by J Porteous
The Grand Researcher looked down at Carl. 'It was a long time ago,' the Grand Researcher admitted. 'Though I still believe that Humanity has not forgotten who gave them their life amongst the cosmos, and who saved them from extinction. Besides, I do not think they would act rashly. Do you think they would turn on us, on their own? I doubt that they would silence a whole station, for the sake of crushing us. I understand the threat we are against, but it is a threat that lurks in the shadows. A threat that shuns the bright lights of exposure. They do not wish to be revealed until the time for them is right.'
Carl looked at Watts and shrugged. 'I don't see that we have a choice.'
Watts nodded. 'Sometimes having no choice is easier than having any.'
Carl glanced at Arrathnar. A small smile tugged her lips. He felt his cheeks flush and turned his attention to the Grand Researcher. 'If you can get us off this station, then we'll do it.'
Chapter Ten
Hawke
Hawke held Sherlock's transmitter with a feeble grip. Watts had done his best to clean it up, and by the looks of it he had done a good job. He watched his hands and saw how they trembled. He clenched one hand into a fist. Weak and empty.
The Byracinth library ship took up an entire docking bay on its own. It looked more like a temple than a ship, with large ornate pillars carved into the hull itself. Hawke marvelled at it as he waited; it was impractical, yes, but the craftsmanship was beyond question. A short alarm sounded, and the door in front of him groaned open.
If the outside was impressive, it was nothing compared to the interior. Walls of data transmitters stretched far beyond where Hawke stood, both high above him and disappearing ahead of him. The flashing red lights of the transmitters reminded him of the ship guidance system of a docking bay approach lane. He followed it as such.
'You have come then, human?' A Byracinth emerged from a side room that was smothered in darkness, its shell glistening from beneath a large cloak. The Byracinth looked down at the transmitter in Hawke's hand. 'Ah, it looks like this was not a waste of time after all. Some of you humans do not understand the importance of this to us.' His gaze turned to Hawke. 'Is there anything else?'
Hawke swallowed the lump in his throat. 'No. There was nothing else left.'
The Byracinth's beady eyes locked him to the spot. 'I thought as much. Those lost to violence tend to leave little to us. I heard that his end was particularly vicious.'
'You heard right,' Hawke said, feeling concious of his scar. 'He was a good crew member. A good Byracinth.'
'Good, bad, it does not matter,' the Byracinth said. 'All that matters is that he is dead.' The Byracinth took the transmitter from Hawke and inspected it. 'He will go into the records along with the others. A record of how he lived and how he died. A record of our species. What was this one known as to you?'
'Sherlock,' Hawke said. He watched the Byracinth input the details into Sherlock's transmitter. 'Is that what all this is?' he said, pointing towards the mass of red lights. 'You just rack up your dead in here?'
'This is simply a library ship. We collect batches of the dead at a time before taking them back to the home-world.' The Byracinth hissed. 'You will understand human, not now, but one day. We were once like you. Numerous. Spread to every corner of the known universe. We were short tempered and violent, much like yourselves. Then the Decline happened. There was nothing any of us could do, even our most brilliant minds were hopeless. Our fertility levels simply dropped and dropped until we are where we are today. Death beckons us to come home.'
'Everything has to die,' Hawke said. 'Everything has an end point.'
'Perhaps,' the Byracinth said. 'But those who have gone before, those countless other civilizations that are now buried in time, they are all but forgotten. We know of the Craldons, the Yrtte, the Qoyp, but what of the others? Those countless others who lived and died and fell entirely into the oblivion of the forgotten? We don't know what they looked like, how they spoke, what they lived like. It is as if they never lived at all. We will not be forgotten like them.' He buried the transmitter under the great cloak that fell neatly from his wide shoulders. 'Go now, human. You have done what you have needed. I have other stations to collect from. Leave.'
Hawke agreed with that decision. The continual flash of the rows of tracking devices brought back the throbbing pain in his skull. He left the library ship and made his way through the docking bay. Soon he stood in the strip lighting of the Selengra corridors. The usually harsh light felt almost pleasant on his eyes, a heavy tiredness falling over him. A great pain wracked his head. He clutched at it through grated teeth, falling back against the wall.
A voice forced its way into his skull. You know what must be done. You know what is at stake. There is more than one piece in this game. Do not make us favour another over you.
Hawke could not recall the last time he had slept properly. The voice, that voice, still bore deep into his brain. Hawke did not dare call it a dream any more. It was more recurrent and reliable than anything his brain could bring to him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to bring the corridor into some kind of focus. It's just your brain is playing tricks with you, he thought, in an attempt to convince himself otherwise.
'You okay?'
He looked up to see Justinia coming towards him, concern stretched over her face. What is she doing here? 'Yeah,' he said, rubbing stiffness from his neck. 'Still feeling a little drained, that's all.'
She snorted. 'Soldiering on is one thing, but pushing yourself too hard is only going to end up killing you.'
He grunted at her words. 'Very funny, Lieutenant. I'm just recovering from that thing still. It's not like I haven't been in a fight before.'
She frowned. 'You don't usually lose them this badly.'
'I said I'll be fine,' Hawke grunted. The throb in his head slowly lessened, letting him relax again.
'Hawke,' she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'You are okay, aren't you?'
There was a time when, even if he had lost a limb, the affirmative would have passed his lips without a moment of hesitation. Now he had to prise the words from his throat. 'Yeah, I'm good.'
She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. 'That's good, because we've got visitors.'
Hesitation nipped at him. I can't be seen to be in this state, I can't let anyone see me so weak. 'Tell them to fuck off.'
'No can do,' she smirked. 'You're going to want to do it yourself, I guarantee it.'
His head pounded again, as if about to crack open at the slightest touch. He reluctantly and slowly nodded his head. He sucked in a deep breath and stood straight, locking the pain behind his deadpan expression. 'Alright, let's go.'
Hawke regretted returning to the docking bay so quickly, even before spotting their distinctive wolf-grey combat jackets. Sons of Odin. They had been a thorn in the Space Bastards' asses for as long as he cared to remember. They created themselves in the image of the Vikings of old; Hawke simply saw them as jumped up pricks who thought giving themselves old Norse names would make them seem more threatening.
Hawke walked down the loading ramp to see Bjarke posturing, as usual, with his crew. He was a large man, with a thick beard braided with old shell casings. Hawke dredged up all of his energy as he stamped towards them, Justinia suddenly having to quicken her pace to keep up with him. Just got to keep up appearances until they leave.
'Ah,' Bjarke said, throwing his arms wide. 'The great Hawke Sparov. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?' He feigned a bow. His crew laughed, deep and guttural.
'Just spit it out,' Hawke said. 'I'm not one for visitors at the best of times, especially unwelcome ones.'
Bjarke frowned. 'Now, now, Hawke. That's no way to speak to a fellow merc, is it? Especially when you've spaced one of my crew.'
'Truman? So you're admitting to planting him?' Hawke said. He grinned as he remembered watching the look in the man's eyes as he pushed him out into the airlock. 'Piece of shit deserved it.'
Bjarke ch
ewed his lip. 'He wasn't the best, but he showed willing.' A sick smile creased his features. 'Of course, maybe we could trade a crew member for a crew member. As far as I see it, you owe me a body, Hawke.' He let his gaze slowly wander over Justinia before finally meeting her steely eyes. 'I can't believe you still fly with this arrogant old man. I'm sure the Sons of Odin would only be too pleased to make you as comfortable as possible.' A sleazy sneer spread across his face as his crew laughed again.
'I fly with the crew I deem worthy, Bjarke,' she said with a shrug. 'So far, nothing has changed.'
Bjarke's smile dropped. He glared at Hawke. 'You're crew never were any fun, Hawke. Down to business I suppose.'
'Looking to pick up the contracts we didn't deem good enough again?' Hawke said.
Bjarke stepped towards him. 'Got ourselves a cosy little contract actually, involving the off-world death of a squad of troopers. I believe your ship was cruising in that sector for a while?'
How the fuck do they know about that? 'Your info is correct. For once,' Hawke said. 'Scanning for frequencies, you know, what proper merc outfits do.'
Bjarke screwed his nose up. 'Didn't happen to hear anything interesting out there at all?'
Hawke shook his head. 'Nothing, dead zone from what we experienced.'
'So it seems.' The great man played with his long braids, setting the casings clinking against each other. 'Must have been a pretty quiet one,' he said, resting his hand on the hull of the War Goddess. 'So quiet that the Goddess was all but ripped in half, and by the looks of it, your face as well.' His sick grin made a reappearance.
Justinia grabbed Hawke's arm and whispered into his ear. 'Don't rise to it, Hawke.'
'What's the matter, Hawke? Got to ask your girlfriend for permission to talk now?'
Justinia launched herself forward, throwing her balled fist into Bjarke's face. A great crack sounded as blood exploded from the ruins of his nose.
The huge man reeled back, throwing away the arm of the crew member that tried to grab him. He steadied himself, wiping his face and smearing blood across it. He marched forward, coming an inch from Hawke's face. 'I can't prove anything yet, Sparov,' he spat. 'But when I can, I am going to crush that bitch and the rest of your crew right in front of you. I'm going to make you watch. I'm going to make sure you suffer until your very last moments.'
Hawke wiped the sticky mixture of blood and spit from his face. 'Sure, you do that.'
Bjarke tensed for a moment then turned to his crew. 'Let's leave it for today, lads. They've got the message.' He turned back to Hawke as he walked away. 'I'll be seeing you very soon.'
The Sons of Odin marched away into the tunnels of Selengra. 'That felt good. That felt really fucking good,' Justinia said, nursing her now swollen knuckles.
Hawke felt his energy wane. He sat himself down on the ramp of the War Goddess. 'Watts is going to wish he could have been here for that.'
Justinia sat down beside him and studied her bloodied knuckles. 'How did they manage to get a contract on us?' she said. 'That would have needed clearing by the Mercenary Council, and if you don't know about it...'
Hawke nodded grimly. Mercenary crews had a history of being at each others throats long before humans were gifted the capability of space travel. The only thing that stopped them tearing each other apart was the Mercenary Code.
There may not be actual honour among mercenaries, but there was a certain respect between those that were willing to kill for the right amount. The only time time merc-on-merc violence was permitted was in self defence, or as part of a commission from the Mercenary Council itself. This needed to be agreed by all six members of the Mercenary Council to be made official, however, since Hawke had not been informed, that only made five. Still, he was not surprised. The mercenary guild was mostly human, and, as such, they had little respect for the man known as the Traitor of Sol.
Hawke looked up at the repairs which barely held the War Goddess together. 'If they've got a contract, they've got a contract,' he said, with a shrug. 'The fact that the Council hasn't told me doesn't really matter. What matters is that we're a depleted crew. The War Goddess was lucky to survive. We were lucky to survive.' He placed his hand on the ship, letting the coolness of the hull calm him. 'We need to build up strength if we are going to survive what is coming.'
Justinia placed her good hand on his shoulder. 'What's happened to you, Hawke?' she said, with a shake of her head. 'I remember a time when Hawke Sparov would never doubt that we would pull through. We've been outnumbered and out-gunned, but we've never been out-classed, those are your own words, Captain.'
The truth of those words punched him in the gut. The Space Bastards had a fearsome reputation, he had a fearsome reputation, but those words in his head, those visions, were messing with him. Not a day had gone by since his exile where he had not thought of Daria, but the thought of seeing her again had always been just that, a thought, or a dream. Now he had been allowed to experience it, allowed to touch what had only been a wild fantasy before, and now it was not only Daria, but his daughter as well. Elpis.
Weakness out here will get you killed, he told himself. Pull yourself together or never seeing them again will be a certainty. You just need to hold it together until you can collect those stones. He turned to Justinia, nodding his head. 'That's a good speech. Maybe you'll be able to give it to your own crew when I retire.'
'You know I can't captain a ship,' she said solemnly. 'The Carcino-Relic-'
'Fuck whoever says a Carcino can't captain a ship,' he said sharply. 'Anyone could die, at any moment, not just those with Carcino-Relic syndrome. Just because Carcinos have a shorter life expectancy doesn't mean it can't happen to healthy people too. It's a poor reason.'
Justinia shrugged. 'I've lived with it long enough, Hawke, I'm at peace with that fact now.'
He paused, watching an enthusiastic longing spread over her face. 'One day, Justinia, I'm not going to be here. My luck is going to run out, and when that happens, who is going to captain the ship then? There's only one option in my mind.'
She grinned at his words and punched his shoulder. 'Whatever you say. Captain.'
Hawke looked past Justinia to see three robes and hooded figures shuffling down the docking bay towards them. Their looked identical in their crimson robes, however one stood taller than the other two. 'Looks like we've got more visitors,' he said.
Justinia followed his gaze. 'Harathdans? Wonder what they want now?'
They grew closer, the dim light slowly revealing their features as the robed figures made their way along the long walkway to the ship.
'Watts? Rookie? What's taken you so long?' Hawke hauled himself to his feet and looked again. He recognised the third figure with them. Arrathnar. 'You finally got around to converting these two then?' Hawke said, waving his finger between their crimson robes.
Arrathnar bypassed his comment. 'We need to leave the station, now.'
Justinia snorted a laugh at her proposal. 'I don't know where you've been, but we're under station wide lock down. We're not going anywhere fast.'
Carl pulled the hood of his robe back. 'We've got passage off the station, thanks to the Harathdans.'
Hawke arched an eyebrow. 'Anyone care to explain?'
The station's announcement system crackled into life, feedback echoing around the docking bay. 'Attention all citizens and visitors of Selengra station. Under Harathdan Scripture one eight seven of the Harathdan-Human treaty, the Harathdan Chapter ship, Winter Dawn, will be permitted to leave, accompanied by the escort War Goddess. The station is otherwise still under lock down until further notice. Treason protocol is still in place.'
Hawke looked up at Arrathnar. 'I'm impressed,' he said. His gaze fell back over Carl and Watts. 'Get those ridiculous cloaks off, we've got a ship to escort.'
The War Goddess creaked off into the darkness of space, trailing the Winter Dawn as it slowly pulled itself free of the station. Ancient debris and dust shook itself loose, appearing like an e
thereal fog as it caught the external searchlights of the station. From appearances, Selengra was not meant to be a bed for the ship to sleep in, but more of a grave.
The painful groans of twisting metal gave an eerie soundtrack to its resurrection, audible through the linked communication systems. The ship was large, and the size of it reduced the mass of the station by a fifth once it had detached. Not many Chapter ships travelled the galaxy these days, and the crowds had come out in force to watch it leave.
Hawke had more important things to do than to gawk at an ageing starship, he already had plenty of experience with those. He held the AI cube up to the light, twisting it in his hand, studying the intricacies of its surfaces. 'So this is the AI core?' he said. 'All that fuss over something so small?'
'Small, but incredibly powerful,' Arrathnar said. 'Do not let its size fool you. Quantum entanglement allows it to process more data than every military database put together.'
'I'm not even going to pretend I understood that,' Hawke said. He passed the core over to Watts. 'You think you can do something with it?'
Watts flicked his visor down, running his fingers along the many grooves that laced the surface of the cube. 'I discussed this with Arrathnar on the way to the ship,' he said. He looked up and met her eyes. 'We've had a couple of ideas, haven't we?'
Arrathnar nodded. 'We think we can use this to extract and examine the data that the War Goddess picked up in the seconds before the Kalindros boarded.' She nodded over to the obsolete data banks fitted into the War Goddess. 'This old technology would not have a chance. Then again neither would any other computer.' She held a hand out and Watts placed the core in her grasp. Her long white fingers wrapped around it gently. 'But this core has the sheer power needed to calculate where they came from.'
Justinia leant forward in her seat. 'Do we know for sure that it's going to work?' she said.
