The Honour of the Knights (First Edition)

by Stephen Sweeney

Dodds didn't.

  “Right, everyone ready?” Chaz asked, as he started off to retrieve his equipment. “We're not exactly going to have an easy time getting out of here in one piece.”

  “Lieutenant, what the hell!” Estelle snapped, a furious expression on her face. “Don't make me remind you who is in charge of this mission, Mr Koonan! I am a first lieutenant, you are a second lieutenant; I am the wing commander of the White Knights and I won't have you giving orders to my team whilst...”

  Dodds reached out and took a grip of her shoulder, prompting her to stop talking.

  “Estelle, I really feel that right now we should be listening to Chaz,” he said.

  Estelle glared back at Dodds before her eyes strayed to the body of the dead soldier on the floor. She stood in silence for a time, looking from Dodds to Chaz to the body. She then shrugged Dodds' hand from her shoulder.

  “Fine, we'll follow your lead, Chaz,” she said with reluctance. “For now. But once we get out of here you will have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Chaz acknowledged her with a mere nod of his head before the Knights retrieved their gear and made their way from the mortuary. On the way out Chaz paused, and then turned around and walked back to Barber's gurney. He picked the linen sheet off the floor and spread it back over her body, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead before covering her completely.

  Dodds studied him as he did all of this, but Chaz gave no explanation for his actions; and neither did Dodds seek to ask.

  XXIII

  — The Fate of an Empire —

  The infirmary lay still and quiet, and as Dodds continued his slow, crouched walk towards the main door he was confident that they were alone. At Chaz's request he and Enrique had sneaked forward, leading the group towards the medical unit exit. Chaz had covered their backs, keeping Estelle and Kelly with him. Dodds and Enrique moved to either side of the door, signalling the all clear to Chaz, who hurried forward with the two women.

  Dodds noticed that the light on the control panel on this side of the door was blinking on and off and guessed that the lock he had engaged earlier was no longer in effect. Judging by what had just happened in the morgue it would not have stood up to anything more than a shoulder barge from their attacker.

  That whole sequence was still quite vivid in his mind: had it really happened? Were they all really here, crawling out of a morgue where they had just cut open a dead woman and fought a man who had somehow come back to life?

  “See anything?” Chaz asked Dodds and Enrique in a low tone.

  Dodds rose and took a cautious peek out the circular infirmary door windows. The central hall appeared a great deal darker than when they had first arrived.

  “Nothing,” he said, choosing not to linger by the window any longer than was necessary. “But it looks like a number of lights have blown.”

  “No, the soldiers have shot them out,” Chaz said with a shake of his head. “They do that so that it makes it harder for their enemies to see where they're going.”

  Dodds nodded, quite willing to accept just about anything the big man told them. Questions could wait until later.

  “Take a step outside carefully. Keep low and don't make any noise.”

  “OK,”Dodds nodded. He pushed at the door, but found it almost impossible to move, as if there was a lot of weight in front of it. Enrique came to his aid and between them they managed to open the door just wide enough for Dodds to squeeze through, the bulky propulsion pack on his back making it more awkward than normal.

  As he stepped out into the darkened main hall his boot slid on something. He looked down and saw he was standing in a pool of blood. The mass that had been holding back the door was a rather large woman who had died as a result of multiple plasma wounds to the torso. Her dead eyes gazed straight ahead into the rest of the main hall. The hall was not as dark as Dodds had first thought and as he followed her gaze he became aware of the fate of the refugees. What he had first believed to be the random scatterings of abandoned coats and luggage were in fact dead bodies. Dozens of them. Men, women and children lay all about the floor. If it were not for the terrible wounds and the blood, Dodds might have thought that they had all fallen victim to some mysterious plague. As the hideous smell of burnt flesh started to fill his nostrils, Dodds pulled himself back through the door.

  “What did you see?” Enrique asked in a low voice.

  “They're all dead,” Dodds said.

  “Who?”

  “The refugees. They've all been killed.”

  “Did you see any soldiers?” Chaz cut in.

  “No,” Dodds said.

  Chaz forced himself out the narrow gap to take a look for himself, before returning back to the corridor and confirming that the hall was clear of danger, though there was much evidence of the slaughter that had taken place. At this point Chaz concluded that they would simply have to make a run for it.

  He slipped through the door and then beckoned for the others to follow, telling them to stay low and stay quiet. In a line, headed up by Chaz, they walked as fast as they could in their crouched positions, keeping the wall of desolate coffee shops and other stores to their backs. The air was heavy with the stench of burnt materials and flesh, and all five of the Knights did their best not to gag and cough with every breath they took.

  They looked all about themselves as they moved, keeping an eye out for any sudden appearance of the soldiers Enrique had mentioned. Glass and plastics crunched loudly under their feet as though wishing to expose their position on purpose. They did not have all that far to go to return to the airlock, but out in the open they would have little hope of surprising their enemy as they had done in the morgue. And this time they would be facing off against more than one of them.

  Halfway to the airlock the sound of running feet came from close by.

  “Down! Get down!” Chaz hissed, waving a hand to the floor. “Keep still and don't move!” The group dropped to the floor, lying on their stomachs among the dead, the propulsion packs on their backs making it difficult to assume any other position.

  As Dodds lay in wait, his eyes fell on two faces that were within his line of sight. One was that of a young woman, the other an older man, somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. Dark patches of blood were splattered about their expressions, mixed in with the woman's blonde hair and the man's black. Their eyes were wide, their faces twisted in terror.

  Dodds was reminded of a scene from not long ago. He found himself thinking of Poppy and Stefan, and a feeling of guilt rumbled up his spine. Don't look at them, he told himself. But he did anyway, and for a time he was unable to tear his eyes away from them. He found himself wishing to tell them he was sorry; that it had been a terrible accident; that if he could turn back time he would do things differently. He blotted the thoughts from his mind as the sound of hurrying feet grew louder, and before long the source appeared.

  A man and woman came running down a non-moving escalator from the first floor, where a number of other restaurants, bars and sleeping areas existed. The man was half dragging, half pulling the woman along behind him as the two attempted to escape their pursuers. They would have been better off running without holding hands, but it was clear that the man wanted to keep the woman with him, fearing that they might become separated. They stumbled a number of times on their way down the static escalator, but managed to keep themselves on their feet; even at the great speed they were descending, taking the steps two or three at a time.

  Loud voices followed and then a pair of black figures appeared by the first floor railings. Two of the soldiers! One raised a rifle and fired with clinical accuracy, two blots of plasma striking the escaping woman in the back as the couple tried in vain to flee. She screamed and tumbled to the floor, her partner losing his grip on her hand.

  Out of the corners of his eyes, Dodds saw his fellow team mates tense as he did, though they remained motionless on the floor, reluctant witnesses to the scene.

  With thei
r pursuers bounding down the escalator after them, the man attempted to pull the woman to her feet. She wobbled as she tried to stand, and as she did so she revealed that her clothing had been burnt away around the two spots on her back where she had been hit, hideous blackened and charred flesh visible beneath. The man could not help her to stand quick enough and he looked up to see one of the two soldiers bearing down on him. He was hit square in the chest by two rounds of his own and was dead even before he hit the floor, the bolts carving their way straight through him. Having ignored the woman in preference to taking out the man the soldiers finally dispatched her, seemingly unmoved by her sobs and pleas for mercy.

  A few moments later there were more hurried footsteps and the remaining three soldiers that Enrique had described seeing came running into the scene, to join with those standing over their latest victims. They began to converse, one pointing back the way they had come, others examining their weaponry.

  Dodds studied them as they spoke to one another, listening to their words. It was not a language he had ever heard before and a nagging feeling grew within him that it wasn't normal. He tried to convince himself that it was an Imperial dialect that he was unfamiliar with, but the characteristics of the tongue were all wrong. It sounded almost angry and mechanical, even though there was a strong central Imperial accent present in each spoken word.

  These five soldiers all sported a number of different armaments, like the one they had encountered in the morgue. As well as the weapon each held in their hands they also had a rifle slung over their backs. Some also had an additional pistol holstered to their right legs. Again, like the soldier they had fought in the mortuary, they all appeared to be a lot taller than normal and in excellent physical condition. There also appeared to be two women in the group. They were more slender than the three others, but just as tall. Something in the back of Dodds' mind told him that they were also as strong and dangerous as the men. Their suits hugged their bodies well, showing off all their perfectly-proportioned curves. They too looked like models.

  Dodds hoped that the soldiers would leave the area now that they had eliminated their targets; or, better still, that once they had finished speaking they would depart the starport and head back to where they had come from. But as they spoke one of the soldiers gestured to the bodies on the floor and then pointed in the direction of the medical unit.

  You're missing your friend! Dodds thought. He hasn't checked back in!

  The troops began to scout the area, nudging and kicking over bodies as they went. For a moment Dodds wondered what they were doing. Understanding then hit him like a sledgehammer and he had to stifle a yelp, forcing himself not to panic. He fought the compulsion to turn to the others and work out a plan.

  As it was kicked one of the corpses let out a grunt, the noise telling all within earshot that it was in fact playing dead. The “corpse” then rolled over and the man scrambled to his feet. Its investigator reacted quickly to the sudden movement and shot him down. The man cried as a second and third shot struck him, and then fell down silent. The four other soldiers paused for a moment in their own hunt, before returning to their rounds.

  “Oh my god...” Dodds heard Kelly squeak.

  He concurred. The black suited soldiers continued to nudge and kick the fallen, drawing a pistol every now and again and shooting a body to guarantee it was not also playing dead. Their persistence met with success on another two occasions.

  Dodds shifted his eyes to where Estelle lay next to him, seeing her almost as stiff as a board, though shivering ever so slightly. He couldn't be sure whether it was due to fear or the cool of the station; though, from the way he felt, he was certain it was the former. He then shifted his eyes over to Chaz, wondering what suggestions the big man was going to make.

  * * *

  Chaz studied the dark troop as they moved about, making a full evaluation of the situation before making his move. From the looks of things it would not be long before they made their way over towards where the Knights were concealing themselves. He would have to act soon. Chaz re-evaluated what he had removed from the downed soldier in the morgue: to their name the five Confederation pilots had one shotgun, with only a handful of shells; a near full plasma pistol, but with only one spare fuel cell; and three smoke grenades and two regular ones. This did not bode well for them; not in comparison with the enemy's armament of numerous shotguns, plasma rifles, pistols, grenades and God only knew whatever else. He had been quite stunned at how poorly equipped the invader had been. Either he had been acting as a scout, or he had exhausted much of his ammunition before coming in search of them.

  Chaz noticed that Estelle had shifted her position and was looking at him.

  Chaz, come on! What do we do? her eyes cried. We have to get out of here! NOW!

  He made a swift decision.

  * * *

  “When I say move, get into that bar over there - The Lodge.”

  Dodds almost jumped at the sound of the big man's voice.

  “Find decent cover, away from the entrance.” As Chaz finished speaking one of the soldiers' heads snapped around to face in their direction, a pair of ruby-red eyes falling upon the group.

  He could not have heard that! Dodds thought. He's too bloody far away! The big man had spoken just loud enough so that Enrique and Kelly would not have difficulty in hearing the whole sentence, but not enough to project his voice to the five black suited soldiers. To his mind it was not possible to have heard him over that distance. Even so, it appeared he had.

  “Enrique, you ready?” Chaz asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Just tell me what to do,” Enrique said.

  “Get ready to shoot.”

  The tall soldier had broken off from his systematic sweep and was heading over in their direction. Dodds watched as the soldier walked towards them, holding his breath and not even daring to blink. As he approached, the soldier tapped at the side of his helmet, around the same area that Dodds had noticed the button-like indent. He scanned over the bodies for a moment and then appeared to focus on something. He was looking at the flight helmets. After a few seconds he tapped his helmet again and hoisted his weapon.

  “NOW!” Chaz shouted. The noise caught the soldier off-guard and he swung his weapon around toward Chaz.

  At the same time Enrique brought himself up into a prone position, raising the shotgun off the ground. It had been a long time since he had used a weapon like this and that, coupled with the lack of time to aim, did not inspire him with much confidence. The proximity of soldier and nature of the weapon, however, meant that he had little to worry about. His finger pulled back on the trigger, discharging the shotgun and sending pellets flying straight into his target's legs. The soldier roared in agony and buckled down, the sudden and intense pain making him lose his grip on his own weapon.

  “Move!” Chaz ordered, springing to his feet as the sudden noise and activity focused the attentions of the other soldiers. Dodds, Estelle and Kelly snatched up their flight helmets and dived into the bar as Chaz capitalised on the surprise attack. He fired the plasma pistol randomly at the other soldiers, causing them to scurry for cover.

  Residing in the middle of the central hall was a large oval desk, that at one point in time had served to provide visitors to the port with information, help and a point of contact for the port's management and security. They ducked behind it, the solid structure of the reception providing them with protection against the Confederation pilots.

  Chaz began to fall back to the bar, still firing on the four soldiers and preparing to move a lot faster once they decided to return fire. Enrique was on his feet and moving back to join him. In front of them their first target had regained his composure and was bringing his weapon back around towards the two men once more. Enrique took note and emptied another round into him, knocking him down on to his back.

  “Don't waste it!” Chaz urged as they retreated into the bar.

  They took up positions close to the front
, using the walls for cover against the rain of return fire. Bottles and glasses that had not already been broken and looted by the refugees shattered behind them as they were struck by bullets and plasma bolts. Chaz chanced a glance around the pillar he stood behind and snatched back as plasma fire slammed into it, inches from his face.

  “What's the plan, Chaz?” Estelle called from her hiding spot behind the bar's counter.

  “I'm working on it,” Chaz said through gritted teeth, taking a hasty look outside the bar.

  Another of the soldiers had hurried forward to aid his fallen comrade whilst the others laid down suppressing fire. Chaz risked a number of pot shots, but it did little to disperse them. He saw the soldier take hold of his ally by the forearm and begin to effortlessly pull him backward, bumping over and parting the bodies of the refugees that lay in their way.

  “Enrique, those two!” Chaz said.

  Enrique leaned round the pillar wall and took a snap shot at the two retreating men. He did not find as much success as he had before, only winging the rescuer on the shoulder. The man staggered back, releasing his grip. Though only a few seconds following the interruption the soldier continued to pull his ally out of the way with his other arm, unphased by the attempt on his life.

  “I'm nearly out,” Enrique announced as he sank back down against the wall and checked his ammunition. Chaz tossed him over the remaining shells.

  “He's getting up!” Dodds said. From his own hiding place Dodds had a good view of the scene within the central hall, and watched in horror as the man that Enrique had emptied two shotgun rounds into began getting to his feet. Dodds had only just convinced himself that the first soldier they had downed in the morgue had received nothing more than flesh wounds, the bullets Estelle had fired being slowed by the man's leather suit.

  The reality of what they were up against had finally begun to sink in, and the cries of the pilot that Estelle had shot down three days ago came rushing back into his head. The pilot had begged not to be sent back, that if he went back he would die. Now that Dodds thought about it the man had spoken with an Imperial accent. He had thought nothing of it at the time, but now... Was this what those three had been running from? Had they been so desperate to escape from this nightmare that they would risk going head-to-head with seasoned Confederation starfighter pilots? The odds of their success had been low, but no doubt higher than their odds against these soldiers. The “rumours” he, Enrique and Chaz had heard the previous night no longer seemed to be just that.