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

They turned to look at her. Fingers pointed. Natalia ran.

She ran as fast as she could, but the ground she covered was minimal, as if her legs were moving in slow motion. She looked behind herself as she tried to escape, seeing the city now gone and the black suits of the Enemy swarming behind her like so many thousand scurrying black ants, spread out across a wide open plain that went on forever to the horizon, with nowhere to hide.

Amongst the sea of black shone innumerable pairs of ruby-red oval eyes, set into the grooves of helmets, the only window into what resided within. She tried harder to run, but her legs moved as if she were pulling them through treacle. She fell down, trying with all her might to crawl herself forward, but finding herself as immobile as ever.

The ranks of black suits began to close in round her, their faces hidden behind their ominous masks. She looked around for another way to escape, turning to the sky, then the ground beneath, but seeing nothing save for the swells of black, glints of knives, and glow of digital weapon counters.

Hands caught her upper arms, then her fore arms, then her legs, pinning her to the ground. The suffocating black enclosed her, muzzles of rifles pushed into her face, mixed with flashes of white from emblems borne on the suit. Her attackers spoke not one word as they prepared to deal her fate.

Natalia shivered in her stasis capsule, so intense were her dreams. But they did not plague her forever and soon the darkness departed, allowing the woman to return to a peaceful, undisturbed sleep; the nightmare having lifted like a veil, as if moving on to trouble another.

* * *

Within a small corridor of Arlos starport, interconnecting an airlock, a dozing man awoke as he heard the door's control panel emit a short bleep. He looked up to see the red light that had once indicated that the door was locked, had now changed to green. He blinked himself further awake just as the door slid open, and his heart almost stopped as he saw his worst nightmare step on through.

Clad in black suits, helmets covering their heads and faces, the six new arrivals to the port paused for but a moment to assess their surroundings. Bright ruby-red eyes fell on the man sitting on the floor, only feet from where they now stood. They drew their weapons.

The man started to struggle to his feet, his eyes wide as saucers. A scream lodged itself in his throat, as if it itself was unwilling to expose itself to the invaders. A shotgun levelled itself at him. There was a sound of thunder and tremendous pain ripped through his chest. He toppled backward and gasped as the pain mixed with shock and disbelief. He turned a pleading expression to the ruby-red eyes, begging them to spare his life. He tried to speak, but the scream was still blocking his throat. A thin gasp was all that was permitted to pass.

He had been safe here! They had all been safe here! Just a few more hours and he could have gotten away! He should have made a bigger effort to get on that last ship out! It wasn't fair! Why him? Just a few more hours...

A second round finished him, and as his vision faded he saw the invaders start forward, preparing to deal the same fate, via a multitude of different weapons, to the other refugees sharing the corridor. They would cut down everyone that stood before them, taking no prisoners and sparing no lives.

* * *

“We're going to have to cut her open,” Estelle said, unable to wrench her eyes away from Barber's face. The thought was already starting to turn her stomach. She turned to Kelly who was still backing off, a hand on her own stomach, as if attempting to quell the churning within. Their eyes met.

“I'll keep watch,” Kelly said and darted out of the mortuary without waiting for any acknowledgement from her commanding officer.

“I'll go with her,” Enrique volunteered, before he too bolted out the room after Kelly, leaving Estelle, Dodds and Chaz standing over the body.

“Right... right,” Estelle said, snapping out of her trance. Though she had tried to deny it, Enrique was right. All the evidence was there right in front of her. The thing they had come for was inside the dead woman lying on the gurney and there was only one way they were going to get it out. She turned away and began looking around the mortuary. She found what she was searching for at one end of the room. Her fingers brushed over a number of different stainless steel medical implements, before they closed around the one she needed. Grasping it firmly in her hand, she returned to the two men.

“No!” Dodds said in response to the question that did not need asking.

Estelle thrust the scalpel towards him, ignoring his protest. “Dodds...” Estelle said, her voice a little shaky.

“No! No way!” he said again, retreating to the other side of the gurney, putting the dead woman between the two of them. He pointed to the scalpel. “And certainly not with that, that archaic tool! Isn't there a laser cutter?”

“No, we have to use this.” She heard it come almost like an apology.

“Why? Cutters are good enough for organs...”

“It could damage the card. Now, come on, Dodds.” She made to walk around the gurney.

“No, Estelle, stay there! No, Estelle, stay! You'll have to do it. I can't.” His voice was shaking, his face showing unmistakable signs of distress.

“I'm not doing it,” Estelle said.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm your superior and... and I'm ordering you to.”

Dodds' distressed expression disappeared for a fraction of a second, to be replaced by one of disbelief. “You're ordering me to?” he said, incredulously.

“Yes, Dodds, I'm ordering you to.” Her voice was shaking again, as was the scalpel she held. She could see part of her own face reflected in it. It did not look confident.

Dodds gave a tiny, humourless chuckle. “Well, then I guess I'm going to have to disobey that order, Lieutenant.”

“Dodds!”

“What are you going to do about it, Estelle?” Dodds said, throwing his hands up into the air. “File a report that said I refused to cut open a dead woman upon your orders because I was too scared? In that case, you'd better prepare to add yourself, as well as Kelly and Enrique, to that list.”

Estelle said nothing, not blaming Dodds for refusing to do as she said. She had merely chosen to flex her muscles as the commanding officer and delegate an undesirable duty on to another. The idea of cutting open the woman lying on the table was no more appealing to her than any of them. But if she could pass on the responsibility... She looked to the last person in the room, that had not yet expressed an objection to the task.

“Chaz?” The big man looked around at her, his focus having still been on Barber, his expression remorseful. “You were keen to get here and get this done.”

* * *

The scalpel hovered in front of him, still held in Estelle's hand, the light catching it in places as the woman's hand shook. Chaz looked once again to Barber and then back again to the scalpel, before he plucked it from Estelle's grasp.

Yes, he had been keen to get here, but not to do this. He had not believed what the little boy, Ben, had told him. He had to see the truth for himself. Even now, with the evidence lying in front of him, it was difficult for him to believe. He looked again at Barber's peaceful face and thought back over the memories.

You were just doing your job, he thought to himself, before he buried his sorrow deep within him.

* * *

Dodds and Estelle gave one another a worried look as the big man held the scalpel, acknowledging neither of them. He stood with his eyes focused on Barber's face, as if stuck in his own world.

“Chaz?” Dodds prompted him after a time.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Chaz said in a quiet voice.

“Whenever you're ready,” Estelle said.

* * *

Sweeping into the central hall, the six black-clad soldiers were given the same reception as they had in the airlock corridor. Even though the refugees here had had some forewarning of what was to come, hearing the gunfire and cries of the earlier victims, most were still quite unprepared. The screams and shouting began at the first sighting of the black suits and, as one, people rose and tried to escape. Even before the soldiers began their slaughter there were casualties: limbs were tangled, bones were snapped, and heads were crushed in the stampede.

Their weapons already drawn, the lead soldiers fired upon those immediately in front of them, bursts of plasma bolts burning through clothes and ripping into flesh, repeated hits opening up gaping wounds and spilling blood. Bullets performed to a lesser degree, but were no less accurate as they were deadly. In the space of just a few seconds, the area around the soldiers was splattered with blood, torn clothing and burnt lumps of flesh that had been torn from their victims.

Behind the front row, two other soldiers each pulled a grenade and threw them deep into the crowd. The explosions had their desired effect of killing many, maiming others and causing even greater panic.

With their dramatic entrance over, the soldiers advanced after their prey. No-one was to be spared: infants, children, men, women and the elderly were all fair game. There was no return fire from any of the refugees, not even the slightest attempt to defend themselves; the men and women well aware of the futility of such actions.

* * *

Okay, you've had a good run. Ten years of service, a couple of major operations; one colossal one. You've nearly been killed, let's see, three or four times. Today may as well count for another ten. Plenty to talk about and inspire others with. Could probably spin out two or three books from it. I think I deserve to take the rest of my life off now. At least I don't have to witness the amateur surgery. Thank God for small mercies...

Kelly sat on the floor, hugging her knees and reminiscing over the past.

“You okay, Mouse?” Enrique said.

“Please don't call me that.”

“They'll be done soon. Just try not to think about it.”

“Then stop bringing it up.”

In their bid to get away from the goings-on in the morgue, the two had retreated back to the main entrance to the medical unit, Enrique having taken point at the door.

“Sorry,” Enrique said, then, “What's wrong?”

Kelly saw him looking at her with concern. She had been rubbing at the side of her head. “My head still hurts,” she said.

Enrique left his post at the door and knelt down beside his friend. “Want me to look?”

“Yeah, see if you can see anything. Here,” Kelly indicated to the side of her head, that she had knocked in the cockpit. Enrique parted her brown hair in the area she had shown him, looking for signs of trauma. She was not entirely sure what he should be looking for, as she had not found anything herself; no cuts and no bleeding, although there might be a bruise. He persevered until she winced and turned her head around to escape his exploring fingers, taking hold of one of his hands with hers.

“Sorry,” he said once more, as she looked around to face him.

“Anything?”

“Nothing on the surface. You might have bruised your brain.”

Kelly smiled and let out a chuckle. It sounded funny. Enrique smiled, too.

For a moment, they both became aware of how close they were to one another, their hands holding on to one another's. They stayed motionless for a few moments, looking into one another's eyes, neither speaking.

“Enrique, I think you should be keeping your eyes on the door,” she said after a while, breaking their gaze and turning away to look down the corridor in the direction of the morgue. Enrique released her hand and returned to his post.

“I don't know about you, but I just want to get out of here,” Kelly said. “This day has been too long. Do you think they'll be done soon?”

Enrique didn't answer her.

She looked up, to see him staring fixated out the door's small oval window. “Enrique?”

“People are moving,” Enrique said. He then swore loudly.

“What?”

“We've got company!” The man had frozen.

“What's going on?” Kelly asked, starting to get to her feet, so she could see for herself.

“Don't move,” Enrique hissed, waving her back