The next to arrive was Nimoux. He and Summers made eye contact when he entered; he looked on the precipice of saying something, but Summers spoke first.
“Nice to see you, Captain,” she said, she emphasized his rank, as if the formality were important. Of course, to Summers, formality was always important, but Calvin could not help but detect the whisper of subtext to her tone.
Nimoux nodded. “Same to you, Commander.”
Last to join them was Rafael. Shen and Sarah were away, doing God knows what, and Calvin had decided it was better to leave Miles out of this discussion. Not for lack of trust, if Calvin could depend on the loyalty of any person on the ship it was certainly Miles, but Calvin felt guilt for bringing Miles along on his last mission—into Rotham space—and somehow couldn’t forgive himself for the torture Miles and the others had been forced to experience because of his decision to bring them along on the mission. He had also considered inviting Rain, but that wound was a little too fresh, and he didn’t really need a doctor’s opinion for the subject at hand.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Calvin.
The others acknowledged him.
“As you can see out the observation window,” said Calvin, nodding toward the view of darkness just ahead, “we are in alteredspace. What you may not know, is that our current position is deep inside The Vast Empty.”
“What is The Vast Empty?” asked Summers. The question had been inevitable, Calvin had suspected that at least one of the others would not have heard of The Vast Empty, and none likely fully appreciated its significance.
“The Vast Empty is the greatest expanse of space,” said Calvin, “that is completely devoid of any celestial objects in the known galaxy.”
“That seems to fit more in the category of interesting than important,” said Rafael.
“It may not be important strategically,” admitted Calvin, “but I believe it to be important poetically. This is as far as our Intel Wing maps have Polarian Space chartered. From here on out, it’s a mystery what we will find.”
“I have some idea what we will find,” said Rez’nac. “I have been beyond The Vast Empty.”
“And that is why your presence is so very valuable,” said Calvin. “Still, I think the loneliness and vacantness of The Vast Empty is symbolic of the journey we have chosen to take. When we get there, whatever we encounter, no matter how dangerous, there will be no support for us. No reinforcements. We are completely, one-hundred percent, on our own. I thought it would be helpful, as the Nighthawk plunges ever deeper across the Vast Empty, toward the Forbidden Realms of Polarian Deep Space, for us to take stock of that fact, and full appreciate the reality that we have placed ourselves in.”
The others nodded or made a remark or two, either accepting the profundity or else giving him some lip service. Calvin did not require them to see The Vast Empty the way he did, but he did want to remind them just what they had come to do, what they were up against, how blind they were, and to discuss in greater detail the general plan.
“Rez’nac, when we have finished crossing The Vast Empty, what will we encounter?” asked Calvin.
“The Veil,” said the Polarian.
“And what is that exactly?” asked Calvin.
“The Veil is the barrier, it is what protects the sacred stars from those unworthy to enter; it is what obscures your telescopes and identifies and destroys your starships which dare to cross it.”
“How does it work?” asked Rafael. “What is it? Starships and guns? Some kind of energy field?”
“It is the barrier created by the Essences,” said Rez’nac. Calvin took that to mean their Polarian friend was ignorant to the scientific and technical specifications that were the Veil.
“What kind of danger does it represent to us?” asked Calvin. “More to the point, can the Nighthawk evade the Veil, or penetrate it, with the use of our stealth system?”
“No,” said Rez’nac. “The Veil will detect this vessel, as it would any vessel, and, without the proper command codes, this vessel would be destroyed. As for trying to evade the Veil, going around it, it is impossible.”
“I see,” said Calvin, wondering if Rez’nac’s faith in the effectiveness of this Veil was well-founded, or more steeply rooted in religious appreciation for its power, and not actual scientific reality. “And you have these codes, I presume?”
“I do,” said Rez’nac, to Calvin’s relief. “I can get us across the Veil, and then we will be in Forbidden Space.”
“Very good,” said Calvin. “Once we get through the Veil, we will need to safely and discreetly arrive at The Forbidden World. Can you get us there?” Despite all of Intel Wing’s efforts, and those of the Rahajiim, the Advent, and everybody else who had tried, no one had successfully uncovered the coordinates of the Polarian’s Forbidden World—in fact many believed it to be only a legend. Calvin was sure it existed. And it was home to the most powerful figures in the Polarian Confederacy, the highest-ranking religious leaders.”
“I know where the planet is,” admitted Rez’nac. “But that is the best I can do for you. Why must we go there?” Rez’nac seemed to become slightly defensive. It was clear he was already struggling with the moral implications of bringing a bunch of non-Polarians inside Polarian Forbidden Space; bringing them to the Forbidden World itself seemed perhaps a step too far.
Damn superstitions, thought Calvin. “As I told you before, and as the intelligence indicates that we extracted from the Rahajiim, it is almost a forgone conclusion that the Dark Ones, as you call them, have infiltrated the highest levels of your religious leadership. Where else could they have done that but the Forbidden World itself?”
Rez’nac looked instinctively skeptical and offended, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity, and even that sliver of doubt that the intelligence, and Calvin, had planted in his mind. That wonder, shocking as it must have been to him, that the very elitist members of his faith might have been deceived.
“Not the Council of Prelains,” said Rez’nac. “It cannot be so,” he shook his head.
“Not just the Council,” said Calvin, “but the High Prelain himself.”
“What do you mean to do with him?” asked Rez’nac, his hand automatically curled around his ceremonial dagger. Calvin knew it was mere instinct, but it made him feel jumpy all the same.
“I believe the High Prelain himself has been replaced by a Dark One,” said Calvin, not backing down.
Rez’nac seemed unsure what to think. “If what you say is true, then this is indeed the darkest of hours,” he said, mostly to himself. “But if it is false—any harm we bring to him…it would be the greatest of sacrileges!”
“I believe that, while some of the Council of Prelains have been replaced by Dark Ones, many have not,” said Calvin; he based this hypothesis in probability, but had no hard evidence to support such a claim. Still, it was a hope he clung to. “I intend for us to bring the High Prelain before the Council of Prelains and expose him as the Dark One that he is.”
Rez’nac’s eyes narrowed. “I forbid that we kill him. If he is not a Dark One, such a sin would be worse than even what the Dark Ones are capable of, and they have been banished for centuries uncounted.”
“If the High Prelain is who he says he is,” said Calvin, “then I promise you no harm will come to him. I only wish to administer a small dose of equarius to him, before the rest of the Council; if he is who he says he is, he will not be harmed in any way, aside from a needle prick. And you may hold me personally responsible.” Calvin knew that if he was wrong and he and his people kidnapped the High Prelain, dragged him before the Polarians’ highest religious body, and poked him with a needle, none of them would be getting out of there alive. For that matter, none of them might be getting out of there alive anyway. Among other dangers, the High Prelain could be so heavily guarded that the Nighthawk’s personnel, even with the element of surprise, would be unable to reach him.
“And if he is a deceiver?” asked Rez’nac.
“Then the equarius will reveal his true form on the spot, and the entire Council will know they have been misled this whole time—and they will know the Dark Ones have penetrated the religious order far deeper than any of them could have guessed.”
“It would explain a great many things,” said Rez’nac, though he still seemed hesitant to believe such a thing was possible.
“What about the rest of the Council?” chimed in Rafael. “Surely if the High Prelain has been replaced by a replicant—I mean Dark One—many on the Council will have been as well. How do we expose them?”
“That is a job for Nimoux,” said Calvin.
“What?” asked Nimoux, sounding baffled.
“You are not only the most touted member of Intel Wing, you have considerable experience as a Special Forces officer, and, by your own admission, you were trained for a mission to penetrate Polarian Forbidden Space.”
“True, to all of that, but I got scratched from the mission, that and the mission went as wrong as possible,” said Nimoux.
“Still, you’re the most qualified; Rez’nac is available for consultation, but I expect you to draw up our plans,” said Calvin.
“And, just so I know, those plans would be?”
“How we take the High Prelain into custody, how we expose him before the Council of Prelains, and, perhaps most difficult of all, how we quickly expose the other Prelains who have been replaced by replicants.”
“That’s a tall order,” said Nimoux. “But I’ll do my best.”
“There is a lot at stake here,” said Calvin. “So devote all your time and resources to coming up with this plan. If I have any suggestions, I will send them your way.”
“Much obliged,” said Nimoux.
“Everyone understand the general plan, then?” asked Calvin, looking each one of them in the eyes.
“Yes,” they acknowledged him. He could tell that most of them were skeptical that the crew could pull off such a thing, and, if they could, they almost certainly wouldn’t be escaping with their lives. Still, no objections were raised. And for that, Calvin was grateful.
“Once we cross the Veil,” said Rez’nac, “our success lies in the hands of the Essences.”
“Or chance,” said Rafael.
CHAPTER 15
The feeling was overpowering at first. It came in spurts, like getting shocked over and over, but Shen found the inner strength to push it all down, compressing it deep within him until it was merely a jolt. I can do this, he told himself. I have the strength.
The strange thing was, the farther they moved, closing in on their destination, the more he felt it. It didn’t hurt more. The experience of it, and how it seemed to work, was ineffable. But, somehow, on some deeper level, he felt it more. The Calling. It was like a biological homing beacon had been activated and now that he was some sort of modified human…some sort of thing…he was under its spell.
Wait, he thought. That isn’t The Calling. That’s something else. A second feeling was there. Before he had had difficulty distinguishing it from The Calling. But then he realized the second feeling was the source of the sporadic pain. The Calling was more like a drive, a hum, a compulsion forward. Something that underlay the jolts of pain. But it was not the source of the pain he felt.
For one, none of the others in the group seemed affected by any pain, yet Shen had felt it ever since they had landed, coming and going every few minutes. Now, though, the pain came every few seconds and it felt…strangely directional.
The Calling felt directional too, which was partially why it had taken him this long to tell the two senses apart. But it felt more like an arrow, pointing forward, as if guiding them as they hurried through smashed buildings, over cracked pavement and broken terrain, and into a large superstructure that, by the look of it, had once been a magnificent institute of science. The pain sensation was different, it was more like a confused compass, seeming to come at him from random and sudden angles, as if the dial on the compass had become confused and randomly began to spin at uneven intervals.
“Over there,” one of the lycans pointed. “The sound came from over there.”
The group stopped as the lead lycan pointed. The feeling was tense, all of them expected resistance, and if the lead lycan had indeed heard a noise, it seemed perfectly likely that they had found their adversaries. Or worse, their adversaries had found them.
Ouch thought Shen as another jolt of pain shook through him. It seemed to indicate the other way. Behind them. Another jolt followed. Then a third. The pain became more intense.
“We need to keep moving,” said Zarao, the leader of the lycans. His voice was hushed yet authoritative.
“But we should be cautious,” said Tristan. His own words equally silent, Shen doubted a normal human could have even heard them. “If they are right there, they could we waiting for us. In ambush.”
“I don’t think it’s them,” said Zarao. “No doubt it’s just some of the filth of this world. Some Type I Remorii. And probably just a few of them. Nothing we can’t handle.”
As they spoke, Shen felt a steady increase in the pain, seeming to point directly behind them; eventually the pain was so much that he could not hide it anymore and he doubled over, letting slip a grunt.
“Quiet, you,” said Zarao, “you’ll alarm them.”
“Are you all right?” asked Tristan, coming to Shen’s side.
“They’re not in front of us,” said Shen, feeling the pain ease momentarily.
“What in God’s name are you talking about?” asked Zarao. “Bliktah just heard them.”
“I heard something,” said Bliktah. “I don’t know if it was them.”
“Well, whatever it is, it was something,” said Zarao. “And we cannot afford to let it, or them, or whatever it was, get the drop on us. So, here’s what we’re going to do—”
“They’re behind us!” interrupted Shen, having finally put it together. This was how he had known which transports the Remorii had been on. He could sense it, through directional pain, and now it was coming from behind, stinging him in the back; it was unlike any sense he had ever experienced before when he’d been a normal human. But somehow he was certain of what it meant.
“I don’t sense anything behind us,” said Zarao.
“I definitely heard the noise ahead of us,” said Bliktah, “that way.” He pointed.
Shen shook his head.
“This one is a fool you have brought with us,” said Zarao, giving Shen a fleeting and dismissive glance. “Look at him; he acts as if he is in pain.”
“He is in pain,” said Tristan. The familiar lycan then gazed down at the leader, having a slight advantage in height; his eyes were intense. “We should listen to him.”
“You think they are approaching us from behind?” asked Zarao, still sounding skeptical.
Tristan nodded.
That, apparently, was good enough for Zarao. “Turn around!” he commanded. The group of them had just enough time to turnabout and take up positions, ready to ambush anybody following them, when the enemy came.
“Defend yourselves!” Zarao commanded, and the lycans bared their teeth and let their feral qualities show, letting their muscles ripple and retractable claws flash; they seemed almost to transform into honest-to-God monsters, although they looked very little like wolves. Shen had seen Tristan transform before, so he was not taken by surprise by it, yet he had never seen so many all at once. Shen even felt himself begin to change in response to the fear; his appearance didn’t change but he felt stronger, quicker, and much more alert. All of them were ready to lay waste to whatever threatened them, yet, when the enemy did come, Shen’s first thought was that he and the lycans were outmatched.
The first surprise was, it wasn’t the enemy Shen had expected. Given the amount of cunning it had taken to sneak up upon a group of lycans despite their heightened senses, and the fact that Shen had been able to detect the Type II Remorii before—on the transports—he expected them
to encounter Strigoi. But they didn’t. Instead, it was a shambling, yet stealthy, horde of Type I Remorii that shuffled into the room.
The second surprise was their overwhelming numbers. First, they came through the corridor, as if they had been stalking the lycans, then, as battle was joined, the Type I Remorii began smashing in through windows and seemed to come at them from all angles. Their positions and timing seemed far too perfect to be that of a disorganized, bloodthirsty horde…it seemed almost like an ambush.
It quickly became a noisy, terrifying bloodbath, and lycans clawed Type I Remorii to pieces, ripped through their muscles and sinews with razor-like teeth, and used brute strength to hurl them back, into one another, and against the walls and floors. But despite the lycans’ ferocity, the Remorii kept coming, numbers replacing numbers, and they brought their own strength. When one of them landed a blow against a lycan, it came with the force of a sledgehammer, and, with a whimper, the lycan, Bliktah, rolled to the floor. He was quickly surrounded, and Shen took steady aim with his carbine and opened fire, focusing his shots on the enemies’ heads. But it was Tristan who came to Bliktah’s rescue, although by now Bliktah looked maimed and badly beaten. Nonetheless, Tristan fiercely fought off the Remorii that had surrounded the wounded lycan.
Shen helped as much as he could, and, in trying to do so, completely neglected his own safety, just for a moment, just long enough for the Type I Remorii to get in close. Within an instant, there were three right next to him, all within striking range, and there was little Shen could do.
He felt a flashback take him as he recalled being seized, struck, and bitten by the very creatures not long ago, in a long glass corridor, somewhere on this same godforsaken planet, just after he’d shoved Calvin aside and saved his friend’s life. That beating, and the bite he’d sustained then, had changed his life forever. It had transformed him into the inhuman beast he was today. The freak. And now, with surprising speed, three more had surrounded him, clearly ready to finish the job they’d started back then.
The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) Page 28