, disoriented him. He stopped for a second as his internal senses realigned, then continued toward the wall, passing through tufts of padding floating in the air.
Hawk wasted no time looking for a switch. He swung his sword at the wall, infusing the blade with a burst of aetheric energy as it struck. Mortar shattered and the stones tumbled outward from the force of the blow. Hawk continued the swing downward until the blade hit the floor, burying itself three inches into the stone. A two-foot-wide ragged gash lay before him; he stepped through. He saw nothing of Moran but a trail of blood marking his path. With grim determination, Hawk started forward. A sound stopped him cold.
A gasp of pain.
All thoughts of Moran fled as he realized Sara still lived. Dropping his sword, he dashed back and knelt beside her. Her eyes were open, and she smiled weakly as she saw him.
“Hi, lover,” she said, coughing at the effort. A trickle of blood ran from her mouth.
“Shhh,” Hawk said, lifting her from the floor. A grimace of pain crossed Sara’s face, and she closed her eyes. As delicately but quickly as possible, Hawk headed for the castle’s exit.
Sara opened her eyes one last time and said, “I love you, Sean.” She closed her eyes; her body went limp.
Tears ran down Hawk’s face as he continued forward, hoping against hope that he could still save her.
As he crossed the courtyard, Hawk saw a whole platoon of soldiers standing in front of the drawbridge that led to the outside of the castle. One man stood in front, the markings on his armor declaring him as a sergeant.
“Stand where you are and…” the man started. He never got to finish.
Hawk spoke an equation that projected all his anger and grief at the thirty men before him. The sergeant stopp
ed, a startled expression on his face. As one, the soldiers dropped their weapons and reached up, clutching their heads with their hands. As one, their heads exploded, and their lifeless bodies toppled to the ground. Hawk crossed the gore-stained courtyard and left the castle.
Tears ran down Hawk’s face as he struggled back to his hidden ship. He lost any hope he could save Sara from death. It was taking too long. Her body grew cold in his arms. Hope gave way to despair. Despair soon gave way to an idea, an idea that could save her. An idea that bordered on being both insane and blasphemous. His grief quickly seized upon it and would not release it from his mind.
Despite his blind stumbling, Hawk eventually found his way back to the vessel. In the intervening kilometers, the tenebrous strands of his idea had welded themselves into a firm conviction. He could save her. To do so, he would have to attempt something that, to his knowledge, had never been done. There were rumors of complex equations, formulas too difficult for most minds to comprehend, but nothing had ever been confirmed.
As he entered the ship, the others gasped as they saw the dead body of their companion. They tried to question Hawk. He ignored them and walked past, heading for the medical room. He had made up his mind. If he stopped to explain, his resolve might weaken, and he would never again find the courage.
He closed and locked the door on them, leaving their questions unanswered and their pleas unheeded.
He lay Sara gently on the bed and removed the bolt from her chest. As he bandaged the wound, he mentally prepared himself. Not for the actual act, but for the consequences of what would follow.
Putting his hands over her heart and head, he concentrated. Her soul had already fled; he planned to bring it back. He would open a hole to the aether and, by sheer force of will, use it to infuse life into her body.
He spoke the first equation learned by every manipulator: the invocation that created the link between the aether and the mind. He spoke it again, widening the breach and bringing in more power. He spoke it again. And again. His head pounded as energy surged through him, almost too much for his mind to contain. The creatures of the aetheric plane glided at the edge of his vision, silent and ravenous.