Starhawk s-1

  Starhawk

  ( Starhawk - 1 )

  Mack Maloney

  7200 Anno Domini. Earth is the center of a vast galactic empire-a militaristic state governed by stern repression. The Specials, an extended family that has wielded power for nearly two thousand years, control the galaxy with iron-fisted zeal. After generations of genetic manipulation they are virtually immortal-as is their rule.

  On an isolated planet, on the very fringe of the galaxy, lives a pilot named Hawk Hunter. He designs his own ships, using strange technology-but he cannot explain his abilities or his knowledge. His past is a mystery, even to himself.. But now Hawk's talents have been discovered.

  And in the Earth Race — a state-sponsored gladiatorial contest that pits pilot against pilot, and earns both winner and sponsor unimaginable wealth — he will not only test the limits of his endurance, but begin to learn the truth of his identity…

  Mack Maloney

  Starhawk

  PART ONE

  Out from Fools 6

  1

  It would take a long time for the Xavlus IV to crash.

  The L–Class space cruiser was almost a half mile in length and displaced more than a million tons Earth weight. It was built of electron steel and was capable of traveling in Supertime, so it was virtually indestructible in space.

  But slamming into the hard surface of a planet was a different matter.

  The gigantic spaceship was falling, quickly, toward an uncharted world. It was on fire and all of its critical control systems were either failing or already dead. Because the Xavius IV was a Starcrasher, there was no chance it would burn up on entry. But once inside the planet’s atmosphere, the spaceship’s descent velocity would become hypersonic. It would be moving so fast when it hit the ground, it could take up to twenty miles of plowing across the planet’s surface before coming to a stop. And even if the vessel did survive more or less intact, its propulsion core would explode soon after it ground to a halt because that’s what prop cores did when deprived of external power.

  So this was a tight spot for the spaceship’s two-man crew. Be killed in the sheer chaos of one million tons of electron steel slowly breaking up all around you. Or be annihilated twenty seconds later once the propulsion core realized it was starved of power.

  Neither would provide a tidy demise.

  The two pilots took their hands from the controls just long enough to touch gloves. It was not a handshake, but it would have to do. They hit the top of the atmosphere hard an instant later. Plunging through thick clouds, all one million tons vibrating furiously, they were moving so fast, a trail of massive sonic booms was following them down. The control panels in front of them were blinking madly; the ship’s computer was crying out so many warnings, its synthetic voice became hoarse and garbled.

  With one glance below, the pilots knew fate had picked the wrong planet for them to crash into. The world beneath them was made up of towering mountain ranges, broken up only by the occasional stretch of open space, small oceans that had dried up long ago. The stricken vessel was heading right toward a particularly nasty group of jagged peaks. With one last effort, the pilots turned hard to port, hoping to make some relatively flat desert beyond. The nose came up. They braced for impact. The sonic booms were so intense now, their ears began to bleed.

  When they hit the ground a few seconds later, the impact was so powerful, a small electrical storm crackled to life above their tail. The huge ship bounced once, then began its long skid. One mile, two miles, three… Hundreds of attachment modules were being torn away from its fuselage. Tons of dirt and rocks were flying in its wake. Still the spaceship did not slow down.

  Four miles. Five. Six…

  The spaceship’s exterior skin quickly became a mess of shredded secondary metal and severed power lines. The flight compartment canopy finally shattered. Millions of white-hot glass shards filled the cockpit, tearing away at the pilots’ spacesuits.

  Seven miles, eight miles…

  They went right through a small mountain. With the glass shield gone, the debris poured into the flight compartment unimpeded. They hit another mountain. Flames burst from the main control panel.

  Nine miles, ten…

  The pilots could barely breathe now, they were being choked by all the smoke in the cockpit. Then the ship hit another large mountain and its needle nose began to crumple. Once it tore into the planet’s crust in earnest, the ship began slowing down. In a great storm of dust and debris, it finally ground to a bombastic halt, two miles later.

  Both pilots were barely conscious by this time. Dazed and bleeding, they were also hopelessly trapped.

  The cascade of dirt and crushed control columns had pinned them to their seats. They could not move their arms or legs. Unbuckling themselves would be impossible.

  Not that it made any difference. A dozen computer voices were screaming throughout the wreck now, adding to the cacophony of hissing, crackling, and the sound of many things burning at once. But above it all, one artificial voice was very clear. It said the spaceship’s propulsion core was going to blow up in exactly twenty-two seconds…

  A stream of sparks began raining down on the pilots. The cockpit ceiling started to glow, dissolving the partially crushed cabin roof not two feet above their heads. The smoke became thicker. They could hear flames coming through the tubes. The ship would go through one last convulsion before it blew up for good. Both pilots just slumped back in their seats and waited for the end.

  That’s when a piece of the cabin ceiling fell in on them…

  The pilot named Erx never saw the hands that grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him out of the dirt and debris. He was pulled through a hole in the ceiling and out of the spaceship completely. He could not see beyond his helmet visor. Blood was flowing into his eyes, blurring his vision. He felt himself being pushed into the back of a small, hovering aircraft. Then the hands finally let him go.

  “Ten seconds to core detonation,” the computer voice announced nervously.

  “Go on without me!” came the human voice from below. “Go, I say!”

  Erx almost smiled. It was his fellow pilot, Berx, crying out. They were going to be blown up in a few seconds — himself, Berx and this valiant, doomed rescuer. Still, Erx appreciated his partner’s last show of valor. He and Berx had flown in space together for nearly a hundred years. Never did he think it would end so soon.

  “Five seconds to core detonation…”

  The next thing Erx knew, Berx was falling on top of him. His colleague’s head landed so hard onto his stomach, it knocked what little air he had in his lungs right out of him.

  And then suddenly, they were moving.

  Very fast.

  Three seconds to detonation… two… one…

  Erx felt the Xavius IV’s propulsion core blow up. The first nano second of the shock wave ran through him like a billion little knives. A prop core disintegration created something akin to a tiny black hole, which then exploded with the fury of a small sun. There was no way they could outrun the force of such a blast.

  But apparently their rescuer was going to try.

  They began twisting and turning so wildly through the sky, Erx heard himself screaming. Berx was screaming, too. The violent maneuvers had them crashing up against the sides of the small crawl space, bones close to breaking. Even above their own shrieking, the grunts and gasps of the unseen pilot were all too clear in the very confined area. These were not very reassuring sounds to hear.

  More twisting. More turning. Both Erx and Berx were powerful men, bulked up from thousands of hours in space. But the g-forces against their unprotected chests now were excruciating. Suddenly they were tossed upside down, their faces slammed against the small airship’s canopy. They could
see the enormous prop core fireball coming right up at them. It was so close Erx felt its heat on his battered face.

  It looked both terrifying and beautiful, this thing that was about to consume him.

  But still they climbed. More twisting. More turning. The heat on Erx’s face began to peel his skin.

  But then the hot sting of the prop core explosion began to fade. The glow in the surrounding skies dissipated as well. Some magical distance had been attained.

  But was it possible? Had they actually outrun a prop core fireball?

  If so, neither man dared believe his life had been spared for very long. The terror now was in the manner their rescuer was flying. Even out of harm’s way, he was climbing at blistering speeds, then diving away wildly, only to twist back up and scream skyward again. Irony was a cruel mistress, Erx thought, the blood still running into his eyes. To survive an enormous crash, only to be killed when his rescue craft goes out of control? Where was the cosmic justice in that?

  But then suddenly, they came to a complete stop. Once again, Erx and Berx were slammed hard against the back of the pilot’s seat. Their arms and legs became bent in almost impossible positions. Neither man could breathe.

  All became quiet for a moment. Then the canopy popped open and a rush of atmosphere flooded in.

  They could hear their rescuer climb out, his boots landing with a thud on solid ground. He mumbled something about load distribution and shifting the center of gravity. Berx was somehow able to untangle his arms and legs by now. He lifted himself out of the cockpit and dropped to the ground below.

  Painfully, Erx did the same thing.

  He landed in a heap on top of Berx, and again they fought to get disentangled. Finally they got to their feet. They found themselves atop a high plateau. Below them, many miles away, their spaceship was exploding in the last of its death throes. A thick column of black smoke was rising high into the pinkish sky. The electrical storm they had created was still raging above the wreck as well.

  Their rescuer was standing in front of them, surprised that they had made it out of his craft on their own.

  Unlike Erx and Berx, who were both squat and rugged, this man was tall, lean, muscular. He was wearing a uniform that vaguely resembled those issued to Space Navy fighter pilots, except it was jet black and very worn around the edges. The man took off his crash helmet to reveal a handsome face bearing several days’ growth of beard and a mop of shaggy hair.

  “Are you two all right?” he asked them.

  Both men checked their vital organs. Everything still seemed in place.

  “If we can stand and talk and breathe, then we are all right,” Berx said, taking the man’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “We owe our lives to you, good sir!”

  Their rescuer shrugged. “I couldn’t just let you die out there,” he said. “I mean, I knew it would be close, but my aircraft here is pretty responsive and…”

  But suddenly Erx and Berx weren’t listening to him. Instead, they were getting their first good look at the aircraft they’d been rescued in.

  “What… what is this thing?” Erx spit out.

  The two spacemen were stunned. Nearly every spacecraft in the Galaxy was built along the same triangular design. This vehicle was not. It was very different. It had a cylindrical fuselage about fifty feet long and it bore a wing, a design element not seen in the Galaxy for thousands of years. It also had a tail, a bubble-top glass canopy — and wheels, something else not seen in the Galaxy for several millennia.

  “How did you ever come upon this machine?” Erx asked his rescuer.

  The man just shrugged again. “I built it,” he said simply.

  “But the design? It’s so alien… Where did it come from?”

  The man shifted a bit uncomfortably. “I made it up,” he said. “I guess…”

  That seemed like such a strange reply, Erx and Berx turned their attention back to him. This man looked different to them, though they weren’t sure why. Erx did the quick introductions, then asked him: “And you, sir? Your name is…?”

  The man shifted uncomfortably again. Miles away, the Xavius IV exploded once more.

  “My name is Hawk Hunter,” he finally said, adding: “Or at least I think it is…”

  2

  The dwelling was built into the side of a mountain.

  It looked like a castle. Two high towers. A rampart. Stone walls forming one barrier about five hundred feet out, a deep, dry moat providing a second ring of protection closer in. The drawbridge was made from the cargo hatch of a long-ago crashed spaceship. It lowered automatically now as Hunter’s sleek aircraft approached.

  Inside the walls was a courtyard, a small house at its center. Plain and square, it was made from pieces of skillfully melded debris. The house had many windows of different shapes and sizes, all of them filled with bits of superglass. There was a hole in the roof through which to see the heavens. A place to park the aircraft was close by.

  The view from the dwelling was spectacular, if desolate. A vast desert stretched for many miles to the south. Towering mountains dominated the horizons east and west. Only a few trees dotted the barren landscape; they were stunted and windswept. There was very little water in evidence here. No vegetation. No animal life. Two suns hung in the sky, a large dull red ball and a smaller yellow disk. They were the only stars for three hundred light-years around, and indeed this was their only planet.

  Hopelessly isolated, this place was known as Fools 6 because so many hapless space travelers had met their end here.

  Even for a Fringe planet, it was way, way out.

  The interior of Hunter’s dwelling was not spacious. Three floors with a main room, it was built mostly of stone and superwood, much of which was salvaged as well.

  A huge fireplace had been cut into the east wall. A large fire was blazing away inside it. Suspended above the flames, a pot of synthetic stew was bubbling away. Erx and Berx collapsed into two chairs placed near the fireplace. They painfully pulled off their space helmets.

  “I can’t believe that just happened to us,” Erx said, accepting a cloth from Hunter to wipe the blood from his face and hands. “One hundred and thirteen years flying the Galaxy, I can’t recall having so much as a panel light go out…”

  “Nor can I,” Berx agreed. “The closest we’ve come was near Anteaus, when we lost the inertia booster.

  That was forty-five years ago.”

  Erx moaned loudly: “I believe my heart is beating itself right out of my chest.”

  Hunter passed them both an enormous bowl of stew.

  “This will fix you up,” he said. “Or at least I think it will. The truth is, you are the first dinner guests I’ve ever had, so I’m not so sure if it’s any good or not…”

  Both Erx and Berx gave their bowls a sniff. Erx grimaced.

  “I believe we were thinking more of a liquid solution to the problem,” he said.

  Hunter pondered this a moment. “Do you mean like wine?” he asked.

  Erx and Berx both smiled. They looked good for their ages, 146 and 151 respectively. Both were low to the ground, stout but unquestionably powerful. Both had shiny bald heads and were sporting huge, drooping mustaches. Battles scars on their hands and faces marked them as onetime frontline soldiers.

  Their uniforms — what was left of them — were dark blue with gold collar badges shaped like a double-X.

  These men were senior military officers and well-known throughout the Galaxy. They possessed friendly dispositions, though. And neither was opposed to drinking on duty.

  “You have some spirits?” Erx asked, his features brightening, instantly perking up. “Way out here?”

  Hunter disappeared into a storage room, returning with three mugs and a flask.

  “I salvaged it from a wreck on the other side of the mountain,” he explained. “I think they call this ‘slow-ship wine.’ ”

  Erx and Berx smacked their lips in unison. They were no strangers to slow-ship wine. A sweet liqu
or of dubious ingredients, it was known for its calming, opiate quality.

  Hunter poured each man a healthy dose. The visitors began to drink — but then stopped in midgulp. They had forgotten their manners.

  “Our apologies,” Erx said as he made a quick toast in Hunter’s direction. “To you, sir — and to your bravery. We owe you our souls!”

  Hunter sheepishly raised his own mug. “It was more by chance than bravery,” he replied. “It was hard to miss your rather spectacular entry.”

  “Courage and luck go hand in hand,” Berx said — he was the more boisterous of the two, his mustache was longer, and he was slightly taller. “We’re fortunate you were in the right place at the right time — so let that be our toast.”

  They all drank heartily.

  “There will probably be a reward in this for you,” Erx said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I believe a bag of aluminum coins may soon be yours, Mister Hunter.”

  Hunter was baffled. Aluminum coins? This was not a familiar term.

  “What would I do with a bag of aluminum coins?” he asked, looking around the house. “Unless — well, I could melt them down and…”

  “Melt them down?” Erx cried. “Good sir, aluminum coins are currency — you can go just about anywhere in the Galaxy on their value.”

  “You do know that,” Berx asked him. “Don’t you?”

  Hunter just shook his head. These men would probably be shocked by how much he didn’t know.

  He quickly changed the subject. “What happened to your ship?” he asked them. “Do you know?”

  Both men shrugged and after some more sniffing, began nibbling at their stew.

  “We haven’t the faintest idea,” Erx said between mouthfuls. “One moment we were cruising along, the next thing we know, we’re losing power, we’re losing speed, we’re losing our propulsion core.”

  “We popped out of Supertime,” Berx said. “And headed for the first place we saw. This place.