The Honour of the Knights, Stephen J. Sweeney [reading women .txt] 📗

stand and escape the scene that was unfolding before them. Despite the sudden goings-on about her, Barber did not take her eyes off her target.

The man sneered, watching the people gathering up their belongings and trying to get loved ones to move out of the immediate area.

Barber's face remained stern. “I won't ask you again,” she warned. She could have shot him hours ago, but had refrained from doing so in case of a defensive knee-jerk reaction from one of those assembled in the immediate area, leading to her own death. She could no longer risk that the man might get away, though, and had taken the decision to confront him now.

The raider's eyes widened, but his sneer remained. “Well, if you want it so badly, why don't you just come over here and take it?” he replied, reverting his dialect.

Barber straightened her arm, training the gun on the man's head, emphasising her point. The man's sneer disappeared, his face becoming serious. He reached into the coat he wore, his hand fumbling around in an inside pocket.

Barber tensed, anticipating the glint of a firearm and the need for her to react. The raider removed something and threw it at her feet, though it did not make the noise she was expecting: much louder and clunkier, and with a metallic clasping sound. The gasps and sudden cries about her confirmed her worries. She took her eyes off the man for just a moment to see, resting a little way in front of her, a tiny, flat octagonal device. A red light winked on the top of its dark grey surface, steadily growing faster and faster. It was a mini-mine, and it was about to explode.

Barber ran back, trying to keep an eye on the man as the device went off, fire, flames and smoke obscuring her vision. Through the haze she sighted him, sprinting between the packs of people crowded together on the floor. Ignoring the screams of terror around her, Barber began a much more urgent pursuit of her target. The raider was fast, darting between groups and huddles, and hopping over bags, but Barber had few problems in keeping up. She kept a tight grip on her pistol as she ran, stopping every now and again to loose off a shot, none of which found their mark. The long coat the man wore flapped around as he zig-zagged, ducked and leapt about, concealing his form from her and making it much harder to know where to shoot.

She chased him for sometime and soon had him cornered, the exit he had been making for unexpectedly closed. Barber had seen to that when she had followed him in, intending on minimising possible escape routes. He hammered at the button next to the exit, but it refused to open. She levelled her gun at his torso as he tried in vain to prise the door open where it met the wall, his fingers struggling to find anything to latch on to.

Barber had chosen a non-energy weapon for this assignment. Though an energy weapon was more effective, within the context of this fight it could destroy the data card she was after. Whilst she was aware that the impact of a bullet could also damage or destroy the card, the high amounts of energy dissipated by the impact of a plasma or other energy shot could cause destruction by proximity. And bullets served Barber's requirements just as well.

At the last second, just as Barber squeezed the trigger, the raider ducked along the side of the adjoining wall, and the shot that had been intended for his heart slammed instead into his left shoulder. Barber fired once again, but with the raider still ducking the shot missed altogether, ripping through his coat and ricochetting off against the wall behind him. The third squeeze clicked on an empty chamber, the tiny digital counter on the top of the weapon flashing two zeroes.

“Bitch! I'll kill you!” her quarry cried out with a mixture of pain and anger, his right hand clasped around his bleeding shoulder. Barber saw him swing around and aim his own weapon. It looked like a laser pistol.

Barber ducked down close to an assembled family, who panicked at the sudden realisation they were now in the line of fire. The raider appeared to be left-handed, or at least held the weapon with his left, and with his shoulder wounded his aim was far from true. The first shot cleanly missed its intended target, as well as everything else, the thin red beam striking the floor behind Barber, letting off sparks and leaving a scorch mark at the point of impact. The second and third shots found targets, neither of which were Barber. The first felled a man, hitting him square in the forehead. The beam passed straight through his skull, leaving a small hole in the front and back of his head before striking the ground behind. The second struck a mother in the hand as she reached across to grab her daughter, and the little girl screamed in horror as three severed fingers fell into her lap.

Following his unsuccessful attempts to down his target, the raider lunged forward with his outstretched right hand, and yanked a young woman up off the floor by her long hair, just as Barber prepared to raise her gun once more. The man held the screaming woman in front of himself, shaking her head and shouting at her in the Imperial dialect he had spoken to Barber in. At first, he placed his gun against the woman's temple, before he lowered his quivering arm and rested it across her shoulder for support.

Barber felt no pity for the dead man or maimed woman, they were nothing more to her than collateral damage. However, to shoot the innocent woman held by the raider as a human shield went against her code of conduct and her own moral values. Even though the Confederacy had pressed upon her the tremendous importance of the data card she was after, there were some things she refused to do.

The raider began walking away, keeping parallel with the wall behind him as the girl continued to sob with fear and plead with her captor. He kept an eye on Barber the whole time, his laser pistol pointed over the shoulder of his hostage. Barber sidestepped in his direction, keeping up with his pace, her own gun trained on him the whole time.

Why isn't he firing? Barber wondered. Is he low on ammo? Has his laser pistol overheated? The man was in a far better position to attack than she was.

The three continued with their steady stepping dance for a while, the raider seeking to move himself into a more strategic position from where he could flee to the next docking port exit. He made occasional snap glances around, to ensure he was not going to trip over items that were scattered about. But as Barber already knew, his current location was not going to permit him an easy escape route and it could be seen that he was losing patience with the girl he was dragging along. His wounded shoulder was also making it more difficult for him to keep his arm straight, despite being able to rest it across the terrified woman's shoulder. Barber maintained a relaxed demeanour, following his every step.

The raider suddenly cast aside his hostage and began to run, making no attempt to shoot. Barber swore as she started after him. His gun had been empty the whole time; he had been bluffing. And Barber had been doing just the same thing. Neither of them had found the time to reload their weapons and neither wanted to give the other the advantage.

Barber broke into a run to catch up with the raider, who was once again darting and skipping over people. He was not heading in any specific direction, but zig-zagging once more. Barber saw him fumbling around in his coat and assumed he was trying to buy himself some time as he searched for an energy capsule to recharge his laser pistol. With the huge scatters of people and baggage, coupled with the urgency of the raider to reload his gun, Barber could see it would not be long before he came undone.

* * *

As Sullivan leapt over a bag, his foot became caught within an exposed, unturned strap, the sudden and unexpected additional weight causing him to topple forward and crash to the ground. His laser pistol and the energy cap he had only just managed to pull from his coat clattered and skidded along the floor ahead of him, far out of reach. He thrashed his foot around in a vain attempt to free himself, not wanting to take his eyes off his gun, though the struggling did him no good. He looked around at the problem, and his hands flew towards the straps that were curled around his ankle. His coat was equipped with a knife, built into one sleeve, and with a quick flick of his wrist it shot free and into his hand. It was exceptionally sharp, and with just a few slashes he managed to cut away the straps.

Free once more, he leapt to his feet, just in time to see his pursuer descending upon him. There was a bang; she had wasted no time in shooting him square in the chest. Sullivan grunted as the bullet slammed into him, but despite the searing pain he still had a lot of fight left in him. He responded to her attack by driving his knife into her own chest.

“Yeah?! See how you like it, bitch!” he spat. The woman cried out in pain, but even before she had time to act Sullivan gripped her tight about the shoulder, withdrew the knife and plunged it twice more into her. Just as he prepared to strike for the fourth time, he heard several bangs and the remainder of his attacker's clip tore into his belly. He struggled to breathe, but could draw no air into his lungs. He held fast to his knife, even as his vision blurred.

* * *

The raider sagged, his grip on Barber loosening as he fell to the floor. Barber could feel her own legs beginning to give way and she fought to control herself. As the raider lay dead on the floor before her, she rummaged through his clothes. She prayed that he had the data card with him, rather than having left it in his craft. In her current state she wouldn't even be able to make it to the docking ports, let alone break into his ship. She coughed as she continued her hasty search, tasting blood in her mouth, seeing it splatter over the man and feeling it run down her chin.

Relief washed over her as her fingers encountered a thin piece of plastic which, once removed, revealed itself to be just what she had been looking for: a tiny, thin blue card, bearing the Confederation insignia. Her head began to feel light and she sat down on the floor with a heavy thump, using one hand to prop herself up and keep from tipping over completely. There was very little time to act. She knew what she had to do and, reaching into her jacket, she removed a packet containing a tiny capsule and a small bottle of liquid. Breaking open the packet, she placed the data card into the capsule and sealed it tight. She coughed some more, feeling the blood fill her mouth again and the taste of iron with it. She spat it from her mouth, as well as the rest that wanted to follow.

It took her some time and considerable effort for her to achieve what she had planned for the card, but eventually she succeeded. Drawing heavy, staggered breaths, but confident that the plans were now in a safe place, she lay back. She was going to die. She found her breath coming shorter with each passing moment. The raider's knife must have punctured a lung.

She noticed that some of the more inquisitive witnesses to the scene were inching forward to investigate the man and woman who had fallen down together in a pool of blood, following their very violent encounter. She met another woman's eyes and saw them filled with pity.

“I hope you're luckier than I was,” she whispered. But in her heart she doubted that. There was a good chance that she was the lucky one here. Running would not save these people any more than fighting would. They were only prolonging the inevitable. Eventually they would not be able to run any further; although she could not blame them for trying. And when they were caught, that would be it. Prisoners would not be taken, lives would not be spared.

Barber's vision became cloudy and the woman