by J Porteous
Carl made his way through the corridors of the War Goddess, the stuffy atmosphere of the cockpit dropping away to a dry heat. Sherlock stood solid in the drop bay, already tooled up with a crowd shield on top of his standard mercenary rifle. Carl could not help but feel insignificant when it came to the armoury master, whose hulking mass dwarfed him.
Sherlock glanced at him as he entered, a small laugh escaping him. 'That really doesn't fit very well.'
'No shit,' Carl mumbled under his breath.
'How's the armoury looking, Sherlock?' Hawke asked as he pulled on his helmet.
'Ready,' the Byracinth grunted, carrying his rifle and shield as if they were weightless. 'Goban, you'll be needing these.' He shoved the crowd shield into Carl's arms, laughing again as he watched Carl lurch under the sudden weight.
'Thanks.' Carl tried to hide the strain in his face as he lifted it. Laughter from around the drop bay confirmed that Sherlock was not the only person watching.
Hawke shook his head at the sight of Carl struggling then turned to the rest of the crew. 'Keep it low key. Shields only at first.' He pushed a fresh clip into his rifle with a satisfying clunk. 'Better to be safe than sorry though.'
Carl noticed something unfamiliar stood in the corner of the room. It was a hospitality Synth, or at least it used to be.
The wiry form of Watts walked towards him, snapping up the green visor of his ever present helmet as he approached. 'She's beautiful, isn't she?' he said, nodding towards the inanimate Synth. 'Found her on a scrap heap back at Calanz while you were chatting contracts with Hawke.'
Something was not right about it. A standard Synth took a basic humanoid shape, but this one was bulked out, with welded on weapons protruding unhealthily from it. 'You've done something to it?' Carl said, stepping towards the Synth and looking it over.
'Oh, I have,' Watts replied, almost tripping over his own feet as he rushed across the drop bay towards it. 'Scrap plastron has been welded on, twin grenade launchers fitted and a couple of sluggers added too.'
'It's a modded hospitality Synth,' Justinia said, securing her helmet. 'More used to cleaning a mess up, not making it.'
Watts snorted. 'Don't pay attention to the Lieutenant, Goban,' he said. He placed a loving hand on the Synth. 'She can kick ass with the best of them.'
'We'll see about that,' Justinia said quietly.
'Stop your bickering,' Hawke barked. He nodded to Watts. 'Get that ramp down and let's get this done.'
Watts slammed his fist into the button that operated the drop bay ramp. The door hissed as the pneumatic seals fell out of place. Metal squealed painfully as the door dropped down and became a ramp to the surface of the planet.
Carl screwed his face at the achingly bright sunlight that spilled into the darkness of the drop bay, waiting for the auto-tint of his combat visor to adjust to the sudden change. A mass of bodies came into focus, dressed in little more than rags, surrounding the War Goddess in every direction. A harsh wind whipped across the dry surface of the planet, partially obscuring the crowd through a haze of fine sand.
Watts turned to the Synth. 'Ask them to let us through, will you?'
The Synth walked forward haphazardly into the sunlight, still figuring out where the extra weight had come from and how best to balance it. It staggered for a moment, before adjusting its gait and striding confidently out towards the gathered swarm. Stones flew from the crowd, bouncing off of the armour plating. The crowd surged forward, their angry shouts growing in volume.
'Please desist,' the Synth said, amplifying its polite voice over the crowd. 'It would be most unfortunate if we came to a disagreement.'
A man in tattered clothing broke away from the crowd, storming towards the Synth. He yelled a lone battle cry as he leapt forward, jamming his spear into the Synth's armour. The spear snapped clean in half on impact. Silence fell over the crowd as the man stood before the machine, unsure of what to do next.
The Synth paused for a second, measuring the situation, then looked towards the man. Its voice crackled, changing from the familiar and pleasant tone. 'Uncooperative subject. Crowd control required.' Deep thuds resonated through the ground as the shoulder-mounted grenade launchers fired tear gas canisters into the surrounding crowd. Thick plumes of smoke joined the already present haze to swallow the crowd from view.
Hawke turned to Watts. 'It's a keeper alright.' He turned back to the rest of the crew. 'Sherlock, fall in with Watts next to me.' Sherlock and Watts fell into a line beside Hawke, their crowd shields interlocking to form a formidable wall of metal. Hawke glanced back. 'Justinia, Rookie, watch our backs.' They advanced slowly out onto the surface of Beledar Four, the smoke from the tear canisters starting to clear.
'Keep close and do as I do,' Justinia said, pulling Carl in towards her. 'Keep your eyes open and don't be afraid to batter these primitives if they get too close.'
Carl managed a nod back, struggling between carrying the weighty crowd shield and keeping an eye on the rest of the group. He stepped forward into his first planet-side deployment. Keep it together, he told himself. You've been through this plenty of times in training. You've got this.
Carl surged forward behind the squad, stepping over choking bodies as he moved towards the Harathdan ship. Looking above the edge of his shield, he could see some of the crowd regrouping and swarming in again only to be met by the crushing force of the heavy shields. They broke themselves upon the shields in a few waves before regrouping again.
Carl watched Hawke as he angled his shield at a young man who charged towards him, barely in his late teens. Hawke brought the edge of the shield up, breaking the boy's nose in a cloud of blood. He pushed the shield forward, throwing the limp rag doll to the ground before moving onto the next person who dared to move towards the group. Something burned in Hawke's eyes as Carl watched. Not vengeance, not determination, just unbridled anger, burning in the pits of his eyes like smouldering coals. Something grabbed him and shook him. He spun around to face his attacker.
'Rookie,' Justinia growled. She shoved him backwards. 'Keep your eyes on those flanks.'
Carl mumbled apologetically and quickly switched his gaze to the side of the group, his helmet slipping forward. 'Shitty, ill-fitting equipment,' he grumbled to himself. He dropped his shield in order to bring his hand up to push his helmet back in place. It did not take him long to realise his mistake.
The mob took their chance and piled in, spears and stones only just missing the gaps in his armour. His heart thundered in his chest as blows thudded into his plastron armour, glancing off, but still staggering him. He gripped his shield with both arms and brought it swinging towards the oncoming group, only for the weight of the shield to spin him further than expected and wrench him down to his knees.
The small group hit him with full force, knocking him backwards into the dust with a hefty crunch. He brought his arms up over himself in a vain attempt to push his attackers back. He fought hard to regain some oxygen, the impact of landing knocking his lungs empty. It was useless. His arms buckled, giving way to the weight of blows raining down upon him. All he could do in the chaos was bring his arms in around his helmet. Protect your head, that's what drill sergeant always said. He shuddered violently as blow after blow smashed into his armour, angry voices bellowing with blood lust. A firm boot connected under his chin, kicking his helmet clean from his head with a sharp crack. Panicked thoughts flooded his head. This is it. This is how I die.
A cry rang out, and the blows that hammered him gradually halted. Carl risked a glance up, watching the crowd as they turned to look away from him before lurching backwards from a powerful blow. He covered his head again, grimacing as panicked feet tripped and stamped on him. Something heavy landed on him, rolling him onto his back. He opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a woman, her green eyes wide with fear. They stared at each other, both frozen in the moment. Her hot breath washed over him. Rancid.
She looked back in the direction of her panic.
Carl followed her gaze to see Justinia knocking a man backwards with a wide swing of her shield. She quickly dispatched him and made her way towards Carl and the woman. The woman looked back to Carl, then to his side. Carl wondered what caught her attention, only to glance down to his side in time to see the woman's hands shoot out and grasp his rifle. Shit. He wrapped his arms tight around her as she swung the rifle towards Justinia, pulling her back onto him. She fired off a few rounds. Carl winced as hot casings bounced off his face.
'Keep her still,' Justinia yelled, rushing to close the distance between them.
Carl could not respond, instead choosing to concentrate on restraining the woman. He pulled his head up, close enough to fiercely whisper to her. 'Drop it. Drop it and run.' The woman either did not hear him, or simply ignored him. She thrashed around in his grip like a woman possessed.
Justinia appeared over them, blocking the harsh sunlight. 'Hold her still, Rookie.'
Carl squinted at Justinia's silhouette. She held something above her. He grappled the woman with all his might, hugging her against him. Whatever was above Justinia came down quickly. The woman's head collapsed on itself, spraying Carl a fine crimson. The woman stopped struggling. Carl snorted, in an attempt to stop the blood flowing into his nostrils, and hefted the sudden dead weight off of himself.
'Come on,' Justinia said, pulling Carl to his feet. She looked down at the woman's lifeless body, her blood quickly soaking into the dust she lay in. 'Happy to use tech when it suits them it seems.'
'I told her-' Carl clamped his mouth shut at the taste of iron and wiped the warm blood from his face. 'I told her to drop it.' He looked ahead. The crowd that had attacked him moments before stood in shock, keeping a safe distance away from the pair of them.
Justinia watched them back, staring intently as she wiped the woman's blood from the bottom of her shield. 'Come on, Rookie. No more trouble from them today.'
By the time Carl and Justinia had caught up with the rest of the crew they were already gathered at the Harathdan ship, a trail of empty tear-gas canisters and spilt blood betraying their path. Some of the Neo-Neanderthals were still dragging their wounded out of the way as Carl moved towards the rest of the group, their faces panicking as they approached. A wave of guilt washed over Carl. This was no fight, this was like beating a child. This was not fighting as they had taught it in the academy.
Hawke turned towards them as they approached. He raised an eyebrow at Carl's now blood soaked armour. 'Should I even ask, Rookie?'
Carl shook his head silently, still dwelling on the savagery of what had just happened.
Justinia whacked her hand against the back of his helmet and laughed. 'He'll live.'
Hawke nodded. 'Good to hear.' He banged on the side of the Harathdan ship. 'Space Bastards, open up.'
The door glided open noiselessly. The Harathdan Researcher stood at the entrance, her milky complexion appearing as a glowing beacon in the harsh glare of the bright sunlight. She looked almost translucent, her skin a bleached white against her jet black hair. Even if she had not been stood above them, Carl would have still needed to crane his neck to meet her fully black eyes.
'We need to go,' Hawke said, pointing back through the haze and towards the outline of the War Goddess. He studied the length of the Harathdan ship. The engines looked as if they were burnt out, with blackened scorch caking them.'Is it junked?'
'Subtle as always,' the Harathdan murmured to herself, as she looked at the mixture of drying blood and dust. Her eyes fell towards her ship then back over Hawke. 'If you mean it is beyond use, then yes.' She looked at the group, hesitation twitching at her lips. 'I have some artefacts that will need to come too.'
A glimmer came to Hawke's eyes. 'It'll cost you.'
She held him in a harsh glare. 'Of course, Captain Sparov. I expected little else.' She stood back from the door frame, her crimson Researcher robes draping behind her, and ushered them inside.
Carl followed Watts and Sherlock inside. He had seen many Harathdan vessels before. They were not uncommon, even in the most human heavy sectors, but he had never been inside of one. The same love and workmanship that was evident on the hull of the ship followed through to the inside. Beautifully polished metals gleamed and elegant furniture adorned each room. The several battered crates that stood in the corner of what looked to be the lounge area seemed at odds with everything else.
'Nothing special,' Watts mumbled, picking up one of the smaller boxes and shaking it.
'Be careful,' the Harathdan snapped, snatching the box out of his hands. She had glided in so soundlessly that she had taken all three of them by surprise. 'You do not understand the importance of what is in here.'
Heavy footsteps got closer, quickly followed by Hawke barging into the room. 'These the crates?' he said, nodding to the pile in the corner. The Harathdan answered his question with a simple nod. He looked at Carl and the other two. 'Stop pissing about then. Lets get these moved and get off this blasted rock.'
The Harathdan placed the box carefully back with the others. 'I could not agree more, Captain Sparov. Primitive humans are the least of our worries if the Grand Researcher is to be believed.'
Holy shit. Relief washed over Carl, the familiarity of the cockpit calming him somewhat, his bruised body feeling better as he sank into his seat. He had washed his face in what little water was left for ablutions, taking his skin from a dark crimson to a sickly pink. Even though he had been wearing his armour, his crew jacket was stained with blood after what was left of the woman's head had spilled through the holes in the plastron plates. He shuddered as he thought of it, silently making a resolution to forget it had happened at all.
The Harathdan stood beside Carl, screwing her nose up at the smell of dried blood that emanated from him. Hawke and Justinia watched from the doorway, almost transfixed by their new guest.
Carl could feel the eyes of the Harathdan burning through the back of his skull. Something about their completely black eyes made him uncomfortable. Just ignore it, he told himself. 'Locked in orbit now, Captain,' he said, flicking a couple of switches on the navigation console and smoothly adjusting the trajectory of the War Goddess. Exiting the atmosphere had been much more comfortable than breaking through it. He looked back to see Hawke nod an acknowledgement.
Hawke settled himself on the communication console opposite the Harathdan and folded his arms. 'A Harathdan on a Neo-Neanderthal settlement, now that's a first,' he said, perching on the edge of the console. 'Must have found a lot of nice rocks to fill seventeen crates.'
The Harathdan did not turn to face him. 'We have made great strides with the retrieval of several relics. The Balanthur prophecy-'
'Spare me the bullshit,' Hawke interrupted with a wave of his hand. 'If I had known you'd go on about your blasted prophecy I never would have asked.'
The Balanthur Prophecy? Carl had heard mentions of it, fleeting references here and there, but nothing in depth. Mandatory education in his young teens would make slim references to other races in any kind of detail, only giving him the basic information to recognise them. From what Carl understood it was part of a religious doctrine the Harathdan Researchers lived by. It was not the kind of thing he would get involved with. The last thing any human wanted was to be banished to the outer systems, and, after seeing them first hand, Carl agreed wit that thought.
Hawke screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his fingers against them. 'Let's cut the chit chat, where is the drop point?'
'Selengra station.'
Carl noticed the spark of a smirk twitch Justinia's face as she heard the name, her eyes watching Hawke intently. Carl strained to dredge a story which referenced Selengra station from his memory, but failed. Although the tales regarding the Space Bastards told in the academy were numerous, there was little doubt that there were countless other stories left untold.
'Selengra station?' Hawke said, pausing for a second. 'Selengra station?' He breathed out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes again.
/> 'Do I need to repeat myself again, Captain Sparov?' the Harathdan said sharply.
'Out of every space-port in the galaxy,' Hawke said, more to himself than as part of the conversation.
'Don't even ask, Rookie,' Justinia said, her eyes pinning Carl in place. The quizzical expression on his face must have been easy to read.
'Do not think that we do not remember who you are, Captain,' the Harathdan said, her black eyes narrowing. 'It is hard to forget the mercenary team who crashed a stolen interstellar cruiser into part of our Research Chapter House.'
A smile edged on Carl's mouth. Hawke's icy glare caught him and wiped it away.
'How many times do I have to repeat myself,' Hawke sighed, turning back to the Harathdan. 'It was a repossession job, it wasn't stolen. And it only got a little out of hand.' He squeezed his fingers together, showing just how little it did get out of hand. 'And we got paid. You don't get paid if you don't do a good job.'
The Harathdan glared back. 'The repair cost for our Chapter House far exceeded your profit, Captain. Perhaps we will see how much the Grand Researcher is willing to pay when he realises who my heroes are?'
Hawke sucked his cheeks, staring back in silence. He turned his gaze to Carl. 'Set a course for Selengra station, Rookie. The sooner we get this over with the better.'
Carl nodded and punched the coordinates into the navigation console. His mind worked over what he had just witnessed. It was something he had never seen in his short time on the War Goddess, let alone heard in the stories told back in the academy. He quietly wondered what the crew of the Indomitable would have said at his tale of Hawke Sparov becoming flustered. A small smile flickered over his lips. He glanced up from the console to watch Hawke and the Harathdan Researcher from the corner of his eye, an icy atmosphere emanating between them. Whatever was going to happen at Selengra, it was going to be interesting.
Chapter Two
Hawke
The War Goddess dropped out of warp jump as it closed in on its destination, the ship shuddering as it fell back into normal space. Hawke stood behind Carl, watching silently over the pilot's shoulder. The kid was good, there was no doubt about that, but something was still bugging him. You can't be that good a pilot and still be struggling for contracts, he thought to himself. He ran his fingers through his grey tinged beard. Perhaps he would get some answers once his contact reported back.
