by J Porteous
The Grand Researcher signalled a Researcher over. 'Give the Captain his payment, will you?' he said. He turned to Hawke, his eyes boring into his forehead. 'Ensure they are paid the standard cargo run rate for bringing the Sender stones from Beledar Four. Nothing more, nothing less. I will not have it said that the Researchers do not pay their contracts.'
Hawke grimaced at the Grand Researcher's words. So much for that jackpot. The Harathdan that the Grand Researcher had signalled over gave a gracious bow, then asked Hawke and Justinia to follow her. Hawke begrudgingly followed, looking back only the once to land a hard glare at the Grand Researcher. He was too busy in conversation with Arrathnar to notice.
'It's better than nothing,' Justinia said with a shrug, as they walked back towards the docking bay.
Hawke curled his lip. It should have been better, a lot better. The last six months had been the worst they had ever had. He had pushed the crew further into the outer systems in an attempt to escape the scrutiny of others, but his past always found a way to creep after him. If it did not pay off to work out here, there were little options left. Time to change the subject. 'What do you think of the rookie?' he said.
'Had to save his ass from a bunch of people throwing rocks,' she said, snorting a laugh. 'Not the best start for a Space Bastard. Don't they teach anyone how to fight in the military any more?' She paused for a second. 'Exceptional pilot though, I'll give him that.'
Hawke nodded. 'A sound assessment.'
They walked in silence through the bustling corridors of the space station. Hawke watched the crowd intently, picking out the military personnel that now infested the station. They stood on every corner, and regular patrols barged their way through the swarm of travellers and traders.
'All this military presence is putting me on edge,' Justinia muttered quietly, as they walked past another patrol.
Hawke nodded briefly, deep in thought. Something was up, he was certain of that. Something caught his eye. A man stood by the entrance of a corridor, one of the many which branched off from the tunnel which they pressed through. He was heavily covered up, but bore the mark that Hawke was told to look for. Hawke slowed and glanced around, looking for any further military presence. Nothing. He nudged Justinia. 'Head back to the ship,' he said. 'I've got a couple of things I need to clear up before we leave.'
Justinia arched an eyebrow, then nodded reluctantly. 'Shout me if you need anything.' She quickly disappeared back into the depths of the station.
Hawke walked over to the entrance of the tunnel. He rested himself against the wall next to the man, who obscured himself with a heavy and thick black-hooded cloak.
'Captain Sparov?'
'How did you guess?'
'I'm not here to play games, Captain,' the man said. 'We both know that everyone knows the face of the Traitor of Sol.' The man pulled a dossier out from underneath his cloak. It was thick, and filled the man's palm with ease.
Hawke bit his tongue at the man's words. The corridor was empty and poorly lit. I could break his skull open right now, no one would ever know. He shook his head, disgusted with himself for the violent thought. He doesn't know any better. He's just been fed the same bullshit as everyone else. He reached his hand out, the cloaked man letting him take the weight of the file. As heavy as it looks.
He glanced at the man's sleeve as the cloak rode up. He would recognise that grey and white uniform anywhere. Human military. Still corrupt to its very core. He easily remembered the corruption that filled the ranks of the military when he served, before he was appointed as Captain of the Council Guard. Secrets were sold and oaths were broken on a daily basis. The corruption had only spread further once Admiral Zura had installed his autocracy, following the slaughter of the Council and Hawke's own exile. 'A military man?' Hawke said flatly. 'Should have guessed really.'
The man leaned in closer. 'I will not take lectures from the likes of you,' he hissed. 'You're lucky I need the currency, I almost didn't sell to you.' He quickly retracted his sleeve back under the cloak. 'You might be disappointed, traitor,' he said, pointing to the dossier. 'A lot of confidential talk in there, way above my pay grade. You'll be lucky to find anything.'
Hawke snatched the dossier up and stuffed it into his combat jacket. 'Get the fuck out of here before I decide you're a Council man as well.'
The man hesitated, but did not need to be told twice, and scurried away down one of the nearby service routes with the rest of the tunnel dwellers.
Hawke breathed out a hard sigh. Even after twenty three years, the charade was sometimes hard to keep up. He secured the dossier in his jacket, weighing down the left hand side pocket he put it in. Looks like our rookie has a bigger past than he is letting on.
Chapter Three
Carl
You see one station, you've seen them all. Carl walked through the dimly lit halls of Selengra, making his way through the steady stream of travellers who pressed their way past him. There was something he found depressing about deep space stations. It reminded him of too much meat crammed into too small a space, much like the nondescript processed meat that passed for food on long haul frontier system missions.
Considering Selengra was home to a Researcher Chapter House, there seemed to be an overwhelming human presence. Even after leaving the docking bays, the grim, metal corridors swarmed with other humans; only the occasional Harathdan wandered past, their height making them easy to spot among the crowds. Normally a large human presence would not bother Carl, but the sudden military presence made him uneasy. Something was going on, something big.
'Carl?' A voice called out. 'Gobbo?'
Carl looked for the voice through the throng of bodies, and saw a woman in military uniform bouncing towards him. He would recognise those freckles and springs of ginger hair anywhere. 'Rix?' Carl opened his arms as she barrelled towards him. She leapt at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into his chest. He laughed like he had not done in weeks. 'You know I hate it when you call me that.'
'Nice to see you too,' Rix replied, her beaming smile seemingly lighting up the dim surroundings.
Carl laughed again. The intense loneliness he felt onboard the War Goddess had not hit him until seeing a friendly face again. 'It's good to see you,' Carl said. 'Great, in fact.' He had not seen Rix since leaving the academy. He went to fly as a pilot whereas she served as a communications officer. The warmth of familiarity flooded him.
Her smile dropped as she took in his blood-stained, black and yellow armour.
Carl frowned at her. 'You hadn't heard?'
'No, I heard,' she said flatly, looking back up at him. 'The mercenary part at least. I hadn't realised exactly who you were flying with.' Her voice faded quickly as the words left her lips. She sucked in a sharp breath. 'It's a shame they dismissed you and the other survivors.' She found her smile again and placed a soft hand on his arm. 'Still, at least you're alive. You're a good pilot, Carl. One of the best.' She shook her head. 'There must have been something wrong with the ship. You deserve better than this.'
Carl shrugged a response. 'Who else would want to take on a pilot dismissed from the human military?' He watched her eyes dance away from him. 'The pilot that crashed the Indomitable, the most expensive flagship in the fleet? No one in their right mind would take me on. Would you?'
'I know you,' she said softly. 'That's an unfair question.'
It was an unfair question, and Carl knew it. He looked down at her arm as it rested on his sleeve. Bandages extended out from under her cuff, peeking out from beneath her uniform. 'Been in the wars yourself?'
She pulled her arm back bashfully and tugged down her cuff. 'I tripped on a training exercise, skinned part of my arm from wrist to elbow.'
'Nasty.' Her retreat had revealed something on her collar, something shining under the lights. Three solid silver lines. 'A sergeant now? Congratulations.'
The brilliant grin returned to her face as she looked up at him. 'Did you expect anything less?' Rix said
. She proudly held her sergeant badge towards what little light there was, aiming the dim reflection at Carl's eyes.
Carl placed his hands on both of her shoulders, locking her eyes with his. 'I'm proud of you, Rix. Have you told my parents yet? They will be excited to hear the news.'
'No, not yet,' she said. 'You trying to make me blush with all these compliments, Gobbo?'
Carl smirked to himself. He pulled his hands away, noticing the slight crimson staining it left on her.
She looked as if she had smelt something rotten. 'I see you've been getting into the spirit of things.'
Carl shook his head. 'It's not how it seems-'
'It's the Space Bastards, Carl, what am I meant to think?' she said, cutting him off. She watched his face drop and shook her head in apology. 'I'm sorry, I just...you know what I think of mercenary work.'
Carl nodded. 'I know,' he said. 'I'd agree with you in any other situation, but it's the only contract I could get. You think I'm happy about this?'
'No,' she said, pushing her hair behind her ear. 'I just worry about you, that's all.'
Carl smiled at that. He pulled her to the side of the corridor as a military patrol stormed past. He watched until they were out of sight before returning his attention to Rix. 'Have you heard off any of the other survivors since they were dismissed? Hasson? Xua? Cobass?'
She shook her head slowly. 'No. Nothing. None of them. It's like they have dropped out of existence.'
'Nothing? Nothing at all?'
'Nothing.'
Nothing? These were the people that Carl had gone through the academy with, spent years in classes with, and now they had fallen silent. Worry bubbled in Carl's stomach. He had served with them before they had been assigned to the Indomitable, working like a well-oiled machine. It was the reason they had been picked to crew the Indomitable in the first place. 'That's not like them. Not like them at all.'
'I know,' Rix said, voice heavy with concern. 'And that's why I'm worried about you.'
Carl managed a half smile. 'I'm riding with one of the roughest mercenary crews in the known universe. If anything, that puts me in safe hands.'
Rix snorted a laugh. 'If you say so, Gobbo.' Concern etched her face again. 'How have Marx and Asha taken it?'
He let a heavy sigh pass his lips. 'They don't know.'
'They don't know?' Rix said, curling her lip in disgust. 'Carl, they need to know.'
'I know, I know,' he said, shaking his head. 'I just can't find the words to tell them. They saved for years to get the money to put me through the academy. The hardship they put themselves through, just for me to flush it down the drain...I don't know how to tell them that it was all for nothing.'
It was Rix's turn to grab Carl. 'Carl, look at me.' She shook him gently, pulling him from his self-pity. 'They love you, Carl. They will understand. Call them. Please? Perhaps they will get you back on their ship? I'm sure they would prefer that to what you're doing now.'
Carl shook his head again. 'You don't understand, they're not your-' He bit his tongue, stopping the words mid flow. As he looked at the expression on Rix's face, he knew it was already too late. 'I'm sorry Rix, I-'
'No,' she said gently, taking her arms from him. 'Don't apologise. They're not my parents and never will be.' She stared at him, her hard glare meeting his sheepish expression. 'But that doesn't mean I don't care about them.'
Shame swamped him. How could I say something like that? Rix had been orphaned as a child. Her parents worked on the same mining ship, the New England, as his parents. Accidents were rare in this day and age, but they did still happen. An unexpected pocket of methane gas had been ignited, a complete bit of bad luck, killing both of her parents instantly. Carl's parents had agreed to take her in and raise her as their own. The mining company were generous enough to pay for the fees needed to put Rix through the academy in reparations for the accident. They had grown up together ever since. He pulled Rix in close to him, holding her tight. 'I'm sorry, Rix.'
She left herself buried in him for a moment then pulled herself back. 'I know, Carl. It's been a tough time for you these last few weeks.'
He nodded a reply. 'Tougher than you could imagine.'
She slapped his shoulder playfully, although a rueful smile took the place of a true one. 'Look on the bright side. Now you've got a job, you can buy us both a drink at Ceera's.'
Carl smiled back. 'That sounds like a plan I can agree with.'
The communication unit on her forearm beeped. She glanced down at it, tapping a response into the wrist-mounted keyboard. 'Shit,' she muttered under her breath. She typed a few more words and looked up at Carl. 'Maybe next time, Gobbo, duty calls.' She pulled something from her utility belt and placed it in Carl's hand. 'It's a pre-designated two way comm unit. It will come straight to me if you need anything.' She pulled him close to her, wrapping him in a tight hug. 'I'll keep an eye on any contracts for you,' she said into his ear. 'I'll let you know if I find something suitable.'
'Thanks Rix, you always were a good one.'
'Were?' she said, with faux surprise. 'I still am, Gobbo.'
Another human patrol marched through the corridor, forcing Carl and Rix to press themselves close to the walls of the tight hallway. The patrol swiftly disappeared into a nearby service tunnel.
Carl watched them long after they passed, making sure that they were well out of earshot before speaking again. 'What's the deal with the human military?'
'If I'm honest, I don't really know,' Rix replied, her expression darkening. 'My ship arrived a week ago, but some of the other ships have been here even longer. It wasn't exactly quiet when I turned up.' Her communication unit beeped again, and she glanced at it despairingly. 'I've got to go, but it's been good to see you.' She pulled Carl into one last close embrace. 'If I hear anything I'll let you know.'
Carl nodded a thanks. 'Take care of yourself.'
Rix gave him one last look. 'You too,' she said. 'And call your parents, will you? For me?'
Carl flexed his shoulders as he approached the War Goddess. The comfort of his armour was a noticeable improvement from how it had been when he had arrived at Selengra. The armourer had made a good job of the adjustments needed to his second-hand armour, she had even made them for no charge. A favour for a favour, she had said. The words had confused Carl. Hawke doesn't seem to be the kind of person to do favours for anyone.
The docking bay was much quieter now. Most of the ships that were docked earlier had already departed towards their destinations, disappearing in the great void beyond the bright lights of the bay. Less people meant less of a crowd to disappear into.
Carl met the eyes of several different crews as he made his way towards the War Goddess, watching them mumble between themselves and point towards him. He knew it was the combat armour, the newly cleaned yellow and black seemed a beacon for trouble.
'Still getting used to the looks, eh?' Watts said, wiping thick grease from his hands as he stood at the edge of the War Goddess' ramp.
Carl stopped returning the glare of another pilot sat on a cargo crate. He looked at Watts, his eyes softening. 'It's not the kind of uniform that blends in.'
Watts laughed through his nostrils. 'That's the point, Goban,' he said with a wink. 'At least they know who they are dealing with.'
Carl agreed with a nod as Justinia emerged from the dark belly of the ship.
'That armour's looking better,' she said as she approached. 'The blood comes out easily, doesn't it?' She turned to Watts. 'How is the Goddess looking?'
'As good as she can do,' Watts said, with a shrug.
Sherlock put a hand in front of Watts to quieten him. 'What he means is that she's in good shape and ready to hit the void.' He paused, looking back the ageing ship. 'Well, as good a shape as she can be.'
Watts raised an eyebrow. 'That's what I said.'
'How did it go with the High Researcher?' Carl asked.
Justinia wrinkled her nose. 'Best not to ask, Rookie,' she said. 'Ha
wke confirmed the payment and is processing the transfer now. What little of it there is.' She turned back to Sherlock and Watts. 'Did you two sort out the cargo for her Royal Highness?'
'Service Synths sorted it,' Watts said. 'I wasn't going to argue when it let us crack on with the repairs.' He paused hesitantly. 'Saw some nice Hull Busters at one of the arms dealers. With a pair of those we could really do some damage-'
'Hull busters?' Hawke said, walking down the gangway to the ship.
Carl's ears pricked at the mention of them. That's some serious fire-power, he thought. A weapon of that type was more at home on a cruiser than on a ship such as the War Goddess.
'Yeah,' Watts said cautiously. 'You don't come across that kind of weaponry often, Hawke. Not on the conventional market, at least.'
Hawke nodded thoughtfully at Watts' words. 'I'll be straight with you, with all of you,' he said as he looked around at the rest of the crew. 'The Grand Researcher screwed us. Possibly with good reason, but he still screwed us. It wasn't the big haul we've been after.' He looked back at Watts. 'How much?'
Watts paused before answering. 'How much?' he said, raising his visor to look Hawke dead in the eye. 'Can you really put a price on the sheer fire-power that upgrade will give us?'
'You can when we just got fucked out of our prize.'
'Three hundred thousand,' Watts said, wincing as he spoke. 'But it will take down Leviathan class ships in three shots, maybe two if they are good ones.'
Hawke paused, chewing his lip. 'How long will it take?'
Watts' eyes lit up. 'Half hour, maximum.'
Hawke looked up at the War Goddess. He let out a sigh after a moment of silence. 'Bigger fire-power means bigger pay.' He glanced down to Watts. 'Go get your toys.'
Watts grinned from ear to ear. 'Might even be enough to punch through your armour,' he said to Sherlock, to which the Byracinth responded with a laugh. The pair of them disappeared back into the station, Watts excitedly chattering away while Sherlock listened patiently.
