“Estelle, look around you,” Dodds said, sweeping his hand.
“There’s a war on, Dodds. This isn’t all that unusual.”
“So what about everything that happened back at Aster?”
“They were highly trained, seasoned fighter pilots. Nothing more.” There was doubt in her voice.
“Estelle, you were there. They were clearly more than that. And I bet it has something to do with why all these people are so on edge.”
“Dodds, what’s gotten in to you all of a sudden?” Estelle said.
Dodds shook his head. “I don’t know. But I just can’t help feeling that what happened in that battle wasn’t … well, it wasn’t normal. I don’t know who they were, but those were not Imperial pilots in those fighters. None of us would’ve survived that battle if we’d not been in the ATAFs. We were totally outmatched. Tell me I’m wrong, Estelle.”
Estelle folded her arms, but didn’t argue with him further.
Dodds looked again at the groups of people on the ground, some meeting his eyes before turning away, even those who looked as though they could handle themselves. He was suddenly unable to shake the feeling that they all had their heads in the lion’s mouth, and was hit by an overwhelming compulsion to get away from the starport as quickly as possible. “Chaz is right,” he concluded, “we’d better get on with this and get out of here.”
“How?” Enrique said. “How are we going to be able to locate Barber amongst all these people? She doesn’t know we’re coming, and like Parks said, she’s hardly likely to be jumping up and down, waving her arms.”
“She might recognise our flight suits,” Kelly offered.
“She probably wouldn’t risk it,” Dodds said, “we could be anyone.” His eyes swept over the groups and huddles. There must’ve been literally hundreds of people in the main hall alone, possibly even thousands. And, to make matters worse, a few sets of stairs at one end led up to another floor above. How many more floors were there? How many pockets and out-of-the-way places of the port would they have to search? He turned back to his team-mates, seeing none of them looking at all optimistic. Even Chaz, who had been the first to step forward, seemed taken aback and a little out of his depth.
“You know what,” Dodds said, “we know what she looks like, so how about we just ask someone if they’ve seen her. Someone here must speak English.” He broke away from his team-mates, making his way over to a man he had singled out at random.
“Dodds—” Estelle started.
“Estelle, it’s cool, I’ve got it,” he said. “I’m just going to ask.”
“Be careful,” Estelle called after him.
Dodds looked back over his shoulder, giving her what he hoped was a confident smile. The man he approached was sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a bowl of noodles, two chopsticks clasped in his hand. He glanced up as Dodds approached him, a look of fear spreading across his features. He shuffled backward and began shaking his head, before returning his full attention to his food, seemingly not wishing to make eye contact.
How to start talking to someone like this, Dodds wondered, someone who had clearly been scared out of their mind by something. He decided it would be best to be warm and chatty, make himself sound friendly.
“Hi,” he began, with a smile and a gentle wave, “how you doing?” The man neither answered him, nor looked up. Dodds crouched down in front of him and tried again. “I’m looking for a woman … er … girl? You know … not man?” He gestured towards men and women as he spoke, hoping to make it clear which gender he was after.
“Operor ne sermana volo! Ilis asc iam sen satis partorbo hudie! Istis litia mahi unes!” the man spluttered back at him. He tried to continue eating, but his hands were shaking too much, leaving him unable to manipulate the sticks enough to grasp the food in the bowl.
Dodds looked around at Estelle, who merely shrugged. He tried one last time, “Um … she’s a bit shorter than me, long black hair—”
“Discedo! Istis litia mahi unes!” the man spluttered again, before hurling his bowl in Dodds’ direction. It missed by a long way and clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the floor. The man then leaped to his feet, pushing aside those behind him as he scrambled to escape. The Knights watched him go, other refugees nearby either shuffling away from the five pilots or gathering up their belongings and evacuating the area.
“Hell,” Enrique said. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
Dodds couldn’t agree more. They were going to have to use a lot more effort if they hoped to locate their contact.
“We’ll just have to search for someone who is a little more cooperative,” Estelle said. “Split up and see if you can find someone who is more willing to talk. We’ll try this central area first and then move on into the other parts of the port. If any of you get into any sort of trouble, shout and the rest of us’ll come get you. And the moment you find out anything, I want to know. Don’t do a thing without me. That’s an order, people. Got it?”
The other four nodded.
“Good. Let’s get on with this. The sooner we find the agent, the sooner we can get back to Griffin and get back home.”
The team split up and began searching the groups, Dodds hoping that they would find Barber before whatever it was that these people were running from found them. Though judging by some of the looks he was getting, it probably wasn’t all that far away.
XXIII
— The Enemy Within —
“Looks like one of the multi-touch relay nodes has given out,” an engineer said from beneath Alan Cox’s console, waving about a small circuit board that he had just extracted.
That’s just what Cox had thought; it wasn’t a software problem. The system wasn’t behaving as it normally should. The calibration of the touch-sensitive surface seemed to be off by a few inches. Every time he tapped at the display there was a chance that a different control to the one he wanted might be activated. He had started to become concerned when some of the more delicate operations he needed to perform became increasingly difficult to execute. For a time, he had traded places with the controller across from him, so that he could continue his duty. But now that Ifrit was holding position, pausing in its search for the missing Griffin, he had taken the opportunity to have the problem dealt with.
“Do you have a spare?” Cox asked, toying with a screwdriver that the engineer had used to remove the bottom panel of the console.
“Plenty,” the engineer said, emerging from the device’s innards. “I can go and get one and be back up here soon. Shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes. Do you need it urgently?”
“So-so,” Cox replied. “The captain has ordered us to hold position here. According to him, Griffin should be somewhere close by. But so far we haven’t picked anything up, not even on the long-range scanners.”
Cox was finding this all a little strange, and the way Hawke had been acting recently had him on edge. Hawke was once again absent from the bridge. The first time, he had left for his private office, to receive a communication that had come in from CSN HQ. Upon his return, Hawke had ordered that they jump to an adjoining star system, in which they would at last find Griffin. However, within minutes of Ifrit arriving at its destination, the commodore had once again departed.
Cox was aware that he wasn’t the only one who was feeling that something was amiss. He had voiced these concerns with some of the other crew, and though they didn’t speak for very long, it became clear that they shared his concerns. Most prominent on everyone’s minds was Hawke’s attitude to the near-disastrous prior operation. It was almost as if he wanted the allies to fail.
Following the allied forces’ failed attempt to retake Dragon and the unusual disappearance of Griffin, Hawke had ordered Meyers to return to Spirit, alone. He had then taken Ifrit on a systematic sweep of the nearest adjacent star systems to Aster, in case Griffin had become stranded in one of those. But though they had hunted for many hours, they had found n
othing, the likelihood of finding Griffin close by diminishing with each system they visited.
It was as they scanned their fifth system that Hawke had received the message from naval headquarters. It had informed him that Griffin had been located and, as luck would have it, was drifting in a star system alongside the one they were currently investigating. Hawke had ordered that Ifrit immediately make that their destination. But upon arriving, the crew had been greeted by nothing except for another empty system, the only highlight of the region being the twisted hues of the nebulas that were so prominent in that part of the galaxy. Hawke had returned to his private office to watch the message again, so as to – as he had put it – ensure that he hadn’t made a mistake.
An odd statement for a man such as Hawke to make, Cox thought. Was the commodore starting to lose his mind? Certainly after his lack of commitment to the previous operation the crew were beginning to question Hawke’s command. And whilst he might be in agreement, Cox wasn’t about to challenge the man’s authority. The thought of a stay in the brig and a court-martial weren’t high on his list of priorities.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” the engineer wanted to know, getting to his feet and looking out the thick glass windows of Ifrit’s main viewport. “This thing is pretty screwed, so you could easily have punched in the wrong destination.”
“We’ve already verified our position,” Cox shook his head, “and besides, I was using that one,” he added, indicating the console across from his own.
“Hmmmm, maybe I should check that one out, too?” the engineer suggested.
Cox was about to reply when he heard the bridge lift doors open, and he looked around to see Hawke come striding down the long central aisle. Crew members on either side turned from their consoles and monitors, in anticipation of what their captain had to say.
“Sir,” Cox requested Hawke’s attention. “We’ve performed a full sweep of the system and we’ve not been able to detect Griffin. Either she’s no longer here or we’re in the wrong place.”
“No, Lieutenant, we’re exactly where we need to be,” Hawke said, his eyes focused on the space ahead of him, his head not shifting even the slightest to acknowledge the man who had spoken.
Cox tried to engage Hawke once more, “Sir—”
“Wait, Lieutenant,” was all that Hawke said.
It seemed to Cox that Hawke was watching for something. He turned to the engineer, who gave a slight shrug, seemingly just as lost as Cox was. Cox heard confused whispers being exchanged along the length of the bridge, before a number of computer consoles all began to wail simultaneously.
“Captain, jump points forming!” a woman’s voice called out. “Imperial warships, sir! We’ve got incoming on the port, stern … All sides, sir!” Eyes flickered immediately to Hawke, the occupants of the bridge looking to their captain for the course of action to take. But despite what he had just been told, the man didn’t so much as even flinch. Hawke stood still, watching ahead of him as a large jump point swirled into existence, and Cox felt himself take several steps backwards as out of it slipped the enormous dagger-like form of CSN Dragon.
During the previous encounter, Ifrit had held back from the action, granting Cox only the merest of suggestions as to the tremendous size of the battleship. Now, with the hulking form of Dragon bearing down upon them, Cox found himself wishing he could once again be much further away. Most preferably, the other side of the galaxy. The battleship began to slow as it drew itself up to Ifrit, proving to Cox that it at least didn’t intend to plough straight into them.
Small mercies.
“Captain, radars indicate a number of Imperial frigates have also exited jump points and are on approach vectors,” the same operator as before repeated. “I’m identifying the Evening Star, Alysha’s Calling, Longbow …”
Hawke said nothing.
“Captain,” another voice spoke up. It was Lucas Short, Hawke’s second-in-command. “I suggest we put full power to shields, arm weaponry and prepare to withdraw from the system—”
“Stand down!” Hawke suddenly spun around. “We’re completely surrounded! If we make even the slightest sign of aggression, they will blow this ship to pieces!”
Cox backed up a little further. Hawke’s eyes were alight, almost daring anyone to challenge him further. For a moment, Cox didn’t know what he should be more afraid of – the arrival of Dragon, along with a host of Imperial warships, or his captain.
“Sir, Dragon is requesting communications,” Harry Martin, Hawke’s CCO, said.
“Grant it,” Hawke said, his voice flat.
A holographic screen sprang up at the front of the bridge, displaying the face of a man many had seen only hours earlier – spiky blonde hair and unnaturally bright blue eyes, the breast of his crease-free uniform adorned with a huge array of ribbons.
“This is Commodore Julian Rissard of the Senatorial naval warship, Dragon,” began the man in the holographic projection. “You will surrender immediately. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded.” Rissard’s face remained totally impassive throughout his brief speech.
“As you wish, Commodore,” Hawke said, without a hint of objection.
Cox felt his blood run cold as Hawke turned to look straight at him. There was something about the look in his eyes, as if all humanity had been stripped clean. Cox fought the urge to turn and flee the unwanted attention.
“Relay the order that we are to receive boarders. All crew are to stand down. We are to give our guests full, unrestricted access to the entire ship.”
“Sir—” Cox began.
“Did you not hear me, Mr Cox?” Hawke growled.
“Sir, my console …” Cox managed.
Hawke’s eyes lowered to the access panel that lay open on the floor, at the foot of the device. He then turned to the man at the console adjacent. “Mr Martin—”
“Captain,” Short interrupted, “might I suggest that we take immediate steps to—”
“We are surrounded, Mr Short,” Hawke flared. “Don’t force me to repeat myself, Commander! Mr Martin, relay the order to stand down.”
Martin hesitated for a moment and then did as he was ordered, his voice issuing from speakers and echoing down the numerous corridors of the ship.
Cox began to wonder if this was some sort of ruse, designed to lure the Imperial commanders over to Ifrit, where they could be dealt with. If it was, then it was a particularly dangerous one, with no apparent room for error.
“Lower shields,” Hawke ordered.
“Bow quadrant?” came the reluctant answer.
“All shields,” Hawke said.
The image of Rissard remained patient and still in the hologram, apparently waiting for the acknowledgement that Ifrit had complied with the request.
“Shields lowered,” Cox heard, his heartbeat starting to increase. He fingered the screwdriver he still held, his grip tightening on it.
“You’re free to come aboard, Commodore,” Hawke prompted Rissard, who terminated the communication without another word.
Moments later, Cox saw transport craft beginning to issue from Dragon, swinging themselves around from the launch bays running along the sides of the battleship, and turning themselves towards Ifrit. At first, it appeared that only a few shuttles were making their way over. It then became apparent that the Imperial forces intended to fill every last inch of Ifrit with their ranks, the three becoming five, then seven, and then ten. Cox spied two frigates hovering close by, as he followed the progress of the shuttles. He glanced to a radar display further down the bridge, the instrument telling the whole story and indicating that the carrier was surrounded by a total of six of the warships, three on each side. Not that their presence was required. Dragon needed no assistance. He swallowed and felt a chill run down his spine.
Hawke turned his back on the crew, following the progress of the transports that were streaming forth from Dragon. As he did so, Cox noted that Short had begun to whisper with two othe
rs sitting close to him, peeking at Hawke as he did so. Most likely, they had come to the same conclusion as he – this was no ruse. Whatever Hawke was planning, it didn’t involve the capture of the high-ranking Imperial officers. Whether he intended to bargain with them, should it be with the lives of the crew or with Ifrit herself, things couldn’t be allowed to progress any further. He watched as Short conferred with the other two a little longer, before all three nodded in agreement and prepared to make their move.
“Commodore Hawke,” Short said, rising from his seat and starting towards the front, “it is my belief that you are no longer acting with the best interests of Ifrit, her crew or the Confederation at heart.”
Hawke turned away from his admiration of Dragon, wearing a weary expression, as though his crew had become a bother unto him. The two others that Short had been speaking with came forward with him, flanking his sides as he approached the commodore.
Short went on, “It is also my belief that your judgement has been adversely affected by recent events and that you are no longer capable of making rational decisions. Therefore, as second-in-command of Ifrit, I am exercising my authority to hereby relieve you of duty.”
Hawke’s face darkened, his expression becoming quite grim. “Return to your seat, Commander,” he said in a cold voice.
Short continued forward as though not hearing the words. “Lieutenant Lee, Lieutenant Dawes,” he said to the man and woman by his sides, “please escort the captain from the bridge and confine him to quarters.”
Hawke said nothing more. In an instant, a laser pistol was in his hand. He trained the weapon on both Lee and Dawes and, before either of the two had time to react, shot them both neatly in the foreheads.
Cox tensed up. The need to escape the bridge was now more urgent than ever. He saw that many of the bridge crew had left their seats, seemingly preparing to do likewise. Cox found himself barely able to comprehend what had just happened. The speed at which Hawke had not only produced the weapon, but also dispatched Lee and Dawes, had left him in a state of total shock and confusion.
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 33
