The Honour of the Knights (First Edition) (The Battle for the Solar System)

XXVII - The Honour of the Knights

Simon 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.