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

accelerators affixed to the front of the carrier explode, the turret snapping apart and the mount breaking free and spinning off into space. Green and blue chemicals vented from the shaft. Missiles exploded all across the hull. Debris tumbled about from where the attacks had shredded the more exposed and less well protected parts of the vessel.

If Parks had considered his ship a mess before, then it was nothing compared to what he was looking at now: the emblem of the griffin residing across the topside of the carrier, stretching out away from the bridge, was scarcely recognisable, now blackened and charred.

Parks braced himself. He wondered how it might all end. Would he see the frontal viewport shatter and be pulled from his chair, out into space? Would he feel himself engulfed in flames for a few moments as the bridge exploded? Or would he hear only a sudden loud bang, see his world go black, and then no more? Whatever it was, he was sure he would find out soon...

And then, for the second time that day, Griffin's lights shut off, plunging the ship into near-darkness. Computer arrays and consoles followed in their stead. Some exploded, adding to the causalities that had already built up during Ifrit's barrage, smoke once again threatening to fill the bridge and suffocate its occupants.

Half-light spilled into the bridge from the emergency systems, relieving the crew of the momentary darkness. It was aided by the small electrical fires that had sprung up from some of the consoles, creating a smoky orange ambience about the bridge; pockets of flicking blue light from sparking electrics dancing across consoles. Crew members darted about to find firefighting equipment.

With their power cut, Griffin's weapons fell silent and Parks braced himself for Ifrit's impending finishing blow. It was then that he noticed that the carrier had stopped rocking and that missiles and cannon fire no longer rained down on the ship.

“Mr Liu...” Parks started.

“They... they've stopped firing,” Liu said, staring out at the Confederation carrier that had moments before threatened to bring to an end Griffin's long service.

Why? Parks wondered. When Ifrit had ignored their greetings but continued forward, he knew something was amiss. Though he had been grateful for the carrier's arrival, going by the information that Turner had relayed to him Ifrit was many hours late. By now, he would be expecting to see Leviathan, instead. Dammit, Aiden, where are you?!

“What's our status?” he asked Liu.

“Power outage is temporary and is only affecting certain systems, Captain,” Liu said, working at his console. “It can be restored in a few minutes.”

Parks hesitated for a moment before responding to the news. “Don't bring us back on-line, Lieutenant,” he said. Something told him that it would not be wise for them to stop playing dead just yet.

Weathers' console started to jingle in front of her. “Sir, Ifrit is attempting to establish communications,” she said.

So, now they want to talk, Parks thought. “Put them on.”

The holographic screen sprang up at the front of the bridge, the quality of the picture and sound comparable to how it had been just after the Imperial fighter had crashed onto the flight deck. Parks heard a number of intakes of breath as he stood up and walked closer to the projection of Ifrit's bridge. Whilst the image was blocky, jerky and suffering from crackling audio, it lost none of the impact it otherwise stood to deliver.

Zackaria sat in the captain's chair like a king upon his throne, his face serious and stern. Just ahead of him, on his right-hand side, stood Hawke, his expression deadpan in the face of his former ally.

“Anthony...” Parks began, the genuine shock in his voice clear even to him. With Ifrit's attack, Parks had thought of only two people who could be commanding the carrier: Admiral Zackaria or Commodore Rissard. The thought of Hawke alive and well and unharmed aboard the ship had never occurred to him. And now, the sight of both Zackaria and Hawke stood side by side, as allies, almost floored him.

“This is where we part ways, Elliott,” came the scratchy voice of Hawke from the holographic image. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to bid you farewell.”

His face had changed a lot since Parks had seen him, hours before: his skin looked fresh and healthy, his eyes were bright, and his facial hair was completely absent, as if he had just had a clean shave.

“My God, man! What are you doing?” Parks said, flabbergasted.

“My part to ensure the continued success of the Mission, Commodore,” Hawke said with a clean expression. The man spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, as if there was nothing unusual or surprising about his nature.

“The Mission?”

Hawke nodded. Or, at least, what appeared to be a nod. “The Mission - For the honour of the Senate. For the glory of the Empire.”

As Parks continued to stare open-mouthed at the image that jumped, froze and tore, the pieces of a great puzzle began to fall into place.

“You gave them Dragon, didn't you?” Parks said. “That's why you survived. You tried to bargain and they took it. They wanted a man on the inside.”

Links formed in Parks' mind, everything finally starting to make perfect sense: the Enemy had intercepted and boarded Dragon - how was not important - but he hazarded that at that time it was not with Hawke's consent. Though they had fought hard to hold back the invaders, Dragon's crew had succumbed to the boarders and the Enemy had made their way to Hawke himself. Something else had happened then, a point that Parks still struggled on, but in the end it had led to Hawke's treachery. The man had then been beaten, starved, and thrown into an escape pod, where he was left to drift in Independent space for the allied forces to find him. It was meant to look as though he had run away or had been saved by his crew, so that he alone might be able to tell of the fate that had befallen Dragon, and therefore aid the Confederation in its recovery. But instead, he had been working against them.

How much information could he give them now, Parks wondered. What had he told them already? That didn't matter; the Enemy had tricked him and they had Dragon.

“That is correct, Commodore,” Hawke said.

Parks' mind raced, searching for a way out. The Enemy have Dragon, and now they have Ifrit. Dragon. Ifrit. Something occurred to him; he had to stall for time.

“Anthony, listen: we can talk this through,” Parks said. “Please; allow me to come aboard and speak with Admiral Zackaria. We can work something out. We can end this without any more loss of life. I throw myself upon the mercy of the Senate.” He knew it sounded absurd; so very melodramatic.

“There will be no discussions,” Hawke said in a flat voice. “There has been too much talk already.” The holographic image had stopped updating, and whilst the audio was still quite clear, the video transmission had ceased.

Parks couldn't be certain the same loss would be true for Ifrit, but he had to risk it. He was sure that Hawke would continue his gloat undeterred by the sudden loss of visuals. He just had to lure him in.

“Your plans won't work, Anthony,” Parks said. “There are too many flaws, too many assumptions. We're already well prepared to exploit those weaknesses...” He started to back away from the static holographic image, beckoning towards Liu with one hand. The man rose from his seat and prepared to assist the commodore as soon as he was prompted further.

“It will work just as Fleet Admiral Turner described it,” Hawke said. “The ATAFs will join our frontline forces and we will use them to fulfil the Mission.”

“It's not your Mission, Anthony!” Parks retorted. “Listen to me: you are not one of them.” He shuffled Weathers out of her seat, gesturing to the woman to keep quiet. He quickly took her place, his fingers racing across the surface of her console, Liu giving him visual prompts as the man's plan began to come together.

“You are an enlisted officer within the Confederation Stellar Navy,” Parks said. “You have spent a good part of your life with the service and your time and dedication to serving the Confederacy has not gone unnoticed. You have a wife and one daughter, who has recently been accepted to study law at Cambridge University, thanks to your own efforts to never give up on her and motivate her to achieve her dreams.”

“The Mission is more important than any of those things,” Hawke's voice came. “All of those who oppose the rule of the Senate must be eradicated, as decreed by the Senior Magistrate. It's time for you to accept it: you have failed, Commodore. You never were the man that Fleet Admiral Turner believed you were. Too much store is put into the weak, into the lenient, into the modest and the humble...”

Parks did not hear the rest, he was working too feverishly. He was thankful that Hawke had taken the opportunity to gloat, though he knew that time was short, and at any moment Ifrit would finish Griffin off. He heard a new voice speak over the comm link's still active audio channel. The words were unrecognisable and seemed not to be directed at him.

“Time's up, Commodore,” Hawke announced.

“Captain, Ifrit is readying accelerators!” Weathers said from her position at Liu's console.

From where he sat, Parks did not need computer readouts for that kind of information: at this range, he could quite clearly see the green lights, running the length of the weapons' turrets, beginning to illuminate as they charged. Griffin was mere seconds away from destruction.

Parks looked up from the console, towards the carrier ahead where he knew both Hawke and Zackaria would be staring back at Griffin, preparing to witness its final few moments of service. Parks, however, was not quite willing to give them that pleasure just yet.

“You know how the saying goes, Commodore: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice...” A single confirmation request lay on the console's screen, Parks' fingers hovering just above it. “... shame on me!”

Parks' fingers tapped the screen, executing the command he had taken the opportunity to set up. Ifrit's plasma accelerators stopped charging, the lights along the turrets extinguishing as if they were flames doused by water.

“Karen?” Parks looked to Weathers for further confirmation of his actions.

“Ifrit's shielding, weaponry and engines have all been disabled, sir,” she said. “Life support still functional, but...”

“Bring us back on-line, Mr Liu and get us out of here!” Parks interrupted, rising from the console.

“Where?” the uncertain navigator said. “Jump engines are likely to be extremely unstable since the last attack...”

“Just put some distance between us, man!” Parks said. Whilst Ifrit couldn't return fire or give chase, Parks wanted to get Griffin as far away as was possible. Not that he knew where they were going to go or what they would do once Ifrit recovered. He was buying time; clutching at straws.

Griffin's engines engaged and the carrier started forward, maintaining its same heading and slipping beneath its antagonist, though it was clear that the engines were lacking the power they had possessed at the time they had departed Spirit.

I can't believe that actually worked, Parks found himself thinking. The idea had come to him in a flash: upon seeing Zackaria sat in the captain's seat on the holographic screen, he had become angry at how the man had taken not one, but now two of the Navy's most prized vessels. He had gone back to the fateful start of the day, to when, during the preparations, he had been certain they would return home with what was once theirs. He then recalled how, prior to the commencement of Operation Menelaus, Griffin's databanks had been loaded with the security credentials for deactivating Dragon. The data bundle had, however, not been restricted to their mission target and had also contained the protocols to link to other Confederation capital ships; including Ifrit. With the realisation that Hawke had inadvertently handed him the advantage, Parks knew he had only to keep his former ally talking until he could locate Ifrit's details.

Though he thought his plan to be quite inspired, he was unable to revel in the victory; it looked far too short-lived in his eyes. To Zackaria and Hawke this was only a temporary set back and one way or another they would be on Griffin once more. And when that time came they would not hold back until the carrier was reduced to nothing but a burnt-out shell.

* * *

Zackaria rose from the captain's chair, joining Hawke where he stood at the front of the carrier and ordered him to prevent the