Traitors of Sol: Part One of the Sol Sequence

by J Porteous

  Hawke ran a hand through his greying hair and sighed. 'You know, Justinia, another month cycle like this and we're done.' A look that was dangerously close to defeat glimmered in his eyes.

  Justinia gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder. 'Come on, Hawke, we'll hit something soon. Something big.'

  Hawke smiled back at her and nodded. He glanced at Carl, as if only just realising he was present. 'Rookie?' he said, with a tinge of surprise. He quickly reined his emotion in. 'The armour's looking better.'

  Carl nodded before speaking quietly. 'Yes, Captain, much better.'

  'You ever used Hull Busters before?'

  'Yes, Captain, standard training in the academy.'

  'Good,' Hawke said, 'Good to have someone with experience.' He threw a thumb towards the War Goddess. 'How well do you think she'll cope with them?'

  The War Goddess was an old ship, nothing like the cruisers Carl had worked with in the academy. Even standard military tech was light years ahead, let alone the Indomitable. Still, it was in good condition, especially considering the fact that it should have been decommissioned several year cycles ago.

  'It'll work,' Carl said. 'I can guarantee that much.' He scratched his head, attempting to make a comparison between such an outdated ship and top line equipment. Power drain on a Nero class cruiser would hit up about six, maybe eight shots maximum? 'You're looking at two or three shots before the Goddess starts to cook herself. And us.'

  'Let's hope those guesses are accurate,' Hawke said. 'I don't fancy getting cooked alive because the pilot miscalculated something.' He took two steps into the ship then paused. He turned back to Carl. 'Get the ship ready for departure. I want to be gone as soon as those things are loaded.' His eyes held Carl in place for a moment before he nodded to himself. 'There's more to you than meets the eye, Rookie.'

  Carl nodded silently. You're not wrong.

  Chapter Four

  Hawke

  The War Goddess dropped out of warp drive, the ageing metal of the hull groaning under the strain of the sudden deceleration. Hawke held his hand to the wall, steadying himself. Any sensible captain would have replaced the vessel years ago, decades even, but when memories are wrought into the metal itself, it is often hard to let go of those emotions.

  His mind drifted back to the moment he was appointed as Captain of the Council Guard. When are you going to trade that piece of scrap in for a real ship? Are your captain wages really that low? He laughed quietly to himself. None of the other guards could have understood. Whenever they had made their comments, he could only see Daria excitedly dancing around what would become their first ship purchase. After Zura had exiled him from Sol, he had vowed to keep the War Goddess going as long as he could; a last grip on the life that used to be his. Whether that silent oath would end up killing him was another matter. The steel wall cooled the palm of his hand. He let out a sigh. Daria.

  A quiet sound bounced down the corridor, the sound of someone muttering to themselves. Hawke buried his thoughts and brought back his usual stony-faced facade. He followed the weak sound through the corridor until he arrived at the cockpit.

  Carl sat forward in his seat, muttering under his breath. He was holding something in his hand, staring at it absent mindedly. Hawke leaned in closer for a better look. A communication unit. 'You've got to turn it on before you start talking, Rookie.'

  The poor lad jumped in his seat, dropping the small unit. Evidently he had not heard Hawke approaching, lost in whatever daydream filled him. He scrabbled beneath his seat and picked it up. 'Yes...yes, Captain.'

  Hawke grinned to himself. He knew those nerves. They were the kind of nerves that ate you from the inside, the kind of nerves you put on yourself when you believe that everything you have was balanced on a razor's edge, threatening to fall into the abyss in the blink of an eye. Hawke's first days in the Council Guard had been the same. 'How are those hull busters looking?'

  Carl glanced at a number of screens which protruded from the surrounding consoles. 'Pretty good, Captain. The power drain on them will be incredible though. Two shots maximum judging by the calibrations I've seen.'

  'She's an old ship, Rookie, I'm not afraid to admit it,' Hawke said. 'I've seen how the crew look at other ships when we dock in any station. I don't blame them.' He banged his fist repeatedly against the wall next to him. 'She hasn't let us down yet though. If anything, I'm impressed she's got that many shots in her.'

  He leaned in, letting the green glow of the weapons dashboard bathe his face as he studied it. The weapons of the War Goddess had held their own for a while, but the ship was starting to run the risk of getting out-gunned. The new weapon technology he had seen on the other ships docked at Selengra had proven that.

  Carl pointed to a stream of numbers which ran down the right hand side of the monitor. 'I couldn't squeeze any more juice out of her, even with knocking out the warp drive temporarily'

  'Then I hope you're a good shot.' Hawke looked out through the view-port as a cargo trawler lurched past. His eyes stalked it, fantasising about the possible value that the fully loaded ship carried past them. There was little doubt that the worth of it could keep them going for months, maybe even years. Perhaps even enough to cross a few star sectors and settle somewhere else. You're a traitor, not a pirate, he reminded himself sharply. The 61 Vir sector was a relatively safe star sector, but safety is not what brought the Space Bastards their profit. Another couple of months on a dry run such as this and they would not even be able to afford the docking fees at a frontier outpost.

  The cargo trawler slowly disappeared into the fog of darkness, the only sign of its presence being the blotting of stars as it passed them. Hawke punched some commands into the local sector map next to him, firing off the ship based sonar. Nothing. 'Looks like we are in for a wait,' he said. He glanced at Carl, who was staring off into the distance. 'Hit up the distress comms, that money isn't going to earn itself.'

  The ship was fast becoming uncomfortably stuffy, the recirculating air starting to smother him. Four hours had passed since the initial sonar ping. The War Goddess lay in a coma, drifting in the void, and not a single distress call had come through. Dull thuds could be heard from the depths of the ship, the sounds of Watts and Sherlock making further adjustments and running repairs. Hawke rubbed away the sweat that beaded unevenly on the pits and scars of his face. He pulled the file on Carl from his drawer. 'Let's see what you're about, Rookie.'

  Nothing. Vast swathes of text were blanked out, with only the name and file number visible. Hawke flicked through the heavy file, finding only page after page of classified text. He slammed it shut and blew out a loud breath. What a waste of money. Whatever Carl had been involved with, his paymasters did not want people knowing about it. If Hawke was going to get any information, he was going to need to go get it himself.

  Hawke stuffed the bulging file into his desk drawer and forced it shut. He switched on the microphone that protruded like a periscope from the clutter of paper star maps, old contracts and weapon catalogues which swamped his desk. 'Rookie? Goban?'

  'Yes, Captain?'

  'You got a spare few minutes? I want a quick word.' A moment of silence. Perhaps he knows what I'm calling him down here for? 'Don't worry about watching for signals for the moment, I doubt one's going to crop up the instant you leave the cockpit.'

  'Of...of course, Captain, I'll be down in a minute.'

  He's hesitant alright, Hawke thought. Might need to loosen his tongue a little. Hawke reached across his desk and uncovered two glasses. He picked them up and blew the dust out of them before holding them up to inspect them against the strip lighting. He pulled open his bottom drawer and pulled a bottle out, slowly and carefully. Guardian of the Abyss. He studied the golden glow of the liquid, rolling the bottle around in his hand. He had told himself he would save it for when the crew had something to celebrate, but at the rate it was going it was destined to be stoppered forever. He popped the lid and took a deep sniff, the sweet scent br
inging long buried memories to the surface.

  What's this?

  A gift. It's not everyday you get assigned as Captain of the Council Guard. I thought we could celebrate?

  Celebrate? Why not.

  He remembered the quiet smiles he and Daria shared as glasses were poured.

  I propose a toast.

  Isn't that my job?

  I'm sure you'll get more than enough chances to toast with your guard team.

  Hawke heard himself laugh. I suppose you are right.

  I propose a toast. To Hawke Sparov, Captain of the Council Guard, defender of the birthplace of democracy and...

  And what?

  And the finest man I could wish to be married to.

  Flatterer.

  I know. I love you.

  I love you too.

  A quiet knock in the doorway startled him, dragging him back to reality.

  'You wanted to see me, Captain?'

  Hawke cleared his throat and held a glass up to him. 'If that's okay, Rookie?'

  Carl responded with a brief nod and sat opposite him, pulling a face at the clutter that separated them. He quickly clasped a second hand around the glass, in a failed attempt to stop the drink from shaking in his hand as he took it.

  Hawke studied him intensely. Maybe he had a reason to be hesitant, depending on what was blanked out within the dossier. Hawke took a long sip of his drink, savouring the burn in his throat. He motioned his glass to Carl as he watched his reaction to the taste. 'It's not for everyone.'

  Carl stifled a cough. 'So I've heard,' he said hoarsely, then smacked his lips together. 'So I taste.'

  Hawke grunted a laugh. 'How are you finding things, Rookie?' He could not tell if Carl's clammy face was from the conditions aboard the War Goddess or the face to face meeting.

  'G...good, Captain.' He nervously sipped at his drink. 'What was it you wanted to see me about?'

  Hawke wrenched his drawer open and pulled the dossier out. He held it up for Carl to look at, then let it fall to the desk, the loud thud almost making Carl drop his glass. Hawke pushed the dossier towards him.

  'What's this?' Carl queried, cautiously eyeing the document as if it were about to leap off of the table and attack him.

  'What do you think it is?' Hawke returned, watching him. He nodded at the file. 'Go on. Open it.' He watched as Carl's face paled when he saw the first page. Dead giveaway, Hawke thought to himself. He took another long hard gulp of the whiskey, the familiar sting numbing his throat. 'You want to tell me what this useless piece of shit doesn't?'

  Carl sat back, his face settled still in way of defeat. 'It was going to happen at some point,' he said. 'I knew it was too good to be true. I'm surprised you didn't ask sooner.'

  Hawke met his eyes. 'We needed a pilot. You needed a ship. Didn't have time to ask questions.'

  Carl nodded and lowered his gaze. 'What do you want to know?' he said quietly.

  Hawke stayed silent until Carl looked up at him again. 'Everything.' The intercom buzzed. Ignore it, nothing important. It buzzed again. Hawke snatched up the microphone from the desk. 'I'm busy. What is it?'

  'Hawke, it's Dareth.'

  'What is it, Watts?'

  'That Harathdan. One of her boxes is still onboard. Looks like it fell in with the armour.'

  Hawke could feel the wry grin spread over his lips. Maybe we will make some money today yet. 'Anything left aboard a mercenary ship once the contract is complete is salvage. They can buy it back from us if it is that precious to them.'

  'I hope it is,' Watts said. 'It's just one of those stones by the looks of it.'

  'They'll contact us soon enough when they realise it's missing. How are those repairs coming?'

  'Nicely,' Watts said. 'Another two hours and we are going to be done.' The intercom crackled out.

  Hawke sat back in his chair. A Sender stone? He rubbed his hand through his greying beard. Surely, if they were so important to the Harathdans, they would not have been so careless with them?

  Carl fidgeted in his seat. 'About the dossier, Captain, I imagine you have questions...'

  Hawke's eyes flicked back to Carl. 'You'd be right there, Rookie,' he said. 'I need to know if you're a risk to my ship, to my crew. To my profit margins. I can't afford to throw another pilot out of the airlock.'

  Carl stiffened at that. 'I didn't lie about the military. I did go to the academy and I did pilot ships. One of the best in my class in fact.'

  'I didn't need your dossier to tell me you are a pilot, kid,' Hawke replied. 'I can see you can pilot a ship, and I can see you do it well. That makes me wonder. The military doesn't just throw out pilots of your calibre.'

  'You're right, Captain.' Carl placed his glass down on the table. 'I crashed a ship.'

  Hawke could not help but grin. 'You crashed a ship? Did you not hear what the High Researcher said? The last time we were at Selengra we crashed a ship. I'm more worried about why everything in here is classified.'

  'If I'm honest, I don't know.'

  Hawke raised an eyebrow. 'You don't know?'

  Carl shrugged. 'I was selected to pilot the ship. I don't know what we shipped, I just knew when and where to fly.'

  'And then you crashed it?'

  Carl's eyes wavered. 'It killed most of the crew.'

  'Is that why they kicked you out?'

  'It was the most advanced ship in the fleet,' Carl said. 'The Indomitable.'

  The name dredged something from Hawke's mind; perhaps it had been a prototype when he had served. 'Who was your commanding officer?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't know?' Hawke spat. 'You don't know who your commanding officer was?' He stood up, leaning across the desk menacingly. 'I don't like liars, Rookie.'

  'I don't-' Carl froze mid sentence, confusion etching his features.

  Hawke cocked his head to one side. 'Well? Spit it out.' Then he felt it too. The hot clamminess of the ship had disappeared, replaced by a startling cold. His skin prickled and his hairs raised. He held a hand to his face and breathed onto it, his breath clouding into his cupped hand. He looked up at Carl, the confusion in the pilot's face giving way to fear. 'What is this?'

  A deep, resonant thud echoed through the ship as it lurched from an impact. The breach alarm rang out, the sound blasting throughout the ship. Hawke covered his ears at the deafening sound. The dark red of the emergency lights flickered into life, replacing the stark strip lighting, and plunged the world into crimson and shadows. He reached out for the intercom. 'Watts? Justinia? What the fuck is going on?'

  'Hull breach,' A voice said weakly, diluted with the sound of harsh static. 'Drop bay.'

  Hawke gripped onto the intercom. 'Watts? Sherlock?' Silence. 'Come on, someone talk to me!' Nothing. He grabbed Carl and hauled him to his feet. 'We'll talk later, we've got more important things to worry about right now.'

  The colour had drained entirely from Carl's face, and the emergency lighting only making his features even paler. He nodded and mouthed something inaudibly over the alarm.

  Hawke pulled his combat jacket on tightly. The clutter from his desk flew off in every direction as the ship rocked from another impact. He stumbled towards the door of his quarters, steadying himself against his desk, then his locker, then against anything that was welded into place.

  He glanced both ways down the corridor that not only led from his quarters, but also acted as a conduit to the other rooms on this level of the ship. He glanced back in annoyance as Carl stumbled into him. 'Keep it steady,' he said. He looked down the corridor again, then back to Carl. 'It's clear. Let's get to the drop bay.'

  They made their way through the dim corridors, the continuous flashing of red light hurting Hawke's eyes. To get to the drop bay from the crew quarters, they would need to make a route through engineering and the power core housing.

  Due to Watts' messy habits, engineering was more like a junk yard than the organised quarters you would find on a more disciplined ship. Hawke powered thr
ough the scrap, which was now strewn unevenly across the floor, dragging Carl with him as he waded through the mire of metal.

  The power core of the War Goddess was much smaller than that of even the most basic modern ship, simply because the older ship did not have enough technology to warrant a bigger power source. Because of this, the power core took up little room on the ship itself, and was housed in the centre of the ship. The door to the core stood in front of them, blending into the wall of the dim bowels of engineering.

  Hawke turned back to Carl. The pilot was clearly terrified. 'We're going to need to go through here,' Hawke said. 'It's going to be tight squeeze, but we'll make it.' He pulled the emergency door release, revealing the bright pulsing light of the power core. The strobe of white light blinded them both.

  Hawke grabbed Carl and pulled him close, the loud hum of the core almost drowning out his words. 'Keep yourself pressed against the wall, you don't want a radiation burn from this thing,' he said, pointing back to the core. He shook Carl until he acknowledged him, then pressed forward.

  The heat from the core negated the sharp chill that permeated the War Goddess. Hawke pressed himself against the wall and sidestepped past the core. He turned his face away with a grimace, the heat burning his skin. The smell of singed hair filled his nostrils, sweat returning to wet his brow. He forced himself further forwards, eventually squeezing through the gap.

  He fell forward and the chill swiftly returned to cool him to the bone. He looked back to see Carl pushing his way through the gap. He fell through the final part, sprawling out onto his knees. Hawke reached down and picked him up. 'You okay, Rookie?'

  Carl grabbed Hawke's hand and pulled himself upright, taking a deep breath. 'Yeah,' he said, nodding. 'Thanks.'

  'Save the thanks for later.'

  The door in front of them led through to a secondary corridor which, in turn, led down towards a service hatch which dropped into the drop bay itself.

  'This is it,' Hawke said, shouting above the alarm which still rang loud. He pulled his combat knife from the sheath on his belt. 'When we get through this door, there is no telling what is going to be on the other side.'