The Honour of the Knights (First Edition) (61 page)

Psychologically, the Enemy are, once again, remarkable. Their
knowledge of how to command and operate all manner of Imperial
weaponry, vehicles and vessels appears to be without limits. A
soldier can know all they need to about a weapon without any prior
experience or the need to practice with it beforehand. They are
able to maximise the weapon
’
s full potential, whilst at the
same time compensate for its limits. So far we have not been able
to clarify whether or not this knowledge extends outside the bounds
of Imperial engineering, and it could well be that a period of
learning would be necessary in order to operate new and unfamiliar
technology. I would hazard that this period of learning would be
considerably shorter than normal.

They are code talkers. This makes it near-impossible for us
to decipher what they are saying to one another, whether it be in a
combat situation, a standard communication or otherwise. The cipher
code itself seems to also shift on a regular basis. The schedule
for this change has never been determined, since it itself seems to
be subject to a form of encryption. It is doubtful that we will
ever be able to crack their tongue, and whilst they are all able to
speak English, they do so only in extreme cases.

Their primary goal is not to conquer, but to destroy without
prejudice. With what I have garnered so far, we should be very,
very concerned about the Pandoran
’
s desire to press on from the
Imperial systems and into Independent World space. They are
beginning a mass salvage operation and will favour disabling or
crippling their adversaries in combat, with a view to killing the
occupants of the vessel and adding it to their ranks.

They do not appear to have the knowledge of building
spacecraft themselves, but are very adept at repairing and
modifying craft. Because of this, a large number of their forces
will remain planet-bound for the foreseeable future, but, as stated
earlier in my report, the number of mobile forces are not
insignificant. Unless we can find a way to slow the speed of their
advance, then I anticipate that they will be ready for a full
strike against neighbouring IW systems within the next six months,
if not sooner. And when they do, I think we can expect the same
approach that they took to the Imperial worlds: prisoners will not
be taken, lives will not be spared. They are heartless, cruel and
without pity; the perfect killing machines.

A conflict with the Enemy is both inevitable and unavoidable,
and for such an eventuality we should immediately prepare. Some
will believe that we are facing an alien invader, and that
humanity
’
s first
encounter with an extraterrestrial life form will be our last.
Others will think that the dead are walking, as the Enemy rise from
wounds that would have killed an ordinary man.

But as we now know the truth is far worse than any of those,
and a side of the story that we should endeavour to keep from as
many as we can, for as long as we can; including the ATAF pilots,
who may well represent our only solution.

And the less they know, the better for all of us.

XXVII

—
The Honour of the Knights —

S
imon Dodds ran down the corridors
of the medical unit, reaching the door at the other end and finding
it locked. He looked out through the oval window to see refugees
lying scattered and unmoving on the floor of Arlos
starport
’
s
central hall. The hall was dark and somehow foreboding, as if the
gloom itself was responsible for the fate of the men, women and
children that lay dead on the ground.

Movement caught his attention. Out of the corner of the
window he could see the backs of his fellow
Knights
as they darted among the
corpses, attempting to get back to the airlock. He opened his mouth
to shout, but no matter how hard he tried no sound came out. He
banged a hand fiercely against the glass, hoping to attract their
attention, but they did not seem to hear him and disappeared from
view.

He backed away from the door before giving it a hard kick,
causing it to fly open. It banged shut behind him as he crossed the
threshold, an echoing clicking sound telling him that it had locked
once more.

Running out into the central hall, he could not see his
friends, even though they had been there a few moments earlier. The
refugees who covered the floor lay still and unmoving, but their
eyes seemed to be locked on to him, following his every
move.

He started off in the direction of the airlock, skipping over
the bodies as he went. Something grabbed his leg. He looked down to
see one of the dead holding him fast, the other arm flailing as it
tried to find something else to grab on to. He tried to shake it
off, but for all his efforts he found he could not. As he continued
to do so, he heard the echoing click again and, with a terrible
sinking feeling, he turned his head in the direction of the noise.
The medical unit door creaked open.

A woman wandered out, looking confused and rather
dishevelled. She was tall, with shoulder-length lank black hair,
and wearing a torn white vest that was soaked with blood around the
belly. Her face was pale, her hands hung by their side, her mouth a
little open.

Dodds recognised Barber at the same time she seemed to
recognise him, and the woman began to lurch her way over to where
he remained trapped, barely lifting her knees and dragging her feet
in a quite horrible and unnerving fashion. At her approach, Dodds
struggled harder against his captor. He tried to cry out for his
friends, but again he could manage nothing but a hoarse
whisper.

As Barber approached, Dodds noticed the corpses on the floor
beginning to crawl towards him, becoming a sea of dragging bodies.
All were silent, save for the sound of body parts slapping on the
ground. Another hand closed around his leg and the owner tried to
pull themselves up. He took the only action he could and began
punching wildly at the faces of those that held him. Grips were
released and he sprang free, resuming his journey back towards to
the airlock, to join his friends.

He rounded the corner and saw them standing, with their backs
to him, in the chamber. They were affixing helmets and ensuring
they were ready for the evacuation into space. The doors were
already sealed.

Dodds sprinted up to the door and began thumping on the thick
glass, shouting as best he could. Still there was no sound, not
from his throat and not from his hand hitting the glass. His
wingmates remained oblivious to his presence. Dodds looked around,
back down the corridor and saw a throng of figures lurch around the
corner. Dozens of ruby-red eyes fell upon him as the group turned,
the refugees having donned the round headgear of the black-clad
soldiers. Their clothes were blood soaked, their limbs perforated
from multiple gunshots… and they had him cornered.

Pandoran, Pandoran, Pandoran.

The words came as a flat, eerie chorus, reverberating off the
walls and seeping into his bones, threatening to draw out his very
soul.

Dodds realised there was nowhere for him to run; his back was
against a wall. He panicked and turned around. He banged on the
window again, harder than before, but both he and the glass
remained as muted and uncommunicative as ever. The chamber was
bathed in flashing red hues and he watched in horror as the outer
airlock doors opened and his fellow
Knights
drifted out into space,
their backs to him the whole time; never once turning to see their
friend; never once offering to help him. They had left
him.

He turned back around and a strong hand closed around his
throat. Barber held him in an iron grip, staring at him with a kind
of perverse fascination. The black-helmeted refugees began to
cluster around behind her, their numbers creating an impenetrable
wall.

As Barber held up a bloodstained, rusty old scalpel, Dodds
desperately tried to wrench her hand off him.

It wasn
’
t
me! It wasn
’
t me!
I didn
’
t do
it!
he tried to say. Barber lowered the
scalpel toward his belly and moments later he felt the warmth of
blood running down his stomach, as the blade drove
deep…

* * *

Dodds woke, finding himself on the top bunk of the bed he had
fallen asleep on. He was sweating profusely. He had no idea of how
long he had been asleep, nor how long it might be before
Griffin
and the other
two carriers returned to Spirit, but right now he was happy to lie
where he was and wait. Although it had only been a dream, in light
of what he had experienced that day it had not seemed all that far
detached from reality. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and
decided he would rather remain awake for the remainder of the
journey home.

He
glanced down at Enrique and Kelly, who were both sleeping deeply on
their beds. His eyes wandered across the other beds, seeing that
Estelle and Chaz, too, lay in the same positions they had when they
collapsed onto the mattresses. It looked like he was the only one
suffering from bad dreams.

Following their titanic and exhausting final battle,
the
Knights
had
landed back on
Griffin
, where Parks had seen to it that they were given their own
private quarters, so they could rest undisturbed. No more cargo
holds for them. They had all taken a short nap before being called
to eat a meal, before heading back to their quarters to sleep for
the remainder of the journey.

For all they had witnessed that long day, no-one spoke one
word of their experience. They ate in silence, the failed retake
of
Dragon
, the
fight aboard Arlos starport, and the treachery of Hawke remaining
unbroached. Whether it was due to exhaustion, Dodds could not
say.

He
exhaled and stared up at the ceiling. Today had been one of the
hardest and most testing days of his life. But he had emerged from
it unscathed. Thoughts turned over in his head. Two months ago he
had made himself a promise: he would return to duty and put things
right, no matter how long it took. And although he had made errors
along the way, he considered that today he had done a few things
right. He had saved lives, lots of them; he had done everything
that had been asked and required of him; and this time - this time
- he had seen to it that when taking matters into his own hands,
the ends had justified the means.

But the
question remained: was he redeemed? Of all the questions in his
head, this was perhaps the one that was easiest to answer: No. No,
he was not. Poppy Castro and Stefan Pitt were still dead, and no
matter what he did he could not bring them back. He had taken their
lives unlawfully and that was a fact that he would have to live
with for the rest of his life. Maybe one day their families would
forgive him, and then at last he would be able to forgive
himself.

He
closed his eyes again; but still their faces remained.

* * *

The three carriers exited jump space and arrived back in the
Temper system, not far out from Spirit. Estelle and Chaz woke
first, sitting up and trying to shake off the sleepiness in their
heads. Dodds clambered down from his bunk as the announcement of
their arrival back at Spirit repeated itself over the
carrier
’
s PA. He
woke Enrique and Kelly, letting them know they were almost home and
would soon be able to disembark.

But as the five attempted to leave, they were once again
asked to remain where they were by a number of familiar-looking
personnel, who stood guard outside their quarters. After being
stuffed into the cargo hold for several hours earlier, the
Knights
knew better than
to object. Whilst they waited, they sat around in a group and made
lazy conversation about anything but black-clad soldiers, traitors
and refugees.

Sometime later, Omar Wyatt arrived to escort them away,
leading them to what remained of
Griffin
‘s
flight deck, where the group would be transferred to Spirit
Orbital.
Griffin
‘s
corridors were quite empty, the
vast majority of the surviving crew having already disembarked. The
deck was just as quiet, only a handful of service personnel in
attendance. The five boarded the transport alone, still saying very
little to one another.

Dodds wondered to himself what was next for him and his
wingmates. After proving themselves in real combat situations with
the ATAFs, would they now go on to take on the role that had
previously been assigned to the
Red
Devils
? Or would they just go back to
performing their routine patrols around Temper and other
Confederation border systems? As the transport docked with the
station, Dodds decided that his questions were best left to be
answered in the next few days. He had far too much to think about
as it was.

The rear door of the shuttle opened and the
Knights
began to depart
the craft, seeing the flight deck of Spirit Orbital swamped with
men and women. Several dozen heads whipped around to see who the
occupants of
Griffin
‘s
final transport were and at once
a cry went up.
“There they are!
It
’
s them!
Look!”