Hawk_Hand of the Machine Page 18

  “We are being approached by an unknown vessel of considerable size,” it squawked. “The enemy ship is now firing on it—and being fired upon, in return.”

  The tiniest bit of relief crept over both men in the cockpit area, though it was as always tempered with caution.

  “Who is it?”

  “Unknown. Detecting massive power reserves—and many weapons directed at us, as well as at the enemy!”

  A barrage of fire shot just past them then, coming from the new arrival and directed at their foe. Every shot struck home, and the enemy ship listed to the side again.

  Falcon appeared to be doing mental calculations. He announced then, “It’s just about time for my ‘insurance’ bomb to—”

  The enemy ship flared brightly, then separated into two sections along a jagged line.

  Falcon nodded, his mouth now pulled into a tight smile.

  “Yep,” he chuckled.

  Another spray of plasma rounds from the cylindrical ship tore through both halves of the black vessel. The enemy was not firing back now, and whatever signs of life it had exhibited previously were now absent.

  Hawk didn’t waste time watching it die. He spun them around until they could see the new ship through the viewport. Though it was cylindrical, its thicker sections at the far end created overall an almost conical impression. Lights from tiny windows along its sides twinkled in the darkness, and red and green running lights strobed here and there, in a somewhat irregular pattern.

  “That’s not a Raven’s ship, by any chance?” Hawk asked, not taking his eyes off the thing.

  Falcon laughed humorlessly.

  “Not even close.”

  “I figured as much,” Hawk said. “Doesn’t exactly say ‘stealth’ to me.”

  Falcon gazed out at the big cylinder, its hull mottled with discoloration.

  “I don’t have a clue what in the Above or Below that thing is. Looks pretty old. A leftover from the Shattering, I think. Some kind of pirate, maybe?”

  Whatever it was, it was closing on them fast. Hawk dropped into the pilot’s seat and the holographic tactical screen appeared before him.

  “Just because these guys helped blow up our enemy,” Falcon noted, “doesn’t mean they want to be friends with us.”

  Hawk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” He raised his voice. “Bring whatever weapons we have on line, ship,” he called.

  “I will,” the mechanical voice replied, “but I do not believe it will do much good. That vessel is heavily shielded. And its reactors are generating massive amounts of energy.”

  Before Hawk could issue further orders, the ship interjected, “I am receiving a signal.”

  Hawk was puzzled. He looked up at Falcon. “I thought you ripped that system out?”

  “Only the parts pertaining to the Machine,” he growled. “Let’s hear what they have to say. It should be good for a laugh, before they blast us to kingdom come.”

  The voice that crackled over the comm connection was haughty and imperious, with an odd accent that neither Hawk nor Falcon could place. “You are illegally traveling in a vessel belonging to a Hand of the Machine,” it declared. “You will surrender your ship to me immediately.”

  Hawk and Falcon exchanged surprised looks.

  “He has overridden my systems,” the ship noted with alarm. “Your visuals are now being transmitted to that ship.”

  After a couple of seconds, the voice returned, now a tiny bit less haughty.

  “Well, well,” it said. “Can this be?”

  “We are receiving a visual in return,” the ship noted.

  The tactical hologram disappeared. In its place now hovered the image of a face: lean, lined, with piercing blue eyes and a long, narrow nose and strong chin. Blond hair was combed or pulled back tightly from the face. In all, the image was of a man in perhaps his late forties or early fifties with something of a regal bearing, standing with his hands on his hips.

  “Surely this is some sort of joke?” The dour blond man appeared to be studying his own display for a moment, first with an incredulous look, and then with pleasant surprise. “And yet, my sensors confirm what I’m seeing. A Falcon. Though,” he added, “this Falcon appears somewhat worse for the wear.” He paused, staring at them over the connection. “And…could that truly be a Hawk that I see?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “My, my. There has to be an utterly fascinating story behind that.”

  “You know us,” Hawk replied, “but we don’t know you.”

  “Oh, I know who he is,” Falcon growled before the blond man on the hologram could say anything. “Or who he’s supposed to be, anyway. Didn’t expect to ever meet one again, though.”

  Hawk looked up from the seat at his cyborg companion expectantly.

  “Hawk, meet the Machine’s great and mighty logistics and tactical agent.” He glared at the hologram, his human eye narrowed to a dark slit. “Meet Cassius—the Hand known as Condor.”

  4: FALCON

  Hawk’s ship passed through into the docking bay and settled gently to the deck. A large mass of figures emerged from doors located at the back of the chamber and hustled quickly into place around the ship—troops, obviously.

  Falcon watched them on the holo display as they formed into tight, straight rows. They wore brown uniforms with red trim and carried a variety of very deadly-looking weapons, from energy rifles to blaster pistols to everything in between.

  “You can see what I mean already, huh?”

  Hawk was getting up from the pilot’s seat, but looked back at the display. “How so?”

  “He’s Mr. Logistics and Tactics. They’re lined up all parade-style, looking pretty and making a lovely show of it—but also in carefully-planned positions such that they can blow us away from any direction as soon as we walk outside.”

  Hawk took this in.

  “Okay…so…but we’re still going outside, right?”

  “Of course.”

  They exchanged grim smiles and moved through the main cabin toward the hatch.

  Falcon moved aside to allow Hawk the honor of stepping out first, since this was his ship. The fact that this also exposed Hawk first to any possible sneak attack was not lost on either of them.

  Falcon smiled inside as the hatch opened and Hawk simply strode right out, chin up, without hesitating or looking around first. He couldn’t help it—he found that he liked this Hawk. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that there hadn’t been a genuine Hawk for him to interact with in all the centuries since the Shattering, but there seemed more to it, somehow.

  Now you’re getting all soft and mushy, he admonished himself. There’s a lot more to be concerned with right now than having found a potentially useful and trustworthy associate.

  Falcon followed Hawk out into the bright lights of the docking bay. His mechanical eye quickly adjusted, leaving his human one to squint at the glare.

  From out of the ranks emerged a tall, gaunt figure in brown. Blond hair brushed back, aquiline nose, haughty air as he gazed at his new guests—whoever the man was, he certainly knew how to evoke the attitude of a Condor.

  “Gentlemen,” he said formally. “Welcome aboard my ship.”

  “Thanks for the assistance back there,” Hawk replied, extending a hand. Meanwhile, Falcon looked around, soaking up the details.

  Another second passed and then Condor smiled tightly and reached out, taking Hawk’s hand and shaking it. “It was my pleasure.”

  The three stood there for several seconds, no one speaking. Falcon looked off to the side, his lone human eye blinking rapidly as his partly electronic brain reached out, out… Nothing.

  He turned back to Condor. “No Aether reception, then?” he asked. “Neither you nor your ship?”

  Condor looked only the slightest bit chagrinned.

  “I’m afraid…I’ve suffered some difficulties along those lines,” he answered, offering a flat smile. “And nowhere to go to effect repairs.” He nodded to indicate Falcon�
��s cyborg prosthetics. “Obviously you’ve encountered similar difficulties.”

  “I’m not able to connect to the Aether, either,” Hawk volunteered.

  Falcon flashed his new comrade a quick look of disapproval. He didn’t like revealing anything he didn’t have to—not even to an alleged ally.

  “I see,” Condor stated, glancing at Hawk. “So—the three of us are reduced to verbal communications, then, it would appear.”

  “I suppose we can make do,” Falcon commented. He paused, sizing the blond man up. Then, “What I’d be interested to learn is how you found us. This is a mighty big galaxy for you to just happen to come along when you did.”

  Condor offered Falcon a somewhat surprised expression.

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” Falcon asked, casting a slightly nervous glance Hawk’s way.

  Condor laughed, somewhat arrogantly at first but softening quickly to a friendly chuckle as he saw Falcon’s expression hardening.

  “We could scarcely miss you,” the blond man replied. “Your ship has been screaming incessantly on every private Hand frequency for, oh…” He shrugged. “Hours, at least.”

  Falcon and Hawk both reacted with surprise at this news, but the big cyborg’s expression soured very quickly. He glowered at Hawk, then at the ship where it rested on the docking bay floor.

  “Screaming, eh?” he growled.

  “Incessantly,” Condor replied with a nod. “Calling out for any available Hands to come to its rescue—claiming that it was being menaced by a rogue Falcon.”

  The other two Hands absorbed this information in silence. Then Falcon sighed and shook his head, staring down at the metal floor.

  “A rogue Falcon, it said?”

  “That’s right.” Condor paused, then, “One who had already damaged its systems and might do so again. It was very emphatic about that part.”

  Falcon stared back at Condor, and now he couldn’t help but begin to smile and snort a laugh. The blond man returned his gaze somewhat noncommittally.

  “Hawk,” Falcon rumbled, turning halfway toward the third man, “you need to have a serious talk with your ship’s intelligence.” He considered for a second, then added, “or else maybe I could. With a hammer.”

  Before Condor could rejoin the conversation, an underling approached with a bow and said something quietly to him.

  “Your ship is requesting that my people repair its subspace communications array,” Condor informed them after the trooper had been dismissed. “In fact, ‘requesting is far too mild a term. It is practically demanding it, to any of my cybernetic units that will listen. It seems the ship is upset that it can no longer attempt to contact the Machine. As if the Machine were still listening,” he added.

  “Yeah, well, about that,” Falcon began.

  Condor dismissed it with a wave.

  “I will have my technicians look it over,” he said, “but not immediately. Other requirements must take priority.”

  Falcon exchanged significant glances with Condor at that.

  “Assuming you are agreeable, Hawk,” Condor added. “It is, of course, your ship.”

  “Of course. No hurry.”

  “I suspected that would be the case,” Condor said with what might have been a wink.

  Falcon grinned. Though nothing had been said openly—at least, not yet—Falcon was getting the strong sense from this particular Condor that he was by no means a fanatical devotee of the Machine and that he, too, enjoyed his freedom from the great computer mind’s thrall. If that was the case, things might at last be looking up.

  “So,” Falcon went on at last, breaking the brief silence and turning to directly face the man in brown. “What have you been doing for the last thousand years or so?”

  Condor smiled a warm but almost smug smile back at him.

  “Not quite a thousand, actually,” he answered. He hesitated for a few seconds. “I’m a more recent edition.” His bright blue eyes met Falcon’s mismatched pair. “I don’t believe you and I have ever actually met.”

  “No,” Falcon replied with a chuckle. “You’re definitely not the Cassius I knew before.” Nonetheless he offered the man his hand and they shook. His smile faded quickly afterward and his eyes remained locked onto those of the other man. “But, seriously—what have you been doing, since they woke you up?”

  “Same old things,” Con said. “Fighting the good fight. Going after the bad guys. Keeping an eye out for larger trouble.” He gestured around them. “Doing the best I can with what’s available, in these latter days we find ourselves in.”

  Falcon was nodding as the other man spoke, but within his own mind, he was puzzled. Something’s not right, he realized. No ship like this was ever part of the fleet of the Hands—and, even if Condor captured it somewhere along the way, only recently, it hasn’t been maintained in any fashion the way a Hand’s ship should or would have been.

  Condor gazed at Hawk for a second or two, as if unsure of what to make of him.

  Falcon had expected this and stood ready to move into action if necessary—though one could have never told it, looking at his easy, casual stance.

  “You don’t have any problems with Hawk, here?” Falcon asked, cocking his human eye at the blond man.

  Condor shrugged slightly.

  “Not as such, no,” he replied, his eyes shifting from Hawk to Falcon and back. “A lot of time has passed. Centuries.” He glanced back at Falcon, meanwhile motioning with his head toward Hawk. “And he’s not the same one, at any rate—right? He couldn’t be.”

  “No,” Falcon agreed. “He couldn’t be.”

  Hawk followed the conversation but kept his silence.

  “Fine with me to have him here, then,” Condor said. “Hawk or no, I can use all the high-powered help I can get.”

  Falcon wasn’t sure how to react to that. In a way, knowing the original Condor the way he had, a thousand years earlier, he would have expected the man to object strenuously to the presence of a figure as reviled as Hawk. But it certainly benefitted them all now for this version of Condor to be acquiescent about his presence. Consequently, he was hesitant to be overly suspicious or to say anything more. Falcon therefore just filed it all away and waited to see what happened next. In the meantime, he kept both his human and cyborg eyes on Condor.

  “Are you experiencing some sort of trouble, then?” Hawk was asking.

  The blond man smiled again and shrugged somewhat nonchalantly. “Nothing we haven’t been able to handle, thus far,” he replied. “But assistance is most assuredly welcome, and will certainly make things easier.”

  Before either of the other two men could inquire as to what exactly these “things” were, Condor nodded to the two of them and gestured toward the doorway at the rear of the bay. “If you would accompany me to the command level, we can continue this conversation in a more comfortable setting.” He looked them over. “And we can discuss just who that was that you were fighting when I arrived…” He spared Hawk a pointed glance then. “…As well as a great many other things.”

  Hawk started forward. Falcon continued to look around, taking reams of mental notes.

  “How did you two come to be together?” Condor was asking. “Is your ship nearby, Falcon?”

  “It was destroyed,” Falcon replied tersely. “A while back. Hawk was giving me a ride.”

  “Ah.” Condor glanced at Falcon, and looked to be about to inquire about the man’s cyborg implants and reconstruction, but then seemed to think better of it, at least for now. “Well. How fortunate that a brother Hand was in the neighborhood, eh?”

  Falcon nodded once.

  Condor smiled at them and then gestured with his left hand.

  “This way, gentlemen.”

  He led the two other Hands past the ranks of soldiers and through the doorway.

  It was now Hawk’s turn to look around, as they traveled down a series of corridors.

  “So this is the ship of
a Condor?” Hawk asked.

  The blond man glanced back at him, his expression showing more than a touch of puzzlement. Then he smiled, as though coming to the conclusion that Hawk had been joking.

  “We salvaged this vessel from a battle zone that probably dated back to the Shattering,” Condor replied. “It has its uses. Particularly with our larger ships from the old days now lost to us.”

  Falcon gave Hawk a slight jab in the ribs and a quick look that very clearly said, “Don’t ask any more questions that give away what you don’t know!”

  They continued a short distance further until they reached a sort of elevator. The doors opened and they all walked inside. The doors closed and Falcon could feel a hint of movement.

  No one said a word. Falcon figured Hawk was overflowing with questions, but another sharp look kept the dark-haired Hand’s trap shut.

  The doors whisked open. Condor led them out onto the command level—a broad, open area with high ceilings and wide, clear viewports lining the opposite wall for what must have been nearly a hundred meters. Various brown-and-red-uniformed individuals stood or sat here and there, at various consoles and workstations, presumably operating the ship. A few of them looked up as the doors opened, took in the new arrivals with no small degree of surprise, and quickly returned to their tasks.

  Condor walked out onto a circular open area at the center of the vast chamber. He raised his arms out from his sides, presenting the command level to his guests.

  “You have come along just in time, gentlemen,” he told them. “We are preparing to initiate a new operation and your assistance may prove invaluable.”

  Hawk walked along behind him onto the circle, looking about. Falcon could tell the dark-haired man was awed by what he was seeing—but then, Hawk had only been awake a short time. He hadn’t seen the things Falcon had seen in his much longer life, and hadn’t received most of the memory downloads from his original self. Falcon hung back, near the doors, still studying his surroundings in minute detail.

  Yeah, he told himself. I was right. Even if they just salvaged this tub a day ago, it shouldn’t look like this. Not with a high-ranking Hand and his personal army in charge.