The Honour of the Knights (First Edition) (5 page)

“
Do I have to leave right now?” Simon asked, lowering the
letter.

“
No,” the man shook his head. “But I’d suggest you be prepared
to do so early tomorrow morning.”

“
Was the request made on behalf of anyone in particular?”
Simon said, turning the piece of paper over a few times.

“
I believe it was Commodore Parks,” the delegate
said.

Simon
looked again at the letter, trying to extract some more
information; trying to read what was not there. As he did so, he
vaguely heard the messenger telling his father that the family
business would be compensated for any untoward damage to his
field.

“
A CSN inspector and maybe even a government inspector, if
need be, will be dispatched to assess the possible
damage.”

“
No, that
’
s not good enough,” his father
bellowed back at the dark glasses wearing man, who raised both
hands in a defensive gesture. “That
’
s an
organic field
! We
don
’
t use
chemicals,
or
machinery to pick the produce. We do
everything
by hand! And you have
gone and contaminated the entire region with your blatant disregard
for the honest working man…”

Workers
handling various pieces of farming equipment and clutching baskets
brimming with apples were looking from their employer to the naval
delegate.

“
As I said sir, I am sorry for any damage that we may have
caused…”

“
And yet you are still not shutting off
those damn engines!” Gregory said in disbelief, throwing his hands
up in the air. The shuttle
’
s engines were burning the grass
behind it and Simon could only guess at the long-term effects it
might have on the crop.

The
Dodds family owned several orchards and were proud to be one of the
few remaining large scale organic farms remaining in Ireland. Much
of the produce was sold to be used in premium organic juices.
Others worked their way into stores throughout western Europe.
Though rather impressive, Simon had had enough of apples for the
time being.

* * *

He spent
much of the afternoon stuffing clothes into a bag in preparation
for his departure early the next morning. His father’s voice had
drifted up the stairs to his room as he did so; the man expectant
of not only a very large cheque from the CSN, but an even bigger
apology.

Gregory was still seething over the CSN
’
s visit to his orchard when Simon
joined his parents at the table for dinner. The true extent of the
damage had become clear once they had departed and it wasn’t good.
He shot Simon a dark look as he settled into his chair, the young
man quite aware that his father was holding him partly responsible
for the events of the past couple of weeks.

“
You know they only want you to come back and sign something
so they can get shot of you,” Gregory muttered.

“
I doubt that,” Simon said, taking a sip of orange
juice.

His
father tutted. “Well, even if they don’t you should give it up
anyway; get yourself a proper job.”

“
You don
’
t have to go, you know. You could
just stay here,” his mother commented as she deposited three plates
of chicken, rice and salad on the table.

“
Your mother
’
s right,” his father muttered
again, not giving Simon a chance to speak. “You should have just
worked here instead of joining the Navy. You
wouldn
’
t have to
worry about promotions, gruelling exercises, crap food or even
chances of getting killed. You could be giving out the orders
instead of receiving them. Other people would be doing the work.
I’ve been there, Simon. It’s not worth it.”

Simon
paused in the process of cutting into his chicken and set his knife
and fork back down on the table. This again. “Dad, you were never
in the Navy,” he said, rolling his eyes. It was the same thing his
father had said to him the day he had told them of his plan to
become a pilot in the CSN. He sometimes wished he had a brother or
sister, if only to have someone on which to deflect unwanted
attention.

His
father waved his glass of red wine dismissively, but said
nothing.

“
And the request is urgent,” Simon reminded him, not touching
his food until he could gain some sort of support for his
decision.

“
You
’
ll be back here in a few days,” his
father said, sipping the wine and reaching for a small granary
roll.

* * *

In
truth, his father was not being negative about Simon’s ability, or
intentions to continue his career within the Navy; he had just
become used to having Simon around for the last few months. Simon
had been in the Navy for close to ten years and his mother and
father had missed seeing him grow into an adult.

Or at least that
’
s what his mother had told him as she stood at his bedroom
door that night, after his father had turned in. At that time a
small part of Simon did not want to leave, having become
comfortable back at the orchard, with his family close by. But a
bigger part of him was set in the decision to return. Even his
father
’
s attempt
at emotional blackmail could not dissuade him from responding to
the CSN
’
s
request. Though he could just as well have refused it and then
terminated his service, he did not. He owed it to himself to put
things right.

* * *

Simon
made his goodbyes and left first thing the next morning, the
transport waiting for him further down the road this time. He had
been summoned not to another planet in Sol, but to another star
system within the Confederacy known as Indigo.

The
interior of the transport was like that of a small private jet, if
not quite as luxurious. A small screen, fixed to the left of his
seat, displayed their planned route, overlaid across the galactic
map he had seen so many time before. A great number of inhabited
and uninhabited star systems were dotted all over the chart: the
Confederacy, home of Earth, lay on the right-hand side, its systems
grouped quite closely together; though there were a few stragglers
here and there; the Mitikas Empire, on the left, comprised of a far
greater number of systems, all snuggled together like fish that had
been dragged up in a net; and then there were the Independent
Worlds, running between the two huge nations like a gulf or a
river, keeping them apart and acting like a buffer of sorts. Here
and there throughout the declared independent space, star systems
were marked as belonging to the Empire from where it had spidered
out and captured some during the latter days of its
expansion.

His eyes
lingered on a few of the systems that were labelled in a larger
type than others: Sol and Alpha Centauri within the Confederacy;
Alba, one of the more powerful and prosperous of the Independents;
Krasst and Kethlan of the Empire, their lettering and stars
rendered in red hues. For some reason, the colour looked a little
ominous compared with the whites and blues. He turned his mind to
other things.

With the
knowledge that the system he was travelling to was several hundred
light years from Earth, Simon was confident that his reinstatement
was assured. It was a long way to bring someone only to tell them
that their service within the Navy was no longer required. And
surely the only reason they were bringing him all the way out there
was because they needed him back as soon as possible?

But during the trip, Simon had found himself still arguing
against his father
’
s alternate explanation for his summons back to duty: what if
he really was going to be discharged? Even though at the end of his
hearing five months ago he had been handed a suspension due to
“lack of evidence” - the testimonies of four eye witnesses, for
some reason, did not count - he was still not one hundred percent
sure. It was possible that the committee and top brass needed him
to come all the way out there, so they could discharge him in the
correct manner, being too busy to travel themselves.

Simon
had looked out at the stars whilst his transport craft had awaited
clearance to jump from Sol to Indigo and thought back upon the
events that had led him to where he was now.

* * *

It was whilst flying with his own wing, the
White Knights
,
and under the command of Commodore Hawke, a man
whom he had failed to see eye to eye with ever since the first time
the two had met, that Simon had disobeyed a direct order, with
disastrous consequences.

On a tiny Confederation planet, little larger than Sol’s own
Pluto, a large separatist faction from an Independent World state
had secreted themselves. Despite knowing the planet to be home to
many planetary explorers and independent research groups, the
Confederation had allowed them to do so, intending to strike and
bring to an end their repeated acts of aggression once they were
all together. When the time had come, the
Confederation
’
s
armed forces had launched a large scale operation with the
intention of simultaneously evacuating the explorers and
eliminating the enemy. As night had fallen, landers had touched
down and ground troops and vehicles had streamed out. Large drop
ships broke the atmosphere and deployed fighter craft, Simon and
the
White Knights
amongst them.

Though
it had started well, the operation ran into difficulty when
reinforcement enemy fighters had arrived in the conflict zone
without warning. Following their appearance, Hawke had ordered the
air support to pull back. He was concerned that the additional
aerial combat would have a detrimental effect on the success of the
mission, endangering the ground teams as the risk of friendly fire
to and from the surface increased.

As the
squadrons pulled back, Simon had witnessed two of his wingmates
being brought down and, frustrated with the way things were going,
had looped back around to try and prevent further losses. His
efforts had resulted in his own fighter sustaining heavy damage and
dropping from the sky. He had ditched not far from a rescue point.
In the confusion - and with the desire to get back from the
advancing enemy lines as quickly as possible - Simon had retrieved
a weapon from a downed soldier and headed back towards the
extraction zone.

Along
the way, he had been surprised by a group of men and women who had
run into him. His own survival instinct had kicked in, causing him
to open fire. It was only after blood had splattered the ground,
soaking into the dark sand, colouring small rocks and pebbles, and
covering the bodies of his victims and the hands of those that were
trying to help them that he realised who he was shooting
at.

For the unlawful killings of
Poppy
Castro and Stefan Pitt, the blatant disregard for orders,
and
the loss of a Tactical Assault Fighter
he could have flown home, the court-martial had suspended him from
duty for six months. He had returned to Earth, tail between his
legs, to stay out the time with his parents and get away from
everything.

The
whole experience was one that he never wished to go through
again.

* * *

After
several hours, his transport arrived in the Indigo system and not
long there after docked at Xalan Orbital Station where he was to
meet with the senior command.

Time to be known as Dodds again
,
Simon thought as he picked up his belongings. An attendant met him
as he exited the transport and led him from the landing deck to a
lift and, from there, down the various corridors to his
appointment. The escort rushed him along, giving Dodds no time, or
place, to stow his bag.

“
Second Lieutenant Simon Dodds to see the
Admiral,” Dodds
’
escort informed one of the two female security
guards standing outside the meeting room. She communicated the
message to another standing within. The door was opened.

“
Fleet Admiral Turner is waiting for you inside,” the woman
said, gesturing for him to go forward.

“
Admiral Turner?” Dodds repeated, feeling his mouth go
dry.

“
Yes, sir. Fleet Admiral Turner.”

They didn
’
t
bother to put
that
into the letter
, Dodds thought,
before realising his jaw had become slack and that his mouth was
hanging open. He shut it and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he
said and entered the meeting room.

* * *

Walking
up to the front, he set his bag down, removed his cap, and saluted
the three men seated behind a long, well polished wooden
table.