Knight's Move

Knight’s Move

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net

http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

All Comments Welcome!

Knight’s Move
is intended as a stand-alone book, but a sequel can be written if there is demand – please let me know if you want to see one, either through email or my facebook fan page. 

As always, I would be grateful for any comments, editing notes and suchlike.  If you find any errors, please send them to me in context.  For example:

“Their is a Tavern in the Town.” – ‘Their’ should be ‘There.’

Commodore
Jason Lopez pushed open the door to the Dead Dragon and looked around the bar, glaring at a couple of hardened bravos who looked as though they might want to try their luck.  He allowed his coat to fall open as he brushed snow off the fur, revealing his holstered pistol and spacer’s uniform; the bravos looked away, clearly determined to seek easier prey, someone who might not fight back.  Whatever else could be said about spacers, they were no cowards – and a planet like Frostbite, dependent on outside shipping, was unlikely to prosecute a spacer who killed a local who was trying to mug him.

“The war seems to have sucked away the real men,” Dana muttered through her communications implant as she followed him into the room.  “None of the ones here look like they could put up a fight.”

Jason rolled his eyes.  Dana looked like a child – and she was one of the most lethal people he'd ever met.  God alone knew where she came from, but she had enhanced strength, implanted weapons and a very nasty disposition.  If she hadn't been loyal to him, he would have quietly disposed of her long ago.  She loved to fight and she wasn't always careful
where
she fought.

“Or they went elsewhere,” he muttered back, as the bartender hastened to greet them.  “There isn't much here for a real man to do.”

“Sir,” the bartender said.  “Mr. Ford is waiting in the back room.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, out loud.  “Please take us to him.”

He gritted his teeth as the bartender led him behind the counter and through a half-hidden doorway.  It galled him to come to Frostbite, it galled him to have to deal with a man who had sent them little more than a retainer fee and a time and place to meet, but there were few other alternatives.  The Marauders had been feted during the war, yet now the fighting was over the rest of the human race seemed to prefer to forget that they even existed.  Even the Bottleneck Republic had turned its back on them.  They were an
embarrassment
.

They were happy to have us when the Dragons were breathing down their necks
, he thought, as he caught sight of the Dragon someone had killed, stuffed and mounted against the wall.  It would never have been allowed on Earth, now that the war was over. 
And if they keep demilitarising the way they have been, the Dragons will be breathing down their necks again soon enough
.

Mr. Ford was either a corporate rat or an intelligence officer, Jason decided as the man stood up to greet them.  He was tall and thin, with a face so mundane that he could pass completely unnoticed in a crowd.  The chances were that he’d change his face the moment he reached his ship, wherever it was.  He wouldn't want any witnesses following him.

“Commodore,” Mr. Ford said.  “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Jason said, keeping the displeasure out of his voice.  Once, they had been able to pick and choose contracts; now, they were dependent upon a very limited credit line extended by the few people who still remembered what the Marauders had done for them.  “We are at your service.”

Mr. Ford ordered drinks.  Then, when the bartender had left the room, he activated a privacy shield generator.  No one should be able to spy on their conversation – or so Jason hoped.  The presence of the generator was common enough along the edge of human space, but combined with the money Mr. Ford had already sent them it suggested that he had something in mind that was not entirely legal.  Jason’s implants analysed the privacy field and pronounced it solid.  He could only hope that they were right.

“My ... superiors understand that you are looking for work,” Mr. Ford said, after the bartender had returned, placed the drinks on the table and left the room for the second time.  “And that you are willing to do whatever needs to be done.”

Jason nodded.  It had been their trademark, ever since he had taken his armed merchant ship up against a Dragon corvette and
won
.  The small fleet he’d built up would go anywhere and do anything, provided the price was right.  They’d protected convoys, joined planetary defence fleets and even raided deep into Dragon-held territory.  And they’d acquired a reputation for ruthlessness that had shocked even the Dragons.  After the Dragons had nuked a tiny and largely worthless human colony, Jason and his ships had smashed a much larger alien settlement from orbit.  There hadn't been any further atrocities for seven years after they’d carried out the strike.

Even Dragons can learn
, he thought. 
We sure taught them a lesson about indiscriminate slaughter of human populations
.

But now the war was over, there were calls – largely from the Federation – for him and his crews to be prosecuted for war crimes.  It was part of the reason he didn't dare take his ships through the Bottleneck and return to the Federation, even though there was no shortage of work in the former Occupied Zone.  The moment they put their ships into port, they might well be arrested.  Slaving on a penal colony was
not
how he intended to end his days.

“Yes,” he said, simply.  He took a sip of his beer and grimaced at the taste.  “What do you wish from us?”

“We wish to hire you,” Mr. Ford said, simply.  “There are ...
tasks
that need to be done.”

He dropped a datachip onto the table.  “And this is what we’re offering in payment.”

Jason picked it up, scanned the chip quickly and then accessed it through his implant.  A large sum of untraceable money, enough to buy a whole new cruiser if necessary, and a colossal manifest of spare parts.  Precisely what his little fleet needed to keep going, he saw; they’d even included weapons and equipment that the Federation, in the wake of the war, was starting to restrict.  If they took the offer, they would certainly be able to operate without having to break up or go back to the Federation.

“Impressive,” he allowed, finally.  Whatever they wanted in exchange, he knew, would be staggering.  “And what do you want from us?”

Mr. Ford told him.

“I see,” Jason said.  He took a long swig of his beer, wondering just what sort of animal had pissed it out.  “Who
are
you?”

Mr. Ford smiled.  “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Jason mumbled.  For the money they were being offered, he would gladly have attacked Earth itself.  And some of the targets were places he would have hit for free.  The prospect of mass slaughter was not one that bothered him.  “I thank you.”

“The supplies will be delivered to your destination of choice,” Mr. Ford said.  “After that, we will expect you to start as soon as possible.”

He stood up and walked out, leaving Jason and Dana alone.

Commander Glen Knight looked around his cabin, struck – again – by just how
bare
it was compared to his bedroom before he’d joined the Terran Federation Navy.  The bulkheads were regulation navy-gray, without any pictures or anything else to break up the monotony or suggest that anyone actually
lived
in the compartment.  It wasn't much for a year as
Ark Royal’s
XO, second-in-command of the giant fleet carrier.  The ship would barely notice his departure.

He stepped over to the desk and picked up the handful of medals he’d been issued during his nine years of navy service.  Three campaign medals, including one from the Battle of Sphere Prime, and the Terran Cross – or, as spacers called it, the reward for Extreme Cleverness in the Face of the Enemy.  He looked down at them for a long moment, then carefully pinned them to his uniform jacket.  If nothing else, he had to be presentable when he faced the Admiral.  He brushed back his brown hair, then inspected himself in the mirror.  A lanky body, strong cheekbones and dark brown eyes looked back at him.

There was a chime at the door.  He activated his implants, ordering the local processor to open the door.  It hissed open, revealing Captain Thomas Smith and Ensign Yang.  The latter looked oddly disappointed to see him leaving, although she hid it well.  As XO, Glen had worked with her and the other ensigns to encourage them to develop their full potential; Yang would have been assured of a good career, during the war.  Now, with promotions slowed down and vast numbers of spacers being demobilised, no one really knew just what would happen in the future.  Glen silently wished her the best.

“Captain,” he said.

“Commander,” Smith replied.  He was an older man, with a short white beard; he was very much a father to his men.  Glen hoped that, one day, he would command the same level of love and respect as his Captain.  But Smith had been a CO for years.  “Are you packed?”

Glen nodded towards the pair of bags on the deck.  Like all experienced naval officers, he travelled light; there were clothes, a handful of datachips and a reader ... and little else.  Everything else he owned remained in storage on Earth, where it would wait until he came back to claim it.  There was no point in dragging it from ship to ship.

“Yes, sir,” he said, feeling an odd moment of bitterness.  He would miss the Captain – and the crew.  Their bonds had been forged by years of fighting ... and then helping to keep the uneasy peace that had followed the war.  “I’m ready.”

The Captain nodded to Yang.  “Ensign, take the XO’s bags to the shuttle,” he ordered.  “Tell the pilot we will be along in twenty minutes.”

Glen watched her pick up the bags and leave the compartment.  Yang was so damned
young
, with long black hair, a vaguely oriental face and a smile that had turned more than a few heads.  She’d missed the war completely and lacked the scars it had left on the more experienced officers and crewmen.  Glen couldn't help wondering how she would fare in the post-war navy, without a strong patron to help her career.  But it was no longer his problem.

“It’s been a pleasure to have you as my XO,” the Captain said, once they were alone.  “And I hope that your new command will be satisfying.  First commands are always special.”

“Yes, sir,” Glen said, again.  He’d been told that he was being promoted to Captain, but little else.  His new command might be a destroyer – God knew there was plenty of work for the smaller ships these days – or a cruiser; whatever it was, it would be very different from the giant fleet carrier.  “And thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

The Captain smiled and led him through the hatch and down through a maze of corridors.  Glen had found them confusing, at first; now, he knew
Ark Royal
like the back of his hand.  His new ship would probably be simpler, he reminded himself.  And besides, there were always the deck plans loaded into his implants.

They stepped into the shuttlebay and paused. 
Ark Royal’s
senior crew were waiting for them, standing in line.  Glen felt an odd sensation in his throat as they saluted him and, once he returned their salute, gathered round to shake his hand and wish him luck.  By the time he climbed into the shuttle, he felt thoroughly miserable.  Maybe he
was
being promoted – an independent command was the dream of every ambitious naval officer – but he would miss his former shipmates.  He forced himself to sit quietly as the shuttle rose from the deck and passed out through the force field keeping the starship’s atmosphere safely inside the hull.

The pilot performed a single circuit of the mighty carrier and then took the shuttle down towards Luna Base.  Four hundred years of settlement had left Earth’s moon covered in human colonies, although the grand plan to actually give Luna a viable atmosphere had been shelved because of the war.  Hundreds of decommissioned starships, some of them clearly being cannibalised by the navy’s reduced workforce, hung in orbit, no longer part of the greatest military machine the galaxy had ever known.  The fleet that humanity had built up to crush the Dragons and liberate the Occupied Zone was being cut to the bone.