Knight Errant Read online

  Knight Errant

  Knights of the Flaming Star Book One

  Paul Barrett

  Steve Murphy

  Steve: To my high school English teacher Mrs. Graham, who encouraged me on a better path by letting my creativity fly and sparing me from the mundane.

  Paul: To Richard Crawford, who told his daughter a long time before it ever happened that I would be the one in the group who would really make something of myself.

  Contents

  1. A Damsel In Distress

  2. Good Night Gone Bad

  3. The Plan In Motion

  4. Taken

  5. Call To Arms

  6. Mission Accepted

  7. Mission Explained

  8. Departure

  9. Consultations

  10. Preparations

  11. Ambush

  12. Deadly Recovery

  13. The Next Move

  14. Trey’s Lesson

  15. Threads Unraveled

  16. Outpost Arrival

  17. Welcome To Meta Brévé

  18. Forced Hospitality

  19. Frightening Revelations

  20. The Commander’s Explanation

  21. A Past Revealed

  22. Moran’s Motives

  23. A Visit To Jeran Seven

  24. Extraction

  25. The Larger Scheme

  26. A Bad Night At Red’s

  27. The Knights Reborn

  28. Arrival At Kalatos Three

  29. Midnight Invasion

  30. Endgame Meeting

  31. Moran And Sara Reunited

  32. Justice Delivered

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Falstaff Books

  1

  A Damsel In Distress

  Trouble walked into the bar and Hawk took notice.

  Patrons threw irritated glances toward the door as unwanted light streamed into the murky tavern and a breeze stirred the alcohol-tinged air. Protests in several languages demanded a return to darkness. As soon as the door closed, and shadow reclaimed the room, the dissent settled. Hands, tentacles, and pseudopods continued lifting glasses.

  No one else paid attention to the man who entered. Hawk, seated at a side table, saw the warning signs. Tense shoulders, clenching hands, darting eyes; all symptoms of a person on the edge of doing something stupid, dangerous, or both.

  Hawk scanned the room. His gaze wandered over a multitude of species. He saw one other person observing the twitching newcomer: a slender human female with olive skin and black hair. Her eyes reflected a light of pure gold, marred only by the thin black dots of her pupils. She wore a deep blue executive unisuit and an expression of dread as she stared across the room. A corp-rat of some sort, she appeared completely out of place in a dive like the Ripspace Grotto.

  Guess she’s slumming, Hawk thought as he poured a shot of Trill’s Gutter Run—his fifth in the past half-hour—and slammed it down his throat. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking so much, but that didn’t stop him. It hadn’t stopped him in five years, ever since…

  He squashed the thought. He didn’t mind getting tipsy on self-pity, but he refused to wallow in it.

  To distract himself, Hawk returned his attention to Twitch. He had begun stalking through the bar, head jerking back and forth as he searched the gloom, most likely seeking the corp-rat.

  I won’t get involved, Hawk told himself as he poured another shot. I’m here to meet a contact about a job, and that’s it. I won’t get involved. He suddenly wished he had brought along Wolf or Ashron for back-up, but the client had requested discretion. Wolf, a Uraxian who stood two-and-a-quarter meters tall and had muscles stacked on top of sinews, didn’t fit the bill. Ashron, a lizard-like Lorothian, would have blended well with the Grotto’s clientele.

  Golden Eyes slid through the crowd, trying to keep bodies between herself and Twitch. Her movement had the opposite effect. Like a laser, the man’s eyes honed in. He carved a direct path toward her, heedless of who or what he shoved aside.

  The commotion caught the woman’s attention. She froze as the man bore down on her.

  Hawk studied him: just shy of two meters, a solid hundred and twenty kilos, sallow skin, and no hair. A little taller than me, maybe twenty kilos heavier, Hawk observed. It would be an ugly fight, so it’s a good thing I’m not going to get involved.

  He downed the shot and licked his lips to catch stray drops. His thick mustache prickled his tongue.

  The man’s twitching had ceased after he spotted his quarry, but his fists and jaw remained clenched. He stopped in front of the woman and glowered down at her. She stared back, terror on her face. Neither moved as the patrons, unaware or choosing to ignore the situation, carried on around them.

  I won’t get involved, Hawk reminded himself as he reached up, pulled his coffee-colored hair off his shoulders, and stuffed it into his shirt collar.

  “Let’s go, Anne,” the man rumbled.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, you bastard,” the woman said, her defiant words betrayed by a trembling voice.

  “Don’t make this difficult. Mr. Daratar said to bring you back, and that’s what I’m going to do. Legs whole or broken, he doesn’t really care.”

  Anne looked around, the panic of a trapped animal rolling off her.

  Adrenaline surged through Hawk. He grabbed the bottle of Trill’s by the neck and lowered it to his side. I won’t get involved…but I can take him if I have to.

  The man continued in a near whisper Hawk barely heard. “No one in this hole gives a damn about a little corporate tramp, so just follow me nice or things will get ugly.”

  Her golden eyes fell on Hawk, a plea for help burning into him.

  Hawk sighed. I guess I’m going to get involved.

  He covered the distance in two steps and stood beside the terrified woman. “Anne?”

  “Yes?”

  “It is you!” Hawk said in a boisterous voice. He grabbed her in a hug. “How in the galaxy have you been?”

  “Just fine,” she said, hesitating before returning the hug.

  “You’re interrupting,” Twitch said.

  Hawk let go of Anne and turned to face the man. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He shifted the bottle to his left hand and held out his right. “Sean Grey. Anne and I are old friends.”

  Twitch didn’t offer his hand. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re some punk with Good Samaritan Fever, a disease which has been known to inflict great pain.”

  Hawk lowered his hand and transferred the bottle. “I’m forty-two, much too old to be a punk. You did get the Good Samaritan part right, and I have to admit that’s an apt description.” Hawk smiled. “‘A disease which has been known to cause great pain.’ I would never have expected a low-credit goon like you to come up with something that good. Used it before?”

  Anger flashed across the man’s face. “I don’t have time to stomp your ass right now. We have to go.” He reached out to grab Anne. Hawk intercepted him, seizing his wrist. Twitch stared at Hawk, eyes wide with shock, as if he couldn’t believe someone would have the audacity to touch him. “Oh, buddy, you just—”

  Hawk didn’t let him get any further. His hand came up and the bottle smashed atop Twitch’s skull. It shattered, glass and brown liquid sliding across the man’s bald head. The immediate area filled with acrid fumes. Blood formed where the glass cut Twitch’s hairless skull. Hawk pushed Anne behind him, waiting for the man to fall.

  Twitch grinned as he shook his head, flinging liquor and blood through the air.

  Uh oh, Hawk thought.

  Hawk blocked the first punch, a bruising jolt echoing through his forearm. The second swing aimed for his head and he ducked, hearing the whoosh
of the meaty fist as it flew by. Twitch had power, but no training. He was a brawler, used to winning by strength, toughness and his intimidating size. Hawk had to act fast. If one of the big man’s punches landed, it would be all over. His thoughts zeroed in on his target; he barely heard the rumble of the crowd placing bets.

  He stepped in and delivered a jab to Twitch’s stomach, followed by a power punch to the kidney. Twitch stumbled back. Hawk pressed the advantage. Three rapid hits to the abdomen preceded a knee to the groin. As Twitch doubled over, Hawk stepped back and delivered an elbow to the back of the big man’s skull, followed by a leg sweep. Twitch crashed to the alcohol-stained floor. His head made a loud thud as it hit the wood. Hawk moved in for some follow-up work, but Twitch remained motionless.

  “Now, why couldn’t you have done that when I hit you with the bottle?” Hawk said as he rubbed his bruised left forearm with his throbbing right hand. He heard groans of disappointment and saw credit chips changing hands. “What were the odds?” he asked the nearest patron, a short female alien with more hair than skin.

  “Three to two against,” she chittered gratefully, holding up a stack of plastic.

  Hawk nodded and turned to look at Anne. “Tell me I saved you from a fate worse than death.”

  “Not quite,” she said. “However, you did save me from a lot of trouble.”

  Hawk studied the woman. Everything about her spoke of class, from her form-fitting clothing to her upright posture. She practically swam in corporation, so why was she here? He found himself intrigued; he also sensed a job opportunity. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  Anne’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “It’s not every day I get to save a damsel in distress.”

  Anne glanced at the prone assailant. “Really? Seems to me like you might have done that a time or two.”

  Hawk shrugged. “My line of work occasionally requires it.”

  Her golden eyes flashed with interest. “Tell me which pit your ship is in, and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  “How do you know I have a ship?”

  It was Anne’s turn to shrug. “We’re in a spaceport tavern, you handle yourself like ex-military, and you talk about a job where you have to fight. It seemed a reasonable assumption.”

  Hawk smiled. “Beautiful and smart. My ship is in pit 39. Will an hour be enough time for you?”

  “Plenty,” Anne said. “I just wanted to give you time.” She held out her petite hand. “Anne Siliar, Damsel in Distress.”

  Hawk shook her hand. “Sean Grey, Knight Errant.”

  “I’ll see you in an hour, Sir Knight.”

  Hawk looked at Twitch, who groaned and shifted, coming out of unconsciousness. “Will you be safe until then?” he asked Anne.

  Anne nodded. “I can disappear for an hour.”

  “I’d better escort you out of here. I need to get to my ship and get properly dressed since we’re going to Fitzcarlo’s.”

  “Fitzcarlo’s? Very nice. Escort away.”

  Hawk sidled through the bar, gently pushing aside patrons to make space for the lady, who followed close behind. Squinting his eyes in preparation, he pushed open the door and stepped into the harsh glare of Pa’tris Prime’s large sun settling to the horizon. The roar of approaching and departing spacecraft filled the air from the port two miles away. His multivis contacts adjusted to the glare, shielding his eyes. Anne closed her eyes tight and placed her hand against her temple.

  “Are you okay?” Hawk asked.

  “Yes,” Anne said, eyes still closed. She reached into her purse and pulled out an oversized pair of dark glasses. She opened her eyes as she put them on. Before they disappeared beneath the tinted glass, Hawk saw that her pupils had almost disappeared into her golden irises.

  “I forgot it was so bright today,” she said. “I’m not used to being outside so much. There’s my car.” She pointed to a gleaming Lexsun Hovsport that felt as out of place on the grime-coated streets as she did. “One hour.”

  “One hour,” Hawk agreed, watching her as she slipped into the car and drove off; the sound of starcraft drowned out the engine’s soft hum.

  Hawk decided against returning to the Grotto to leave a message for Basikel. The contact was already an hour late, so he wouldn’t be showing. Twitch might be revived by now, in a lousy mood and spoiling for a rematch. Hawk had no interest in a second brawl.

  He walked to his vehicle; a silver, seven-passenger van, and slipped behind the wheel. He paused to make sure he felt okay to drive. Five years ago, six shots of Trill’s would have put him on his ass; now he barely felt the effects. It still helped to block the pain, so he would continue to drink it. When it stopped working, he had no idea what he would do.

  He started up the machine and pulled into the flow of traffic, mostly freight trucks and cabs bringing ships’ crews to the hive of bars and brothels surrounding the port.

  As he drove, Hawk pondered what had just happened. With the rush of chivalric adrenaline worn off, leaving a vague lassitude, the whole encounter struck him as wrong. Why, out of all the bruisers in the Grotto, would her eyes settle on him as a potential savior? For that matter, what had made her consider the Grotto as a sanctuary? The Port District was a long way from the Pa’trais City Center, with its corporate spires and business megaplexes. There were far safer places for a corp-rat to run if she was getting unwanted attention. She could have found people in the hierarchy with more power and better connections than anybody she would spot in a portside dive. Anne had come to that specific tavern, with the express intent of finding him.

  Now you’re just being paranoid, Hawk thought. But he had learned long ago—in an all too brutal way—the price of not being paranoid enough.

  Still, coming to the Grotto solely to find him seemed a stretch. She may have come there seeking aid because no one in her corporation would help her. She had settled on Hawk because he had been the only one brave or stupid enough to make eye contact.

  Guess I’ll find out soon enough, he thought as he reached the outer perimeter of the port and guided the van onto the down ramp that led to the ship pits.

  He drove another kilometer through the two-lane concrete tunnel until he reached his pit, number thirty-nine. The doorway stood open, so he pulled in and stopped.

  “I’m back, Ship,” Hawk said.

  “I see you,” the contralto voice answered through the van’s speakers.

  Hawk didn’t move for a moment, taking time, as he always did, to admire the dark blue shimmer of the craft’s crystallized hull. A seven-pointed star, wreathed in flames of red and orange, covered the thirty-five-meter height of the rear port side, while white letters proclaimed her The Flaming Star to the universe.

  At one-hundred and ninety meters and twelve-thousand tons, she wasn’t the biggest ship on the block, but her twin flex-mounted front lasers and turret-mounted side lasers gave her teeth. Her two missile launchers and the turreted light plasma cannon gave her punch too, but she wasn’t the toughest fighter in the cage. She boasted average speed, standard armor, and an adequate rip engine for FTL travel. There was nothing terribly special about her. Except she belonged to him and he belonged to her, a bond forged in blood and sacrifice. Hawk felt a twinge of the old pain as the liquor’s medicine wore away.

  He shook off his mood and dragged himself back to the light. He had forty-five minutes to get ready for a date with a mystery woman; he knew his other lady would forgive him for being rushed. He drove the van onto the cargo lift, wincing as the wheels jolted over the metal divots that would hold the machine in place.

  “Take me up, Ship,” he said. Her name might be The Flaming Star to the rest of the galaxy, but everyone on board just called her Ship.

  “Welcome back, Captain,” Ship said as the hoist activated with a rumble of gears and hiss of hydraulics.

  “Glad to be back,” he said, his spirits rising as the lift drew him closer to Ship’s interior. He enjoyed
the multitude of planets his work with Force 13 allowed him to visit, but Ship had been home for twelve years. He always felt most comfortable aboard her. “Any messages?” he asked as the lift clanked into its up position with a final hiss and the hull slid closed.

  “Your stockbroker sent a relay,” Ship answered. “Universal Data closed up thirty-five points. She wants to know how much to sell.”

  Hawk opened the door and slid out of the van. “Which Universal Data?”

  “The Kalosian Conglomerate. The Terran Fed portfolio is taking a painful dive.”

  “How much Kalosian do I have?”

  “Eight thousand.”

  “What do you think?” Hawk asked as he walked past Little Star, the ship’s shuttle, and headed for the elevator that would take him two decks up to the living quarters.

  “The two analysis computers disagree. One predicts an extreme dip and the other looks for a sharp increase and a possible split. I think you should sell half and see what happens.”

  “Tell her to sell half and hold the rest to see what happens.”

  “I love your decisiveness.”

  Smiling, Hawk reached the elevator. He jumped back when he found Ashron, Ship’s weapons master, standing there with the door open. His eyes, colorless except for a jet-black vertical slit, appraised Hawk as his elongated jaw spread into a grin, revealing two rows of sharp mushroom-colored teeth. “So, what’s the job?”

  “There is no job.” Hawk shoved Ashron’s large, scaled tail aside with a foot and stepped into the elevator. “The contact never showed.”