The Phoenix Descent

by Chuck Grossart

  Talia moaned and bucked her legs, but the boys held her steady. “I know it hurts, Talia, just hang with me,” Sif said.

  The probe came to a stop about three inches in, away from the bone. “There it is.” From what she could tell, it was just lodged in muscle. She worked the tweezers until she thought she had a good grip on the bullet, and gently pulled.

  Talia screamed and arched her back.

  Litsa leaned in and helped hold Talia’s leg still.

  The tweezers lost their grip. “Dammit.”

  “What is wrong?” Litsa asked, her voice tight.

  “This little sucker doesn’t want to come out.” Sif worked the tweezers again until she felt the bullet, then tugged.

  She held the bloody bullet up in the torchlight. It was a small caliber, maybe .223. She held the tweezers toward Litsa. “Here, hold this.” Litsa didn’t move. “I said, hold this, please. Hunter, I need pads and a suture kit.”

  Litsa took the tweezers from Sif’s hand, staring at the small piece of deformed lead.

  Hunter tossed Sif a handful of gauze pads, which she removed from their sterile wrappers. She placed them on the wound and applied pressure. “Okay, that’s the hard part. Now I get to play seamstress.” Conrad and Geller moved away. “Nope, not yet, boys. Get back here. This is still going to hurt, but not as much.” Sif unwrapped the suture kit, a long, curved needle, prethreaded. “Talia, I’m going to sew the wound closed. It’s going to hurt a little more, then it’ll be over, okay?”

  Talia nodded. Sif noticed Hunter was cupping Talia’s face in his palms and looking into her eyes. “You did great, Talia. You’re doing fine. Just hang in there for a few more minutes, okay?” Talia nodded again.

  “All right, let’s see if I remember how to do this.” Sif had practiced closing a wound once during her med training, on a dummy. It seemed easy enough, but the dummy didn’t have nerve endings. Talia jumped when the needle entered, but managed to stay still as Sif quickly finished closing the wound.

  She cleaned the area with the yellow disinfectant again, placed a sterile pad over it, and wrapped the leg with clean bandages from their med kit.

  “Done.” Sif removed her latex gloves and threw them to the dirt. She stared at Litsa, Conrad, and Geller. “Now do you believe us?”

  Chapter 30

  Resolute

  “All right, Liv, let’s try it again,” Lucas said.

  “Liv is standing by.”

  Liv’s patchwork voice interface fix was starting to fail. “Liv?”

  “Yes, Potato.”

  “No, Liv. That is incorrect. My name is Lucas Hoover. Match my voice to that name, please.”

  “Understand. Will comply.”

  “Okay, Liv, one more time.” More like the seventeenth time.

  “Liv is standing by.”

  “Liv?”

  “Yes, Hoover.”

  “Very good, Liv. That is correct.” Being all alone on Resolute was bad enough, but conversing with an AI who couldn’t even get his name right was worse.

  “Liv is standing by for request.”

  “Liv complete. I’m just glad you got my name right for once.” Lucas decided to give Liv one more test to see if she was really working correctly. “Liv, who am I?”

  “You are Potato, but you asked me to call you Hoover.”

  Lucas threw his hands up into the air and shook his head. “Liv dear, my name is not Potato.”

  “Your name is Potato, but you asked me to call you—”

  “Liv complete.” Lucas turned his attention back to the viewer controls, which also seemed to be on the fritz. “Maybe I can get this thing to work. At least it doesn’t talk back.”

  He last heard from Sif two days ago—and nothing since. She said she was handling the reentry manually, which meant something went wrong with the nav system. He had watched Sif handle Beagle in simulations and knew she could fly her better than anyone else, but a manual entry—conducted on the fly—was something Lucas wasn’t sure even Sif could do.

  Resolute had overflown the landing coordinates once since then, but without the viewer operational, there was no way for him to see if Beagle was on the surface. No contact for two days could mean they were able to reach the surface but were hurt and unable to talk. Or maybe there was some sort of mechanical problem keeping them from making contact.

  Both possible but not likely. There was only one reason why he heard nothing more from Sif and Hunter. They had burned up during reentry, and he would never hear from them again.

  He was in orbit, 150 miles above an Earth he no longer knew, and completely alone. He would eventually have to go down to the surface, too. The ship’s stores could sustain one person for quite a while but would eventually run out. The cargo landers could make it to the surface with a few simple software modifications, and after sending them down he could use the escape capsule.

  It wasn’t a question of whether he could leave, but rather when.

  “Liv, project next overflight opportunity over Beagle landing coordinates.” Resolute orbited Earth every ninety minutes, but it took three days before it passed over the same spot on the ground again.

  “Next overflight in seventeen hours, thirty-four minutes.”

  Maybe, if he could get the viewer up and working by then, he could at least confirm whether they made it or not.

  “Liv, state current geographic position of Resolute over surface. State next landfall.”

  “Resolute is over the Northern Hemisphere nearing the Arctic Circle. Next landfall over Queen Elizabeth Islands, Canada, in three minutes, ten seconds.”

  The communication window would be short, as Resolute would pass far eastward of Beagle’s planned touchdown point.

  But it didn’t matter anyway. Sif and Hunter were surely dead.

  “Hoover, incoming transmission.”

  Lucas’s heart jumped into his throat. “Liv, send transmission to overhead speakers, please.”

  “Understand. Will comply.”

  Static filled the compartment. And then, a voice.

  Chapter 31

  Sif sat near the fire but couldn’t shake the chill seeping into her bones. This cave—the Dak, as Litsa called it—was dark, damp, and downright cold. Her undergarment didn’t provide much protection. To Hunter, she said, “We need to get back to Beagle. Sitting around in my underwear isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Here,” Litsa said, tossing her what looked like an animal skin, hair on hide. “This will help.”

  Sif’s first foray into the world of emergency surgery earned her the respect of Litsa and the two boys. Hunter gave Talia an antibiotic injection afterward, and she was resting comfortably. Her fever was almost gone, and as far as Sif could tell, she was going to recover. Sif took the hide and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Litsa nodded slightly and squatted by the fire, pulling her knees up to her chest.

  They were in what Litsa called the watchers’ chamber, where the watch standers and warriors slept. Sif counted thirty woven mats on the cave floor, with three of them currently occupied by Talia, Conrad, and Geller. The two boys were wide-awake, staring at her and Hunter, and neither had said a word since Sif removed the bullet from Talia’s thigh. Even when they returned to the Dak’s entrance and worked together to roll the heavy stone into place, effectively sealing the mouth of the cave, they remained silent, seemingly afraid to look them in the eyes. Sif wondered what they were thinking.

  Litsa sat across from Sif and Hunter, the fire between them. Her body language no longer communicated a tense wariness as when they first entered the Dak.

  “Who is Beagle?” Litsa asked.

  Sif and Hunter glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. It’s our spaceship, and we’ve come here from the future. Yeah, that doesn’t sound crazy. Hunter spoke first. “Beagle isn’t a who, it’s a what. It’s the name of our craft. We traveled here in it, and we have supplies we’ll need to retrieve.”

  “Warmer
clothes would be nice,” Sif said. “I haven’t been this cold in a long time.” The temperature, Sif noticed, didn’t seem to bother Litsa, even though she was barely wearing anything.

  “Did you come from the stars?” Litsa asked.

  Well, I’ll be damned. In order for Litsa to ask that question, at least some of their history had to have been passed down. “Yes, we did,” Sif replied. “How did you know?”

  “When I saw your white suits, I remembered something I’d seen as a child.” Litsa caught Hunter’s gaze. “It made me doubt whether or not you were Takers, but not until after my first arrow found its mark. I decided to let you live so I could question you.”

  “I do appreciate that,” Hunter said. “Both of us do, right, Sif?”

  “Yep. Happy to be here.” She flashed him a fake smile.

  “So,” Hunter continued, “do you have any more doubts about who we are?”

  Litsa shook her head. “I no longer believe you are a threat to us, but I do not understand why you are here.”

  “It’s a long story, Litsa, believe me,” Sif said. She was surprised when Litsa rose, seemingly ignoring her, stepped around the fire, and knelt by Hunter. She lifted his chin, turned his head, and looked at the wound on his cheek. “I am sorry this happened,” she said. “The helmet saved your life.”

  Sif had cleaned Hunter’s wound after finishing with Talia. It would leave a scar but wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. The cut on her arm was superficial, too. “My arm is going to be fine, if anyone is wondering.”

  Litsa smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, more condescending than anything else. “It was but a scratch,” Litsa said, rising to her feet and taking Hunter by the arm. “Come. There is something I must show you.” She grabbed the nearest torch and led him into the shadows.

  “Hey,” Sif yelled, shrugging the hide from her shoulders. “Is this a private party, or am I supposed to sit here and watch the fire?”

  Litsa turned, and Sif saw that same smile again. “I expected you to follow,” Litsa said.

  “You expected right.”

  Litsa guided them farther into the Dak, taking a passage that brought them closer to the surface. The air wasn’t as damp, and it was much warmer. Why couldn’t they live up here? Sif wondered, finding the environment more to her liking. When they reached the end of the passage, Litsa led them into a small chamber. Sif saw books—stacks of them—and what appeared to be other records, wrapped in animal skins and bound by thin strips of hide.

  Litsa released Hunter’s hand and placed her torch into a holder on the wall. She apparently knew exactly what she was looking for, as she only searched for a few seconds. In her hands, she held a large, flat object wrapped in skins. Sif watched as Litsa carefully untied the bindings and unfolded the layers of hide. When she saw what was inside, Sif’s heart skipped a beat.

  It was a thin book, and on its cover was a caricature of an astronaut standing beside the leg of a lunar lander. “We Came in Peace,” Sif said. “I’ve seen that book before. My grandparents had a copy.”

  Litsa placed the book on a nearby stone table and gently opened it. Inside was a two-page picture that Sif recognized as a late 1960s–era Saturn V moon rocket standing next to its gantry tower.

  “I’ve seen this book before, too,” Hunter said. “I think my grandparents had one. I’ll be darned.”

  “Is this your Beagle?” Litsa asked.

  Sif saw the pages were yellowed, delicate, as if they would crumble if handled too roughly. She gently placed her finger on the page and felt an immediate connection to a world that no longer existed. “This isn’t our Beagle, Litsa—this one is much larger—but it’s close. When we go back to our ship tomorrow morning, you can see it for yourself.”

  “No,” Litsa said sharply, causing Sif to pull her hand back. “You cannot go back to your Beagle during the day. We must travel at night.”

  “Why?” Hunter asked.

  “It is safer in the darkness.”

  “Safer from what?” They had been outside in the daylight, and Sif hadn’t seen anything dangerous, apart from an arrow or two, she reminded herself.

  “The Riy are active when the sun is in the sky,” Litsa said.

  That doesn’t sound good. “What are the Riy?” Sif asked.

  Litsa was obviously confused. “The Riy . . . are the Riy.”

  “We don’t understand, Litsa,” Hunter said. “We don’t know what a Riy is.”

  Litsa looked genuinely surprised. “There are no Riy where you come from?”

  “Can you show us what a Riy is?” Sif said, glancing at the stacks of bound records, hoping to avoid her question for the time being.

  Litsa nodded. “I will teach you of the Riy,” she said, turning toward the stacks.

  Sif watched as Litsa methodically unwrapped their historical records—newspapers, computer printouts, even handwritten accounts. Most were wrapped in layers of animal skins, but others were sealed in plastic storage bags, placed there by the long-dead hands of those who knew that the record of what happened needed to be preserved.

  “We were taught to wrap and bind them this way, to keep them from crumbling, falling apart,” Litsa explained. “The plastic keeps them dry, and the skins protect them from damage. We have other books, things that show what life was like before the Riy, but this is the first one that tells of their birth.”

  Litsa gently handed Sif and Hunter a newspaper article. The paper was yellowed, brittle, but the print was still visible. “Do you still think it’s really been less than a hundred years?” Sif asked. “This looks much older.”

  Hunter shrugged. “Even with all their precautions, it could’ve been out in the elements for a while before—”

  “Litsa,” Sif said, looking into Litsa’s large, almost luminous eyes. They knew where they were, but still had no idea of when. “Do you know what year it is? Today, I mean?”

  Again, confusion crossed Litsa’s face. Only crazy people didn’t know what year it was.

  “It is year 193, AA, and we are approaching the end of the second season.”

  “Summer? Is that what you mean by second season?”

  Litsa glanced at the book she had first shown them, with the astronaut on the cover. “I do not understand why you are—how you cannot know—”

  “Litsa, please, I know this must seem strange, but we need to know what year it is,” Hunter said, his voice soft, as if speaking to a child. “You said 193, AA. What does AA mean?”

  Litsa pointed at the article Sif held gently in her hands. Sif noticed the date—June 2025, just a few months after they launched on their mission to Mars.

  “Our years started then, when the Riy were first born. The A and A mean ‘after apocalypse.’ It was what I was taught.”

  So there it was. It hadn’t been less than a hundred years, as Hunter first guessed. The year—according to their calendar—was 2218. One hundred and ninety-three years—almost two centuries—since the sunny day in south Florida when they blasted off from the Cape on their way to Mars.

  As they read more and more of the records, Hunter and Sif learned of Litsa’s enemy, the terrible things that killed everyone they knew and destroyed the civilization they once were a part of.

  They learned of the monsters that ruled the day, pushed the survivors to live underground, and made the darkness humanity’s new realm.

  They learned of the Riy.

  It all began on June 18, 2025.

  Chapter 32

  WORLD REACTS TO RUSSIAN STRIKE

  President Confers with Top Advisors

  WASHINGTON (AP) June 18, 2025—White House spokesman Drake Phillips confirmed reports of a nuclear strike by Russian forces in northern Ukraine and southern Belarus approximately eight hours ago, involving what Phillips called a “significant number” of nuclear weapons. President Masterson has called for an emergency session of the UN Security Council, which will meet this morning to address the Russian action. Russian government spokesperson
Sergey Servenko stated the attack was in response to “an immediate threat to world peace and well-being” and that all of Russia’s strategic forces had returned to a normal peacetime footing. Servenko stated Russian president Ulyanov would be addressing the UN Security Council later in the day to explain why he ordered the first nuclear strike the world has seen since 1945, when the United States dropped two atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to prevent what he said was “the certain loss of millions of lives had the war been allowed to continue. Russia faced a similar choice and decided to act now, in order to save countless lives.” US State Department spokesman Roger Willard noted Ulyanov’s statement was the first time Russia had characterized the American use of atomic bombs to end World War II in this way.

  Sif couldn’t believe what she was reading. There had been a nuclear war, but only one side played the game. It was as if Russia drew its big gun, stuck the barrel against its foot, and pulled the trigger. More than once.

  She handed the article to Hunter and read on, methodically poring over the records in chronological order as Litsa brought them to her.

  What had appeared to the rest of the world at first to be a brutal act of insanity by a nationalistic, land-grabbing Russian leader became something different as soon as the truth trickled out.

  Something happened in and around the old Chernobyl reactor, Sif learned, something the Ukrainians—and the Russians—didn’t understand, and couldn’t control. The nukes were a desperate attempt to stop something horrid that was spreading through the forests of northern Ukraine, a fast-moving, infectious plague unlike anything anyone could have possibly imagined, except in—as one reporter phrased it—“the darkest hours of the night, when the mind explores those hidden places, the darkened, silent rooms of the psyche where terror waits.” The guy might have a knack for the melodramatic, Sif thought, but he hit the nail on the head.

  Once the New Containment Unit was blown apart (the reason for which Sif couldn’t quite decipher, as the accusations and theories spanned a number of different possibilities, never settling on a single one), what was inside—life, where life shouldn’t exist—was released.