The Honour of the Knights (First Edition) (The Battle for the Solar System)

by Stephen J Sweeney

  “That all members of the Yellow Dogs were killed during covert operations. There were no bodies to recover because they were all vaporised in starfighter explosions,” Parks recited.

  “That's not a story we can spin out for another five pilots if they also decide to run,” Turner said. “I don't like the idea of keeping secrets from our own men, but if it means the difference between keeping the facts away from the general public and chaos on a quite literally galactic scale, then so be it.”

  “And if the Devils do try to run?” Parks wanted to know.

  “Then we will have to find another way,” Turner said.

  But both Turner and Parks knew that there was no real other way and the tone of Turner's voice had already acknowledged that fact. In order for the ATAF project to successfully run its course from here on out, there could be very little room for deviation or stalling, meaning that both men would have to be dead certain of their every decision. But neither of them wanted to talk about it now, Parks himself figuring there would be plenty of time in the coming months. He decided to change the subject.

  “I received word that the Knights arrived at Spirit early this afternoon, local time. They will begin routine patrols and counter piracy measures within the next few days.” He decided not to bother Turner with the details of the little incident with Chaz at the time he had informed the group of their new duty. He was sure that it would not have surprised the admiral in the slightest. It could be put into a report for his perusal at a later date.

  “Under Aiden and Anthony?”

  “Just Captain Meyers, but the commodore will also be around as needed.”

  Turner nodded. “They will be in good hands with Aiden. He's a good man, if a bit soft. He seems to prefer the carrot to the stick nine times out of ten, which may be the reason he's passed over for promotion so often.” Turner drained his glass. “And the Red Devils?” He poured himself another small measure of whiskey.

  Parks declined the offer of a top up, but noticed that Turner eyed him closely, as if suggesting the drink were needed. “The Red Devils will begin hands-on ATAF training operations in the pre-arranged location against some holographic units. After that, they will participate in simulated combat training against real pilots.”

  “Just so long as they don't kill anyone,” Turner remarked. “I don't expect those other pilots quite know what they're in for, facing off against those fighters. They're in for one hell of a shock.”

  Turner drank again from his glass and Parks looked down into what remained of his own whiskey. He had decided that he really was not very fond of it and in future he would only drink it out of good grace.

  Turner cleared his throat and set his glass down on the table. “Now, Elliott, I have to confess I didn't just ask you here to share a celebratory glass of whiskey. You may be aware that I have been in the service of the CSN for most of my life, something the suits in Office have come to realise, too. So, it is with some regret that I have to inform you that in just over six weeks' time I will be retiring from service.”

  “What?” Parks almost dropped his glass in shock.

  “I know you believed that I was going to be around until the very end, but that hasn't been the case for quite sometime. Sorry for the deception.”

  Parks was stunned. Everything now seemed quite urgent and the situation he found himself in threatened to overwhelm him. He pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. He had lost all sense of time and was wishing that six weeks meant six months.

  “But... sir, that's impossible... it's... surely it's a mistake?” Parks spluttered as he fought to control the mild terror that was rising within him.

  Over the past few years Parks and Turner had worked very close together to ensure that the ATAF project would run smoothly. In the grand scheme of things they hadn't even completed the first phase of the project, the most important aspects were yet to come. Parks now felt it all to be for naught as the admiral passed all future responsibility on him.

  Out of the window before him, Parks found that the darkening skies, and layers and layers of thick grey clouds, seemed very poignant at that precise moment in time. The man felt as though he had been left holding the baby, leaving him without any means of support or food, and bleak future prospects.

  “I'm sorry, Elliott, and I wish there was more that I could do, but unfortunately my retirement has been forced upon me,” the old admiral said in regretful tones. “I have already deferred it by more than two years, so I am unable to play that card.” He rose from his chair and paced slowly back and forth in front of the window, looking again out at the beautiful cityscape. “The suits want me out. They're afraid that a man of my age will start to make mistakes and could then jeopardise the project. Ha! I may be old, but I'm not senile just yet. Whiskey?”

  Parks became aware of the admiral hovering over him. He had disappeared into his own thoughts as he had attempted to digest the news that had hit him like a sledgehammer. He only nodded, seeing the whiskey as a buffer and immediate comforter. Turner topped up his glass.

  “What's going to happen?” Parks asked after taking a good drink.

  “You're going to finish what we started, Commodore. You're not going to give up or wind things down a notch just because I'm no longer able to participate in the project. What would you do if, for example, I were killed while in transit?”

  The point was well made. Parks reflected that people often forgot that responsibility was often passed to them without fair warning. He would be able to make use of Turner's knowledge for the next six weeks.

  “We still have until the end of June, Elliott,” Turner added. “There is plenty of time to ensure the transition. You know most of it anyway.”

  Parks studied Turner as he spoke and for the first time he became aware that the admiral looked old and tired. His eyes betrayed a sense of weariness unusual in such a strong minded man. But with the revelation of his impending retirement his other features, the greyed and thinned hair, his thin face and wrinkles, no longer said “experienced”.

  “Everything is changing, Elliott,” Turner said, a touch sadly. “We're becoming more and more like a federation every day. Current events are forcing us all to work much closer together than ever before and the government is only getting stronger for it. We're more tightly coupled now than at any time in the last century.” He was sitting once more in his chair and was leaning back, staring up at the ceiling again. Parks studied him as he did so, trying to see into his mind, to hear what the man might be thinking. “And whether the independent nations like it or not, with the gradual unifications of their governments and military forces they're making steps towards becoming a confederate state. Whether or not any of these things are good, only time will tell. Whatever happens, the galaxy will be a very different place in the next five or six years.”

  The two men sat in silence for a time.

  “Do you have any plans? For your retirement, I mean?” Parks asked. He was not very good at small talk, but felt that it could only serve to calm them both.

  “Actually, yes!” Turner sat forward and smiled, now quite jubilant. “I'll be returning to Earth to see my new granddaughter. You may remember that my daughter was supposedly barren? As it happens she gave birth to a naturally conceived healthy young girl a few days ago, and I plan on being there with my family.” He took another drink; he was close to finishing his second glass. “To tell the truth I'll be grateful to spend as much time with them as possible. Should none of this work out in the end then I will prefer to have spent the time left with my family, rather than in some stellar graveyard. I hope you do not think that cowardly of me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Despite our duties some of us did find time to start a family,” Turner muttered, looking into the bottom of his glass as he spoke.

  “Some of us just don't seem to be able to get started,” Parks muttered back. For all his time in the Navy, Parks had never found time for romance or relationships and he k
new Turner could tell that he had all but given up, more important things now driving him onwards.

  “Strength to carry on, Commodore. We're only human after all.” Turner set his glass down on the desk, having drained it. “Admiral Jenkins will be taking over my duties following my departure. She is already aware of my situation and the status of the project. I suggest that before the end of the month the three of us take some time to get together and become more familiar with each other's core responsibilities and assignments. That should help to ensure that there are no shocks in store come the beginning of July. Until that time I will continue to retain full command over the CSN.”

  Parks nodded an acknowledgement, taking another sip of whiskey.

  “Now, I expect you have a lot to think about and do, so I will not take up any more of your time,” Turner said.

  Parks rose and saluted, taking the hint. “Thank you for the drink, sir.”

  “Funny how a bit of bad news can take away the taste of bad whiskey,” Turner chuckled.

  Parks was under the impression that he had hidden his revulsion well. He made a mental note never to play poker against the admiral.

  Turner, too, stood and saluted. “Safe journey. I have the utmost faith in you to see this through, Elliott. Remember that.”

  * * *

  Returning to his transport, Parks paused to take in the view once more. The high landing jetty provided a view of almost equal beauty to that of Turner's office. There he stood for a while at the cliff edge, feeling the cool breeze of the evening wind upon his hands and face, looking out at the cityscape and the light reflecting off twin moons, shimmering across the gentle waves of the calm ocean all about it.

  He had seen more stunning sights during his lifetime, but tonight, at that particular moment, this was at the same time the most beautiful and most frightening sight he had ever seen: for it was a testament to the power of the human spirit, from their humble beginnings on Earth to a spacefaring race, spanning dozens of star systems across the galaxy; and with that a stark reminder of the penalty for failure.

  VII

  — Where the Action Is —

  After many hours in flight, the Knights' transport at last docked with Spirit Orbital and the ever-chipper voice of the transport's captain informed the pilots that it was safe for them to disembark. There were grumbles from Estelle as they stepped out onto the flight deck, the initial impressions of the station itself no less than what any of them had expected. From the moment he stepped out of the transport Dodds at once noticed that the station presented an air of being run down, neglected and somehow trapped in the past.

  “White Knights?” a deck attendant enquired. Estelle begrudgingly confirmed their identity. “Follow me. There is a shuttle waiting to take you down to the surface.”

  Dodds started after the man with the others, catching the sound of chuckling as he did so. He looked around to see a group of service men and women, engineers and various other deckhands watched as he traipsed by, heads turning and grinning to one another. Dodds figured that the Knights were far from the first to feel somewhat repulsed by their new surroundings, and it must have been a great source of amusement for the current residents to see the reactions each time a new set of faces turned up.

  Reaching the shuttle, Dodds slung his meagre bag of possessions inside before slumping down onto one of the steel benches that ran the length of the cramped interior. Though he tried to remain upbeat, something about his new surroundings was already attempting to break his spirit.

  * * *

  Touching down on the planet's surface, Dodds needed no further confirmation that their special treatment was well and truly over. Arriving at their mixed quarters, he and Enrique were dismayed to find they were crammed in with fifteen others. Their appearance at the doorway was greeted by cheers and whistles from their new bunk mates.

  “Hey! It's the new guys!” came a cry from across the quarters.

  “We've got ourselves a full house, boys!”

  “Welcome to Action Central!”

  “Hey, you! Think fast!” A ball was thrown towards Dodds. He fumbled the catch, letting it roll out of his hands and bounce around on the floor for a time, before its path was halted by the clutter it encountered there. It looked as though the base - or at least these quarters - was not big on discipline, with clothes and personal belongs scattered all about. It looked like a holiday camp for rowdy teenagers. Kelly poked her head between Enrique and Dodds, who had halted in the doorway. Estelle squeezed past all three and scanned the room.

  “oh dear god,” Kelly said in a low voice. “I really wish I was back at Gabriel.”

  “Uh huh,” Enrique answered.

  “Please sleep next to me,” Kelly said to Enrique. Dodds noted that the men in the dormitory were already eyeing up the two women, and were being anything but subtle about it.

  “Wouldn't want it any other way,” Enrique said.

  Dodds was in agreement. After three weeks of his own personal space, and five months back home before that, this new regime was going to take a lot of getting used to.

  Estelle coped a lot better, striding in, finding a spare bed and claiming it for her own, tossing the random items that occupied it onto another nearby bed. In the hours that followed it did not take her long to discover that she was the highest ranking officer in the dormitory (something that genuinely astonished her) and as a consequence one of the least popular.

  At another time, in another place, Dodds would have advised her against flexing her muscles in the very first instance, but right now he was not in the mood.

  Chaz found himself a bunk, acting as always with his trademark silence. With his locker filled with clothes, boots and other personnel effects the man kicked back, pulled out his book and disappeared into the pages.

  * * *

  “Welcome to Mandelah Naval Base, boy and girls; and welcome to Spirit. I'm Captain Meyers and while here you will be acting under my command,” the portly, ginger bearded man said.

  The White Knights were seated within a small briefing room, alongside other new arrivals to the Temper system, some of whom shared their new quarters.

  The group had been given a brief tour of the base and found that, even though Spirit had an orbital station, the overpopulation of available pilots meant that many of them had to be based on the ground. It also meant that in order to perform their duties, they would have to be transferred back up to the orbital station on an almost daily basis.

  This would not have been the case if construction on the orbital ring had been completed, allowing for crew, service personnel and starfighters to be housed within, Estelle grumbled during the tour. As it stood, not even the craft that they would be required to pilot were stationed planet-side. Standard Confederation starfighters were not capable of withstanding the stresses that atmospheres would put upon them whilst attempting planetary leave or re-entry. All this, Estelle had also reminded them, slipping into a sulk, was not something that the ATAF suffered from. Dodds caught Chaz's eye and swore later he saw him crack a smile. For his moody exterior he was starting to find some mirth in Estelle's continued moaning.

  Dodds suppressed a small sigh, folded his arms and tried to appear interested in what Meyers was saying. The captain was giving them an overview of what would be expected of them whilst they were stationed at Spirit.

  “The Temper system is the principle route, and therefore the closest Confederation border world, to Independent World space,” Meyers went on. “In general terms this means that all sane traffic wishing to safely enter or leave Confederation-controlled space must do so via this system.”

  “Why?” a female voice behind Dodds asked. He didn't bother to look around to see who was asking the question. “I mean, we can easily travel all the way from Earth to Kethlan in a single jump if we wanted to.”

  “Not any longer, no,” Meyers said. “Owing to recent developments within the Mitikas Imperium, the Confederation is no longer permitting jumpgates, sav
e for those along the border, to allow incoming or outgoing traffic to non-Confederate destinations.”

  “So everyone is having to come through here instead?”

  “For the foreseeable future, yes.”

  “But the volume of traffic must be incredible!” the voice sounded quite taken aback.

  “It is, yes, but it's a necessary precaution that the government wishes to take.”

  Dodds had the image of an egg timer in his head, the grains of sand being the starships that were waiting - with strained tempers - to pass through the gates and move on to their destination.

  “But what about everyone else? If they have their own jump drives they don't need to use the gates. Somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of all spacecraft can form their own jump points.”

  Dodds met Enrique's eyes and raised an eyebrow at the comment from the well versed informant.

  Meyers put up his hand and waved the woman down. “We'll get on to how we are tackling that in a little bit. For now, all of the Confederacy's navigation buoys are refusing to supply data on routes towards non-Confederate systems and, in particular, the Mitikas Empire. Without that data, space is once again as the sea was to early sailors on Earth: a treacherous place with little to no landmarks.”

  “Until they learned to use the stars to navigate,” another voice chipped in.

  “True,” Meyers began to chuckle. “But you'd have a hell of a time doing that up there.” He nodded towards the ceiling. “Now...”

  “Excuse me, Captain, but what are the government taking precautions against?” yet another voice piped up.

  “Mass immigration,” Meyers said simply. “The increased instability of the Imperial systems has led to a greater amount of traffic coming into Temper, and from there into further sectors of Confederation space. Most of these are traders attempting to find new avenues of business now that their old ones have closed. Unfortunately, organised crime is also suffering the same loss and you can bet that they will also come flooding in with them. Now...”

  “Sir?”