The Phoenix Descent

by Chuck Grossart

Jarrod approached the whipping stand. Litsa removed her upper garment and dropped it to the cold stone. She stepped onto the pedestal and grabbed the handholds. Jarrod reached for the tie straps, but Litsa shook her head. “You won’t need those. I won’t falter.”

  He paused, then leaned close and whispered, “I’ll make it quick.” He held up a piece of wood, something for her to bite into. “Take this.”

  Litsa shook her head, refusing the offer, then leaned her body against the rough wood of the stand. She turned her head and rested her cheek against the post. In the crowd, she could see Jessa’s face. Their eyes met for a second, then Jessa looked away and lowered her head.

  Litsa closed her eyes.

  Everyone in the great hall was silent. Only the crackle of the torches and the echoing drip of water from the chamber’s roof could be heard. Do not cry out. Thirty-five stings from the whip would be difficult to bear.

  Don’t give them the satisfaction.

  Litsa heard Jarrod pivot, having walked the proper distance from the stand, and flick the whip to its full length with a snap.

  She waited for the whoosh of the leather through the air, waited for the first cutting bite. When it came, she wished she had taken the piece of wood to bite into, after all.

  Litsa made it to the twenty-eighth crack of the whip until she could hold it in no longer and her screams began to echo throughout the chamber.

  She lay on her stomach in the nursemaid’s chamber as Lauren worked to clean her wounds.

  Jarrod had made it quick and was judicious about where he placed his lashes. Most cut into her old scars, where the tissue was thick. She would have new scars as well.

  Lauren poured cool water across her back, and Litsa watch the watery blood spill onto the floor, sighing as it washed away some of the sting.

  “None of them are deep, Litsa,” Lauren said. “They should heal quickly enough.”

  “I’ll need them bandaged,” Litsa said. “Colin needs to be retrieved, and there’s a hive to search for.”

  “Jarrod spared you, somewhat,” Lauren said, “but thirty-five lashes deserve a day of rest to heal, at least. Colin is back, by the way.”

  “He is?” She felt a pang of anger for not being part of the team to go get him. “When did they send a team?”

  “They didn’t. He came back on his own, right after sundown.”

  Litsa was surprised Colin made it back to the Dak on his own. Maybe watching Jeremy’s sacrifice changed his outlook. “I’m glad he’s back. And safe. But I don’t have time to rest with a hive so close. None of us do.”

  “You shouldn’t go out before this has a chance to heal.”

  “Bandage them.” It was Jarrod’s voice, from the doorway. “We need her. Tonight.”

  Lauren bowed her head in deference to the captain of the watch, and reached for the numbing salve as Litsa raised herself off the table, resting on her elbows.

  Litsa turned her head around to face him, and saw no emotion on Jarrod’s face as he glanced at the wounds stitched across her upper back.

  “I assumed you would go with us,” Jarrod said.

  “You assumed correctly,” Litsa said, smiling.

  “Your wounds are not too bad to keep you from your duties, then.”

  Litsa took that as more of a statement than a question. “They are not,” she replied. Because you made sure of it, she added silently. She would thank him when the time was right.

  “The team is formed. Meet us at the top.” Jarrod strode off into the shadows.

  Lauren slapped a handful of the numbing salve between Litsa’s shoulder blades, making her wince. “He’s such a pleasant fellow, that one.”

  “He’s doing his job, that’s all,” Litsa said. “And yes, he did spare me the worst, but it still hurts. Be gentle with that, will you?”

  Lauren’s skilled hands rubbed the salve into the wounds, and the pain faded immediately. “This will last for a few hours, then you’ll need to come see me again. And don’t get it all filthy. If I have to scrub any dirt out, I won’t be gentle.”

  “Now who’s not being pleasant?”

  “I heard what happened, Litsa. I know what you did. You saved the gatherers—they said so when they returned—and you saved Colin and Jeremy, too. You didn’t deserve the whip. Now lie flat.”

  Litsa was glad the truth had made its way through the clan. At least she wouldn’t be treated as an outcast because of Jeremy’s death. “Jeremy died because of me. It was my fault.”

  “That’s not what Colin said.” Lauren placed a large square of soft fabric across Litsa’s back, patting it down, and wrapped wide strips of fabric around her body to hold it in place. “He said Jeremy left the safety of the middle haven to draw the Riy away from you.”

  Litsa was relieved the whole truth was out, but she couldn’t help but think of Jeremy’s knowing smile as the jumper burst apart at his feet.

  “And we’re all glad he did,” Lauren continued. “Everyone knows what kind of warrior you are, and where we’d all be without you. You would lay your life down for any of us, just as Jeremy did for you.” Lauren leaned close and whispered, “If we only had Joshua and Rita to rely on, we’d all be doomed.”

  “Take care who you share your sentiments with, Lauren,” Litsa whispered back. “Some ears wouldn’t take kindly to what you say.”

  Lauren patted Litsa’s bandages. “All done.”

  Litsa sat up and swung her legs over the side. “If I could’ve done anything differently, something to save him, I would.”

  “You did what you knew was right. Jeremy did what he knew was right. What happened, happened. Nothing more.”

  “I’m going to miss him, Lauren.”

  Lauren grabbed a rag and wiped the salve from her hands. “As will I.”

  Chapter 11

  Sif woke in the stasis chamber. For a second, she wondered if it was a dream. Everything was fine, and she was waking just as planned, with Mars—and a place in history—only a few days away.

  But then she remembered . . . Her oxygen system had malfunctioned. She recalled trying to pull herself back to the ship, and how far away the hatch was, and then everything faded away.

  Sif pushed a button on the inside of her capsule and released her restraining straps. The lid slid open with a hiss. She pushed herself up and out, floating free in the crew module. Stretching her arms above her head loosened her muscles, and she wondered how long she’d been in the capsule.

  From the speakers, a welcome—albeit synthesized—voice. “Hello, Commander Wagner.”

  “Liv?”

  “Yes, Wagner.”

  “Liv, you don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice.”

  “Liv can hear your voice, too, Wagner.”

  Referring to herself in the third person was something new for the AI. “Liv, are you fully functional?”

  “Yes. Liv is furry functional.”

  Uh oh. “Furry functional, Liv?”

  “No, Wagner. Liv is fully functional.”

  This is going to be interesting. “Liv, where are Webb and Hoover?”

  “Webb and Hoover are located in the command module, Commander. They requested Liv notify them when you woke. Liv has complied.”

  “Thank you, Liv.” Sif pulled her crew uniform from the wall, slid it on, and pushed off the bulkhead, sending herself down the tunnel toward the command module. “Liv, what is ship’s status?” Microphones placed throughout the ship allowed them to communicate with Liv wherever they were.

  “Life support is fully functional. Navigation system is fully functional. Computer systems are fully functional. Main engine fuel is below mission minimums at 40 percent. Main engines one through four are fully functional. Thruster fuel is low at 20 percent. Port thruster unit seventeen is inoperative. Port thruster unit twenty-two is inoperative. Port thruster unit twenty-three is partially mission capable. Starboard thruster unit thirteen is—”

  “Liv complete,” Sif said, a simple command that told Li
v she didn’t need to continue answering the previous question. “Is there any structural damage to the ship?”

  “Diagnostics show there is no structural damage to the ship.”

  “What is our position, Liv?”

  “We are seventeen hours from entering Earth orbit.”

  Her fail-safe theory was correct after all, although hearing it confirmed made her heart sink. The first manned mission to Mars was, officially, a failure. “Communications system status, Liv?”

  “Long-range communication transmitter is fully functional. Data telemetry transmitter is fully functional. Diagnostics ongoing to ascertain receiver status.”

  “What’s wrong with the receivers?”

  No answer. Sif remembered to call Liv by name to get her to respond. “Liv, what is wrong with the receivers?”

  “Status messages transmitted. No response. Diagnostics ongoing to ascertain receiver—”

  “Liv complete.”

  As Sif entered the command module, she saw Hunter and Lucas staring at the navigation console. “Okay, guys, who wants to explain to me how I’m still alive?”

  “Captain America here suited up immediately after you said you had a problem, Caitlyn,” Lucas said. “It was close, too close.”

  Hunter huffed. “I only did what either of you would’ve done if it was me out there. And, I hate to say I told you so, but it’s things like this that make solo EVAs such a bad idea.”

  “Point taken,” Sif said. “And thank you. I should’ve caught my hypoxia symptoms right away, but I was having too much fun taking in the view.”

  “By the time you were back inside, you looked like that girl from Willy Wonka,” Lucas said. “Blue as a blueberry.”

  “What caused it? My suit alarm didn’t go off.”

  “Not only was that particular suit not able to transmit data, the alarm was inop, too,” Hunter said. “Turns out your oxygen deficit was caused by a bent regulator.”

  “How the heck did that happen?”

  “Whatever shook the ship loosened the tie-downs enough to cause the suit to bang against the wall,” Hunter said. “Hard enough to rattle the bio-transmitter and the internal alarm and foul the regulator.”

  “I should’ve caught it during the inspection,” Lucas said. “The straps were loose when I took it off the wall, but I didn’t think twice about it.”

  Sif caught his eye. “I wouldn’t have caught it, either. No sweat, Lucas.”

  “Liv is up and running, at least,” Hunter said.

  “I noticed. I don’t think her voice interface is a hundred percent, though.”

  “We kludged a couple of different circuit boards together to get her talking again. She seems to be working just fine,” Hunter said, “but you’re right, her voice interface is probably as good as it’s going to get.”

  Lucas laughed. “She called me Mr. Potato when we first brought her voice back on line.”

  Sif couldn’t let the opportunity pass. “It looks like you have a call sign now, Tater.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Too late,” Hunter said. “It’s official.”

  “I won’t answer to it.”

  Sif shoved Lucas’s shoulder, causing both of them to grab the edge of their seats to keep from tumbling away. “Oh come on, at least she didn’t call you Sucker, or something awful like that.”

  “Can we please stop the name-calling and get back to work?”

  Hunter nudged Sif’s arm. “You need to see something.” He turned to a video monitor and brought up one of the external cameras.

  “You got the cameras to work, too? You guys were busy.”

  “No, they’re still out, but we were able to access the recordings. This,” Hunter said, pointing at the time stamp, “was ten hours after we all entered stasis.”

  Only one month into their seven-month journey to Mars, and right after they’d gone to sleep. Sif pushed herself closer to the screen. It was a forward view, looking out from directly above the command module. “What am I looking for?”

  “About ten degrees left of center. Watch closely,” Hunter said as he started the playback.

  Sif watched intently, seeing nothing until the forward port thrusters fired, small puffs of gas from the side of the command module, just a few at first, but quickly building into a series of rapid—then continuous—firings as the nose of the ship slewed to port. Hunter stopped the tape.

  “Did you see it?” Lucas asked.

  “See what?”

  “We missed it, too, the first time.” Hunter restarted the playback from the previous starting point, and placed his finger on the screen. “Watch the stars, right here.”

  Sif watched closely, staring at the stars. They didn’t look as awe-inspiring on the screen as from outside the—

  And then they were gone. The stars were gone. “What the hell?” And just as quickly, they were back. “Wait, what was that?”

  “Keep watching,” Lucas said. “Fifteen seconds later. Same spot.”

  Sif counted down the seconds, and there it was. This time, when the stars disappeared, Hunter paused the tape. “Look, here to here.” He ran his finger from the top of the screen to the bottom. It was as if someone had placed a strip of black tape on the screen, hiding the stars.

  “Any ideas what we’re looking at?” Sif asked.

  Lucas spoke first. “I’m not entirely sure, yet, but watch what happens next. It’ll disappear, then reappear about fifteen seconds later, this time much wider. That’s when the thrusters start firing.”

  “Whatever it was, we were pulled toward it,” Hunter added, starting the playback. “You were right, Sif. Liv was maneuvering to keep us on course.”

  Again, Sif counted to fifteen, and when the stars blacked out again, the line was much larger. The thrusters started firing immediately. “It’s much bigger,” she said. Or closer?

  This time, Hunter let the tape continue.

  As Resolute continued to slew to port, the video shook as more and more of the portside thrusters fired. The nose slid to starboard slightly, but the black line filled more of the screen. “It’s getting closer,” Sif said, “and the thrusters can’t keep her on course.”

  Lines of static crossed the screen, and the picture jerked suddenly.

  “That’s when Liv fired the mains,” Lucas said.

  The video jumped wildly as more and more of the stars disappeared. All the random debris Sif saw from her stasis capsule was being torn from the tie-downs right about now. She was amazed Resolute had held together. “Good Lord.”

  The screen went black.

  Sif turned to Lucas. “Is that all we have?”

  He pointed at the screen. “It’s still recording, Sif.”

  “There’s nothing there.”

  Hunter started counting down as he watched the time stamp. “Five, four, three, and . . . power surge, and . . . now.”

  The stars were back. Perfectly still.

  But they were different.

  Sif pointed at the upper left of the screen. “That’s Orion. We’re turned around.”

  “What?” Hunter asked.

  “When the tape started, we were pointed toward Gemini,” Sif said. “Now we’re pointing at Orion.” She spent those nights on the houseboat holding an iPad above her head and searching for the different constellations. She knew them by heart.

  The screen went black again. “That’s all we have. The cameras failed right there,” Lucas said.

  “The nav backup was still operational at this point, correct?”

  “Yes,” Hunter said. “For another twenty-two seconds.”

  “Long enough to take a star shot and execute the fail-safe mode.” Sif was right. But she didn’t have any explanation for the strange recurring void on the screen. She turned to Lucas. “You said you weren’t sure what happened yet. Got any ideas?”

  Lucas pushed himself back in his seat. “I’ve watched that tape a number of times, and . . . it’s all theoretical, and now
here near my field of expertise, so I may be completely wrong.”

  “I saw a black pole appear and disappear out there, we were pulled toward it, and it almost shook us apart. That’s not very theoretical to me.” Sif said. “What do you think it was?”

  “What we saw doesn’t fit the theory, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Sif waited for Lucas to continue. He didn’t. “You’re going to have to explain it, Tater, I’m not a mind reader.” Scientists frustrated the living hell out of her sometimes.

  “The nav system was able to see where we were, Sif, long enough to run the fail-safe program like you said, but if I’m right, we’ve got bigger problems than not making it to Mars.”

  Sif glanced at Hunter.

  “Don’t look at me. I haven’t heard this yet, either.”

  “Lucas?”

  “We know where we are, Sif. In another sixteen hours, we’ll be entering Earth orbit. We’ll be home. But what we don’t know is when we are.”

  Chapter 12

  The night air was cool against Litsa’s skin as she moved silently across the prairie. This was when she felt the most free, away from the confines of the Dak and out in the open. There were things out here, though, things that could kill. Inhuman, and monstrous.

  And she was headed right for them. Hopefully.

  Litsa and the three others selected for the scouting party were making their way eastward, following the signs in the grass and dirt left by the drones during the day. The sky was clear, the starlight bright, and she could see for miles. Jarrod was up ahead, leading the way.

  In the daylight, out in the open, she felt overexposed, as if the world was simply too big, the blue dome of the sky yawning above waiting to lift her from the surface and pull her apart. But in the dark, she felt the same familiar closeness provided by the rock walls of the Dak. Everything was nearer, safer, and the world wasn’t so huge.

  In the shadows, she was at ease. At home.

  Litsa was in her element. She was on the hunt. A predator seeking prey, moving silently and surely through the tall grass, following the tracks of the monsters that killed her friend.

  She gripped her bow tighter as the thought of burning a Riy hive to ash quickened her pulse. Colin had snatched her bow from the dirt on his way back to the Dak, and she was glad to have her old companion again. The wood was worn, rubbed smooth from use, and fit her hand perfectly.