Through the pain, Parks witnessed the wound he had inflicted on Hawke healing at an unbelievable rate. He could quite literally see the blood flow stopping and the wound knitting itself perfectly back together, leaving no lasting impression, not even the faintest of scars. The blood around the damaged area and across the man’s face was being absorbed back into the skin. The nanomachines were working as fast as ever.
“All over, Elliott,” Hawke said smoothly. With his free hand, Hawke grabbed Parks around the neck and started to squeeze, hard.
Parks struggled against the throttling for a moment, although he, more than anybody else, knew how futile it was. He could feel his breath coming short, unable to get any air into his lungs. He fought to find a way out, and resorted to the one thing that he was convinced would yield a small chance of success. And with that thought in mind, he kicked Hawke squarely in the groin.
Twice.
The effect was immediate, the result of the action never truly in question. Pandorans still felt pain, and where better to inflict it than to the man’s genitals? Hawke released his grip on both Parks’ broken arm and his throat.
Parks stumbled backward, the back of his foot catching on the large, rectangular container that housed the Tachyon Star Bomb, tripping him over. He rolled, putting pressure on his broken arm and struggling against the incredible pain it induced. He looked around at Hawke, seeing him already recovering from the assault. Parks was aware that if he’d done the same to an ordinary man, he’d be curled up in a ball on the ground. But Hawke wasn’t an ordinary man – he was a Pandoran.
And, just as he’d reluctantly realised, he hadn’t managed to stop Hawke at all; only buy himself some time. Parks glanced back the way he had come. There wasn’t a hope in hell that he could make it to the door in time – Hawke was far faster than he could ever hope to be. Even if, by some miracle, he did make it, he doubted he could stop Hawke from getting through after that. He then thought of something else, something that he had told the White Knights only hours earlier.
“Anthony, wait! Listen to me for a moment! Just stop and listen!” he started. “This is not right. You think you’re working for the Imperial Senate, but you’ve been tricked!”
Hawke held his place. His eyes looked as though he was considering what Parks was saying to him.
“You’ve been brainwashed, mislead and misinformed! The war is a mistake! We’re not the enemy, Anthony! You’re fighting for a cause that doesn’t exist!”
Hawke stared at him from his hunched position before straightening. “We know all of your tricks, traitor,” he said. “We know all about the ATAFs, the training program and Operation Sudarberg. An admirable, but ultimately futile attempt to upset the true right of the Senate’s rule. I watched as you, Admiral Turner and all the other collaborators to your scheme committed acts of treason as you made your plans, preparing to stand against us, and tear down our walls. I was silent for a long time, waiting for my opportunity to bring about justice for your arrogance. It was worth it, just to stand here now.”
That’s it, keep him talking; let the real Hawke gloat. The pistol wasn’t far. He could probably reach it if he was quick. “Anthony,” he started once more, “the Senate are dead! The Imperium has been destroyed!”
Hawke didn’t react. Parks’ words seemed to go straight over him, as he continued. “The bombs will never see it to their destination. The reliance you have put in the White Knights has been ill-invested. You have lost, Commodore! Lost! You have turned your backs on the Senate, creating your own laws and statures, and living under your own perverted rule—”
That’s it, keep going. He’d have to pick up and fire the pistol with his left, something he didn’t often do. He’d never had a good aim with that hand, but it was amazing what one could achieve in desperate times.
He prepared to move.
At the same time, he saw Hawke’s eyes flicker to the pistol lying at his feet. It was now or never! With a surge of desperation, Parks launched himself at Hawke, barging his left shoulder into the man’s chest. For a moment, he thought his attack had succeeded in knocking the man down, that he need only snatch up the weapon he was now next to and finish Hawke off.
But Hawke moved back only a few inches before he had him once again. Parks felt Hawkes’ fist smash hard into his nose, as if it were a hammer. His vision exploded in stars. The next blow came almost as soon as the second was over, and this time Parks felt his nose break, blood beginning to pour from his nostrils. The third made his world begin to spin, his vision darken. He barely even felt the fourth, though he knew it had been there, too. He became dimly aware that he had fallen to his knees, though he was unable to focus on what was around him and what he was seeing.
Hawke was right; he had lost. It was as he had always thought – he was a failure, always had been, always would be. A fraud, misplaced within the world.
He became aware that Hawke was standing over him now, like an executioner, the gun that Potter had given him in his hand. Parks tried to move, but he found it almost impossible to coordinate his limbs. He wondered how he must look to Hawke – perhaps like a fish he’d just caught, flapping about in the bottom of a boat.
“—will die a traitor’s death.”
The voice was a distant sound in Parks’ head. He was aware that Hawke was talking, though he couldn’t hear all the words. He knew that Hawke, on the other hand, could hear perfectly. The man was superior to him in every way – his vision was better than 20/20 and he could see accurately in the dark. His body was wholesome and disease free, every muscle working as perfectly as possible.
Though it seemed that, despite all of this, Hawke hadn’t been aware of the person who had approached him, until he heard the sound of their voice. An angry female one.
“Hawke!”
Hawke’s feet shifted around. The woman gave a cry, though not one of pain – more of anger and fury. There was a heavy thunk! A cry from Hawke followed and something splattered down onto the gantry. There was a clatter and Parks made out the winking green light of the plasma pistol that Hawke had been holding.
The female voice cried out again, there came another thunk and Hawke gave an agonised scream. The man’s legs buckled and Parks saw him sink to his knees. Hawke was clutching at his side, where blood was pouring from between his fingers. His black uniform was ripped and torn.
Parks forced himself to focus, in time to see the woman raising what looked like a fire axe over her head. She brought it down on Hawke’s neck. The man gave a choke before the axe was pulled free, raised once more and brought down again. The head of the axe sunk in even deeper than before, becoming more and more soaked with the man’s blood. The third stroke was the last, the woman putting every ounce of strength into the swing, and Hawke’s head parted from his shoulders.
It fell to the floor, bouncing and rolling a short way before coming to a stop. The body toppled down next to it, the neck oozing blood like an overturned wine bottle.
“Elliott,” Parks heard her breath heavily. “Oh, Elliott.” And then she was at his side. She bent down next to him, coming close.
He focused on her face, finally recognising her. “Sima,” he answered her, feeling blood still running from his nose and down his lips. He could tell that his face was already puffing up from the force at which Hawke had struck him. “Sima, is it really you?”
“Yes, Elliott, yes it is,” she said.
“How …” he couldn’t find the words, it was too difficult and painful to speak.
“Didn’t I say I’d always be there to support you?” She set the axe down and began helping him to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said. And at that moment he realised something, something he knew he should’ve understood many years ago – he was neither worthless, a failure or a fraud. He was a human being, just like everybody else. No man was a mountain; everybody needed someone to support them. Mandeep clearly knew that, and for it, he was glad.
“My arm,” he began, gest
uring to the broken limb. Mandeep nodded and brought his left arm around her, as he tottered on his feet. He looked down at the body of Hawke. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men … He suddenly felt unshakable grief. “Anthony. Anthony’s dead.”
Mandeep looked sadly at him. “He died a long time ago.”
There was a heavy grumbling from somewhere far off, like that of an explosion. It was accompanied by the carrier giving a sudden lurch, the entire vessel continuing to shudder violently for a short time. Mandeep coaxed the still-dazed Parks forward, stooping to pick up the fallen pistol as they went.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s get out of here.”
Parks tottered for a moment, starting to regain his composure and grasp of the situation. “Wait,” he protested. “The TSB – we can’t leave it.” He looked around at the large metal container. He tried to steer Mandeep towards it, but the woman held fast.
“We have to evacuate Mother,” Mandeep said. “The ship is starting to come apart.”
“No, Sima, we can’t leave it. If we lose even one of the bombs, then the operation will be a failure.”
“Elliott, look at me,” she said, putting a finger under his chin and steering his face towards her own. “We’ve already lost them. The teams that were carrying them have been eliminated. We won’t have time to get them off the ship before it’s destroyed. Parsons told me that you and Brigadier Potter were bringing the last one, so I came to look for you. Mother is breached. In less than ten minutes, it will be completely destroyed. We have to go now!”
Parks looked from the metal container to the woman who had come to rescue him, into the face that so often wore a smile that he adored, and knew that she was right. He nodded and let her lead the way, walking him towards the end of the gantry, to where the lift stood and the body of Potter lay.
“But what will we do?” he said.
“We’ll find another way.”
“But there isn’t another way.”
“There’s always another way, we just haven’t found it yet,” Mandeep said, helping him into the lift, and starting off down towards the escape pods. “But we’ll find it, Elliott, I promise. And as you know, I always keep my promises.”
*
A handful of pods still remained in the bay, each of their rear doors open. Mandeep led Parks into the nearest one, still supporting him as they walked, as she had done the entire way since the encounter with Hawke. Parks’ head was still spinning slightly. He couldn’t imagine what his face must look like. He had tried to walk without her help, but it had been as though he was drunk and unable to maintain his balance.
“No, at the front, with you,” Parks said, as Mandeep went to lower him into one of the passenger seats midway along. She led him further up and helped him into the front row. There was only one seat available in the cockpit, reserved for the pilot of the pod.
“I think we’re the last,” Mandeep said. For a moment, she appeared to be in two minds about jettisoning the pod with only the two of them inside. She then jumped into the pilot’s seat and began to work her way through the launch procedure, flipping switches and pressing buttons. The rear doors of the pod closed behind them and the launch chute opened up ahead, revealing the carnage of the ongoing battle in the space beyond. It was an image that Parks had not seen for quite some time. He wondered how the Knights, Griffin, and Leviathan were fairing. Better than they, he hoped.
“Hang on,” Mandeep said, and with that, the pod shot forward, away from the stricken UNF carrier.
“We need to get everyone clear, Sima,” Parks said. “When Mother goes up, the TSBs will react and scatter the blast. Put us in touch with Griffin, so we can organise a retreat. We have to get everyone to a minimum safe distance, otherwise we’ll be taken out by the cluster effect.”
“How far?”
“A few hundred kilometres, at least, maybe more.” He was sure that the TSBs wouldn’t be able to pull on nearly as much energy as they would from a collapsed star, meaning both the energy delivered and the effective range would be far shorter. Even so, Grendel’s Mother was no small vessel.
Mandeep acknowledged him and began working away at the pod’s console, zeroing in on Griffin and opening a communications channel. As she did so, she swung the pod around, turning towards the gathered allied forces, for a time keeping their course steady. They were passing back over Grendel’s Mother, straying dangerously close to the massive vessel as they went. It must have been a heartbreaking sight for her, Parks thought. Even through his somewhat blurred vision, it was clear that the vessel was in just as terrible state as he had feared – the surface was scorched with plasma and laser fire; debris and wreckage floated nearby; other portions splintering away. Holes were clearly visible in the hull, granting an uninhibited view of the interior of the carrier.
Mandeep said nothing, but he felt a sadness for her welling up within him as he looked upon the ship. Mandeep had served as Mother’s captain for many years. She had probably hoped that it would survive to see the end of the war. But now, its glory days were over. No longer would she stand on its bridge or walk its decks.
She then looked around at him and finally there was a smile, if only a small one, accompanied by the sadness in her eyes. He returned it with a small smile of his own, one that made a promise.
You still have me, Sima. You still have me.
XXVI
— The Beginning —
Under Parks’ instruction, the allied forces disengaged from their opponents and moved to evade the danger posed by the imminent destruction of Grendel’s Mother. Starfighters, carriers, frigates and battleships hastened to remove themselves from the predicted blast radius as quickly as possible, their guns falling silent and their engines coming up to full power.
It seemed, too, that the Pandoran forces had become aware of the impending danger, many of the fighter squadrons and capital ships having already begun to flee. In that moment, Griffin was granted a reprieve. Dragon never fired – the huge battleship’s bow closing up before it began to pull away from the affected area. The two conflicting sides divided like a parting sea, though they couldn’t jump to escape the blast – Parks had warned them not to; it was too dangerous.
The White Knights found Parks and Mandeep’s pod on their radars, and together they formed up around it, escorting the two escapees between the TAFs, Rays, Rooks, shuttles, Hammerheads and troop carriers, hurtling away from Grendel’s Mother.
Few failed to make it to a safe distance, but there were those who were unable – those who had left it too late to flee Grendel’s Mother; crippled starfighters and slower moving vessels; the Pandoran forces who had remained behind to sacrifice themselves for their cause; and pilots who had ejected, in the hopes of being saved.
A short while later, Grendel’s Mother went up, the explosion captured by the Tachyon Star Bombs, packaged up and dispersed around the immediate area. The tachyon capsules shortly burst like fireworks, catapulting out waves of destructive energy. The waves expanded, engulfing all that lay in their path, shredding and stripping, corroding and melting, leaving little trace of their existence, save for a handful of dancing particles that glittered for a few moments before fading into nothing.
The waves dissipated.
Jump points opened.
Forces fled.
The battle ended.
The war began.
XXVII
— The Gathering Storm —
An excerpt from A GIFT FROM THE GODS by Kelly Taylor
23rd December 2617
There are sights that one never forgets. For all that we see and do throughout our lifetimes, there are some things that will stay with us forever, to be recalled as easily as the face of one that we hold dear. For me, what accompanied the final seconds of Grendel’s Mother’s service will never be forgotten, for it changed everything.
The five Tachyon Star Bombs aboard the ship detonated along with it, charging and transforming the energy of that explosion with
the capabilities that were intended for the five stars within Imperial space. Had the implications been different, I may well have said it was one of the most beautiful things I’d seen in my life, the waves more stunning and graceful than any of the nebulae I had ever set eyes on.
But, as the waves faded, so too did humanity’s chance of an easy victory over the tremendous might of the Pandoran army. In the many months that would follow, we would look back on that moment and wonder, what if things had been different? What would life be like now? Some days I consider that I had been lucky back then, that I was being given one more chance – that we could truly find another way. At other times, I would find myself wishing that I had died in that cell on Mythos. I would believe that I would have been better off that way.
*
Dodds stared out at the featureless void in front of him, trying to order his thoughts. It was no use, his mind had given up on logic. He could see the dim reflections of the occupants of Griffin’s bar behind him, his wingmates not far from where he sat.
About twenty-four hours had passed since Grendel’s Mother had been destroyed, taking the TSBs, seemingly the one hope of defeating the Pandoran army, along with it. Enrique had his head in Kelly’s lap, the small woman stroking his sandy-blonde hair. The side effects from the cocktail of drugs he had been given on Mythos appeared to have started to affect his system now. He should be in the sick bay, but the staff were already stretched to breaking point and he had been asked to wait for a bed to become available. He should at least be lying in his own bed, in the quarters he shared with Dodds and Chaz. But he had rejected that, wishing to remain in Griffin’s bar with the rest of the team.
Usually, the tranquil scenes of twinkling stars were enough to help Dodds relax his mind and focus his thoughts. But today it was no use. He stopped trying and instead focused on what Chaz was saying. Ever since Mythos, the big man had opened up a great deal, more willing to talk about himself and his past. It sounded as though he was glad to finally be able to tell someone.
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 88
