The Honour of the Knights, Stephen J. Sweeney [reading women .txt] 📗

confused whispers being exchanged across the length of the bridge, many seeking an explanation for Hawke's statement. The answer came in the form of a number of consoles, that all started to wail.

“Captain, jump points forming!” a woman's voice called out. “We've got incoming on the port, stern... All sides, sir!” She, as did many others, looked to Hawke for the course of action to take. But despite what he had just been told, the man did not so much as even flinch. Hawke stood still, watching ahead of him as a large jump point swirled into existence. From out of it slipped the dagger-like form of Dragon, the enormous Confederation battleship slowing as it drew itself up to Ifrit.

During the previous battle 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 mass of Dragon bearing down upon them, Cox found himself wishing he could once again be much further away; the other side of the galaxy preferably.

“Captain, radars indicate a number of Imperial frigates have exited jump points and are on approach vectors,” the same woman reported.

Hawke said nothing.

“Captain, I suggest we put full power to shields, arm weaponry and prepare to withdraw from the system,” Lucas Short, Hawke's second in command, said.

“Stand down!” Hawke spun around, addressing the crew for the first time since returning to the bridge. Cox, stood the closest to the man, subconsciously backed up. Hawke's eyes were alight, almost daring anyone to challenge him. “We're completely surrounded! We make any sign of aggression and they will blow this ship to pieces!”

For a moment, Cox did not know what they should be more afraid of: the arrival of Dragon and a host of Imperial warships, or Commodore Hawke. He turned worried eyes in the direction of the engineer, who had backed off a lot more, himself.

“Sir, Dragon is requesting communications,” the operative of the console adjacent to Cox's said.

“Grant it,” Hawke said.

A holographic screen sprung up at the front of the bridge moments later. The screen showed a man whom none of the crew failed to recognise, having seen his face not hours earlier that morning, during the mission briefing.

“This is Fleet Admiral Zackaria of the Imperial Senate battleship, Dragon,” began the highly-decorated man on the holographic projection. “You will surrender immediately. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded.” Zackaria's face was impassive throughout his brief speech.

“As you wish, Admiral,” Hawke said. Zackaria's statement was short, but to the point, and Hawke made no attempt whatsoever to argue against it.

Cox felt his blood freeze 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 an urge to flee and escape the unwanted attention.

“Relay the order that we are to receive boarders. All crew are to stand down. We are to give Admiral Zackaria full, unchallenged access to the ship.”

“Sir, my console...” Cox somehow managed.

Hawke's eyes lowered, seeing the panel beneath lying open on the floor. He looked to a man sat at the console across from Cox's.

“Mr Parsons...” Hawke said.

“Captain, might I suggest that we take immediate actions to...” Short interrupted.

“We are surrounded, Mr Short,” Hawke flared. He looked again to the man he had addressed as Parsons. “Relay the order to stand down.”

Parsons 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 admiral over to the carrier, where he could be dealt with. If it was, 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 Zackaria remained patient and still in the hologram, waiting for the acknowledgement that the Confederation carrier had complied with his 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, Admiral,” Hawke prompted to Zackaria, who terminated the communication without another word.

Moments later, from out the frontal viewport, Cox saw transport craft begin to depart Dragon, swinging themselves around from the launch bays running along the side of the battleship, and heading towards Ifrit. At first, it appeared that only three shuttles were making their way over. It then became apparent that the enemy forces intended to fill every last inch of the carrier with their ranks; the three becoming five, then seven, then ten, as the numbers built up.

Out of the corners of the bridge's thick glass window, Cox spied two Imperial frigates, hovering closed by. He looked to a display further up the bridge: Ifrit's radar told the whole story, indicating that the carrier was surrounded by a total of six frigates; 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, to instead follow the progress of the transports that were streaming from the former Confederation flagship. As he did so, Cox glanced down the aisle of the bridge. He noticed that Short had begun to whisper with two others sitting close to him, peeking at the commodore who was staring out at the enormous battleship, that rested so close to them. He assumed they had come to the same conclusion as he: this was no ruse. Whatever the man was planning, it did not appear to involve the capture of Zackaria. Whether he intended to bargain with him, whether it be with the crew or the carrier, matters could not be allowed to progress any further. He watched as they conferred for sometime before they all nodded in agreement and prepared to make their move.

Short rose from his seat. “Commodore Hawke, it is my belief that you are no longer functioning with the best interests of Ifrit, her crew or the Confederation at heart.” He started towards the front. “It is also my belief that your judgement have been adversely affected by recent events and that you are no longer capable of making rational decisions. As second-in-command of Ifrit, I am exercising my authority to hereby relieve you of your post.”

Hawke turned from his admiration of Dragon, wearing a tired expression, as though his crew had now become a bother unto him. The two others that Short had been speaking with stood up with him, flanking his sides as they strode towards the carrier's captain.

Hawke's face darkened, his expression became quite grim, and in a cold voice he said, “Return to your seat, Commander.”

Short continued as though not hearing the words. “Lieutenant Lee, Lieutenant Dawes, please escort Commodore Hawke from the bridge and confine him to quarters,” he said to the man and woman who walked by his sides.

Hawke said nothing more. With lightning reflexes, he reached into his jacket and produced a laser pistol. He trained the weapon on both Lee and Dawes and, before either of them could react, shot them both neatly in the foreheads. Their limp bodies slumped to the floor.

Cox jumped back. The need to escape the bridge was now very urgent. He saw that the rest of the bridge crew appeared to share his thoughts, many having left their seats and now standing. Cox was unable to comprehend what had just happened: the speed at which Hawke had not only produced the weapon, but then dispatched Lee and Dawes, had left him in a state of total shock and confusion.

As Lee and Dawes dropped down beside him, Lieutenant Short's eyes grew wide with fear and he started to back away from Hawke, looking behind him to two men stood by the bridge's lift doors. Hawke then trained the pistol on Short himself.

“Security...” Short started, before Hawke pulled the trigger and he, too, collapsed in a heap on the ground, blood from all three of the dead beginning to seep from the wounds in their heads.

Hawke's eyes darted over the others occupying the bridge, marking out all the men and women who, though standing, remained rooted in shock. Movement at the other end of the aisle grabbed his attention and he focused the pistol to meet the new threat. “Drop them!” he called to the two security guards who stood at the far end of the long bridge, next to the lift, who had just broken into a run towards him. “Drop them now!”

The two men obeyed without question, throwing their guns aside and raising their hands in surrender. Even though they were a great deal further away than Short had been, the two security personnel were clearly not prepared to test just how fast or accurate Hawke could be.

“Everyone, down on your knees, hands on heads,” Hawke spat to his entire bridge.

No-one moved.

“KNEES! NOW!” Hawke shouted, waving the laser pistol about. It passed in Cox's direction and the man found himself dropping to the floor as his legs gave way, his hands flying to the top of his head. The tone in Hawke's voice told him that the man was in no mood to be trifled with. In the floor's dim reflection, Cox saw the engineer lower down next to him. A few moments later, he gingerly raised his eyes from the floor to look at Hawke.

Behind him, the transports continued to stream from Dragon, making their way towards the main launch bay of Ifrit. Hawke continued to mark the crew as they got down on the floor, watching each and every one of them for the slightest attempt at escape or attack. In the face of what had just happened, however, none of them were about to dare, some preferring to stare down at the floor than at Hawke's rage-twisted expression.

It was not long before the first wing of transports started to enter Ifrit's launch bay, setting themselves down inside. Even as they did so, more could be seen departing Dragon, forming a huge caravan reminiscent of those departing Spirit earlier that day. The image of the transports streaming towards the Confederation carrier, no doubt carrying with them scores of Imperial soldiers, deadly weaponry and God only knew whatever else, did nothing but fill all its witnesses with a sense of dread and terrible unease.

What would happen when they arrived? Why was this happening? What did Hawke plan to do? The questions raced through Cox's mind. Though, for some reason he felt fear starting to pass, being edged out by a new feeling: anger. He looked down the bridge, along the rows of crew that were on their knees. He noted one young man who he could see was trembling. The man made a quick snap look at the lift. Cox wished he could tell the man to stay where he was, but he had already made up his mind. Cox saw him leap to his feet and start towards the lift, arm outstretched, reaching for the call button.

He managed but a few feet before Hawke felled him, the thin red beam of the laser cutting its way through the back of his head. The young man crashed forward across the floor, legs giving way beneath him, his arms splayed out as he went down. Like the others that had fallen to the shots, he gave no cry as he fell, but those who continued to comply with Hawke's command flinched at the sound of his body slamming down. Still they kept their hands on their heads, facing the floor, looking down at the dim reflections of their own worried faces staring back at them.

* * *

The occupants of Ifrit's flight deck stood by powerless as the first of the transports opened up, the passengers like none they had ever seen before: they were clad almost entirely in black, save for a strange white emblem on their left breast and right arm, and a pair of scowling ruby-red eyes, affixed into their helmets.

The soldiers spilled out of the craft, rifles raised to secure the area. They spoke no words, but gestured to the deck's occupants that they should, like those on the bridge, place their hands on their heads and get down on their knees. The various maintenance workers, pilots and other service personnel did as they were ordered, terrified by the sight before them.

It did not take long for the soldiers to secure the area, and before long they were beginning to permeate through into the other areas of the carrier.

* * *

“Sir, the admiral...” Cox heard a woman's voice come over the carrier's PA system.

“Escort him up to the bridge,” Hawke