The decks of the Sword of Damocles shuddered, and gentle chimes alerted the men that docking was in progress. Sir Ton had been right, the Camelot had appeared in the exact spot he had chosen, and now it would no longer matter how she flew. No matter her bearing or speed she would no longer outrun the Sword, as it had managed to dock, and would be taken along for the ride. So all in all Sir Ton felt rather good about himself. Until a unfamiliar chime signalled a bridge officer seeking his counsel. “What is it? ” He was being curt and rude and he knew it, it irked him however that someone he did not know well enough to have given his personal frequency somehow had managed to hail him nonetheless. “Sir, acting Commander Sir, Helmsman Barrow reporting Sir, there seems to have been a change in the Camelot’s pattern Sir.” Sir Ton took a moment to calm himself. “Do not worry Barrow, I am certain you directed us so we have an ideal docking position, ensuring that she won’t be leaving without us.” Ton attempted an air of calm self assuredness, aside from trying to sound friendly it also and most importantly would allow him to sound patient without actually being patient. “That is just it Sir, the Camelot, she stopped moving Sir, she is currently dead in space.” Sir Ton’s eyes widened, a ship like this, after flying so erratically, a full stop could mean one of two things, and he did not like the odds of it being favourable. “Presume she is preparing for a sudden leap, assume the worst, for the love of all you hold dear strap everyone in!” Either the Camelot had just died, Sir Ingles obeyed and cutting the engines, or she was preparing to fight them of possibly ramming planets, or diving towards black holes, least horrible case she would suddenly accelerate to near critical velocity, trying to tear off the moorings. All cases Sir Ton could possibly imagine were however equally grim. “Sir Ton, the docking was a success, the teams at the other stations give similar reports. Permission to board?” He could hear sir Idver was eager to move, hands locked in specialised mag-gauntlets, a redundant safety feature designed with the purpose of holding on to outer hulls when the boots failed, involuntarily Sir Ton smiled when he remembered seeing a similar device in the halls of remembrance, earlier iterations of the mag-gauntlet had been meant to secure the wearers tools, so that during a space walk they would not drift away and potentially cause more harm than good. As such his voice sounded genuinely happy when he answered. “Certainly Sir Idver, and elegantly done, my compliments to your men.”
The first door slid open with a well oiled ease, Harding Tiberos, a veteran Knight when it came to boarding actions took point, ignoring the privilege of the ranking officers to go first, he dove through the airlock and immediately secured the stairwell beyond., a glance to his H.U.D. told him there was breathable atmosphere, but he chose to remain helmed, instead favoring his own supply of oxygen. “So far all clear Sir.” His team was slow today, coming through the airlock hesitantly, or perhaps uncertainly, it didn’t matter much. He was about to press on, ready to advance into a dimly lit hallway when a powerful hand pressed him into the wall. “Hold.” The single word conveyed a deep seated anger, Sir Idver may have been (as Harding would often state) too green for his position. He still knew what it was, as did he know that he could not allow insubordination, least of all with an acting Commander present. Harding stared at the rooky captain, a man he did not, and could not respect, and could not help but see a boy trying to act big. Without giving it much thought he attempted to push his superior aside, as he had always done when Idver had not been his superior, only to find the hammer aimed at his helm. “You might believe your Captain young, but you will heed him, Sir. Or I shall consider thee as I have once Arthur.” Sir Ton’s last words sounded like a death threat, even to Harding, who knew nothing of Arthur’s death, Sir Idver however stepped away from the acting Commander in utter surprise, even he had heard the words, and the tone, clear as day, as Sir Ton had not chosen to speak through the comms but was instead broadcasting from the speaker mounted upon his chest. The chastisement meant to be public, as was the threat. This in itself was not unheard of, an officer often had to prove himself before veterans, especially if said veterans were older than the officer, and doubted the officers experience, what was however unusual was the manner in which the superior officer had reacted to the situation. “Sir Ton, I am certain that ,,,” Sir Ton did not let Sir Idver finish. “Arrest this Knight and have him committed to the med bay under permanent armed watch.” With those words he stepped away, not once lowering the hammer, not once looking away, until Sir Tiberos was gone. After that he simply turned and walked into the dark hallways of the Camelot, taking point as he instructed Gwenn34 to load the route and maps to the groups H.U.D.’s.