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

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!”

Stepping out of the transport, the Knights were met by an enormous crowd of people, all eager to meet the mysterious fighter pilots that had fought back against almost impossible odds. With some hesitance, the White Knights walked towards the throng as hands thrust forward to be shook, whilst others clapped them on the back in thanks and congratulations.

* * *

Parks watched the scene unfold from an observation room, reluctantly aware that he would not be able to keep the Knights a secret forever. Whether he had brought them off first or last, it was doubtful that someone would not have recognised them. He watched as the coastguards – the orbital's security staff - that had been assigned to clear the flight deck and sneak the Knights away were overwhelmed by the crowd. One looked up towards Parks, a defeated expression on her face. She shrugged. Parks made no gesture. At least the Knights were safe.

Turner stood behind Parks, at the back of the room, away from the windows, waiting for Parks to present him with the data card the Knights had retrieved from Barber. Turner had waited at Spirit for his return, so that he too could confirm the plans were safe before at last notifying the President and her Office. Aside from the two senior officers, the only other occupants of the observation room were a team of six other coastguards, five of whom were well armed, the sixth holding a large metal case.

“How the hell did we miss Hawke?” Turner asked, sounding angry at both himself, Parks, and the CSN in general.

“None of the signs were present to begin with, sir,” Parks said, turning away from the window, towards the admiral. “They only appear to have fully manifested themselves within the past few hours. It may well have been a result of being in a combat situation with the Enemy, although it could have been some kind of dormant sleeper system.”

“If that is so, then it's very worrying. How many more could there be who have slipped through the net?”

“All the standard tests came back negative. There was nothing in his blood, and the retina and brain scans were as expected. There was nothing unusual about him; he was perfectly normal,” Parks said, repeating a belief the two men had at one time held.

Turner tutted and shook his head. “When we pulled him out of that escape pod my gut feeling was to suspend him immediately, or, at the very least, hold him back from direct involvement in critical operations. But as you know, we need every good man we can get our hands on and I couldn't risk removing someone like that from service.” The admiral started to pace, looking down at the floor. “Aside from his refusal to co-operate during the operation, did he do anything else to rouse suspicions?”

“No, he even went as far as to destroy an Imperial frigate commanded by the Enemy,” Parks said.

“Did you get a good look at that frigate?”

“There wasn't much time. Hawke destroyed it almost as soon as it arrived.”

“Then it was probably part of the ruse. I'd bet good money that it was worthless to them anyway. Was probably completely unmanned, in a poor state of repairs, and ready to fall apart any day now. You're going to have to sharpen up about these sorts of issues, Elliott.” Turner continued pacing back and forth in a small area. “Was Hawke acting alone on Ifrit? Was anyone else involved?”

“It's difficult to be certain. From what we've been told by the survivors, Hawke surrendered Ifrit to the Enemy and allowed them to come aboard. After that, the Enemy started to systematically kill off the crew. We found the survivors hiding in the ventilation units near the power cores. They weren't even aware that Hawke had survived.”

Turner grunted his dismissal of the survivors' statements.

Parks went on. “The Enemy abandoned the carrier when Zackaria and Hawke were spaced. They picked both of them up in transports and fled Phylent, along with Dragon and the frigates that had joined it. It looks like he's been held in high regard for quite sometime; certainly up there with Rissard.”

“You didn't think to destroy the transport before Hawke and the admiral could escape?” Turner stopped pacing and looked up.

“I... hesitated, sir,” Parks apologised. He had indeed held back on destroying the transport, since leaving both men to escape was, in his opinion, the lesser of two evils. Allowing Zackaria to live would permit him to continue with the anticipated assault against the rest of the galaxy, whilst killing him would extinguish all hope of halting to Enemy's advance for good. At the end of the day, it came down to numbers.

Turner nodded. “I'm sure it was not without good reason, Commodore. I may have acted in exactly the same way had I been in your place. Whilst there is no reason to believe that upon capturing Zackaria we could expect him to cooperate, there is no harm in trying. It would have made everything that much easier though. For now, it is important that we establish whether or not Hawke was acting of his own free will.”

“I will have a full background check made against him immediately, as well as the survivors from Ifrit,” Parks said.

“We need every detail, Commodore. If there is even the slightest shred of evidence to suggest that this thing no longer affects purebred Imperials, then everything changes: we'll have a full-blown galactic pandemic on our hands and we need to be sure that we are able to control this thing.”

Both Parks and Turner looked to the six other men occupying the room, aware they should conduct the rest of the conversation in more private and secure surroundings.

“Someone should probably tell his wife, too,” Turner added.

Parks nodded and glanced back down to the flight deck, where the Knights were still receiving praise and admiration for their day's work, the five pilots having twice overcome next to impossible odds in the space of just a few hours.

“I never doubted their potential, Elliott,” Turner commented behind him.

“Neither did I.” Parks turned his back on the scene below him and walked over to Turner, fishing the data card out of a pocket and presenting it. Turner picked up a portable device that lay on a table next to him and inserted the card into a slot in the base. The device jingled and the screen