The Phoenix Descent

by Chuck Grossart

  She gently let her fingers brush the strap holding the knife within its scabbard and then flicked it with her forefinger, undoing the snap.

  She waited.

  No reaction.

  With a simple motion, she pulled the knife from the scabbard, flipped the blade flat against the inside of her forearm, and hid the handle in the palm of her hand. Hopefully she could slip it into her clothing before she got outside.

  “Knife!” one of the Takers yelled from behind.

  The two men holding her were slow to react, but Litsa wasn’t. She tore herself from their grasp and swung the blade to her right, slashing the man’s arm. She heard him scream through his mask, and saw him grab at his arm. She crouched, turned, and brought the blade to the man’s leg to her left. She stabbed deep and pulled. He fell backward.

  She heard the buzz and felt the sting. Suddenly her whole body was afire, and she screamed. She couldn’t control her arms and legs, and the knife clattered to the metal flooring just inches from where she lay twitching. She felt a thud in her midsection—one of the Takers was kicking her. It hurt, but she didn’t care. Again, then again. She couldn’t move.

  “Wait,” she heard. “Leave that one alone. She has to remain uninjured.”

  “But she attacked us.”

  “That’s an order, soldier. Straight from the president. Put her in the truck with the other ones. They’re going to the infirmary.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Litsa felt the sting of a needle in her arm, and everything faded away.

  Chapter 43

  Sif stepped through the elevator doors into a large open space, maybe twenty or so feet high.

  It was well lit, with a polished marble floor inlaid with a large phoenix symbol, the same as on the flag she saw topside. On the walls hung works of art, possibly saved and taken here before the cities fell.

  “This way, please,” Mr. Nadeau said. “The president’s office is at the end of this corridor.”

  “Nice digs,” Sif said.

  “I believe you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you’ll find throughout the complex, Commander.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.” As she and Hunter followed Jacques, Sif studied the interior. There were cameras mounted at regular intervals along the corridor, so they had to have some sort of security control center monitoring the feeds. At the end was a set of glass doors and another set beyond that—an entrapment area. But, she noticed, there were no guards, no modern-day version of the Secret Service anywhere to be seen.

  The first and second set of glass doors swung open as they approached, and they stepped into a wood-paneled outer office, thickly carpeted and well furnished with heavy, polished oak. A single person sat behind a large desk, and he rose as they approached.

  “Commander Wagner, Lieutenant Colonel Webb, I’m Steven Ratley, the president’s secretary. Welcome to Phoenix.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ratley,” Hunter replied.

  “The president is waiting for you inside,” Ratley said, and motioned to the ornate oak double doors to his right. He pressed a button on his desk, and the doors opened.

  Sif hesitated and let Hunter enter first. He was, after all, the mission commander. She followed him inside to find a beautiful office with a large desk, chairs arranged in front—it looked a lot like the Oval Office, but it was darker and more extravagantly decorated. The floor was scraped dark hardwood, covered by a plush, circular rug with the phoenix symbol at its center.

  President Carlisle rose as they entered and stepped around the side of his desk to meet them, hand outstretched. He was a large man, about six feet tall, and wore a fitted suit, black, with a white shirt and red tie. “Lieutenant Colonel Webb, I presume?”

  Hunter took the man’s hand, shook it firmly. “Yes, sir. A pleasure, Mr. President.”

  It was his face that made Sif stop in her tracks.

  He was older, maybe in his late sixties. He was balding, clean-shaven, with ample gray at the temples. His eyes were brown yet appeared weary. His pallor was strange, as were Nadeau’s and Ratley’s. Their skin had an odd grayish hue, maybe from spending so many years underground in this place. Apart from his appearance, though, was the strange feeling of déjà vu Sif felt—she could swear she had seen this man somewhere before.

  “And you must be Commander Wagner,” the president said, again extending his hand. Sif found his grip firm and strong and his touch warm.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. Glad to meet you.”

  “Please, sit down,” Carlisle said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk. “I’m sure you two are still trying to get your heads wrapped around what’s happened, yes?”

  “Major Murphy explained quite a bit, sir,” Hunter said as he sat down. Sif followed his lead and took the chair next to his. Carlisle sat across from them. “But, yes,” Hunter continued, “we’re still trying to adjust.”

  “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “Water would be fine,” Hunter said.

  Carlisle laughed. “I have a bottle of two-hundred-year-old single-malt Scotch that I’ve been saving for the right occasion, and this sure seems like it. Commander?”

  “That would be wonderful, Mr. President.”

  “Colonel?”

  “I’m not one to turn down something like that, sir. Thank you.”

  “Neat, I presume?”

  “On the rocks, please, sir,” Sif said. Hunter nodded.

  “Steven,” the president called, “it’s time to open the bottle. Please bring two doubles for our guests, on the rocks.” Carlisle sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “You don’t know how many times over the years I’ve been tempted to crack that damn thing open. Now I’m glad I waited.”

  “We appreciate it, Mr. President,” Hunter said.

  “Let’s hope it’s still drinkable. If it tastes like vinegar after all these years, you’ll have my most sincere apologies.” He paused, smiling, and again Sif couldn’t help but think she had seen his face before—but, younger. He looked so damn familiar.

  “Now, you said Major Murphy filled you in on what has happened while you’ve been away. I can’t say I fully understand how you’re here, but regardless, it’s quite a remarkable story. You two—you three, I should say—are lucky to be alive. We were certainly shocked to receive the transmissions from Resolute and glad we finally found you before anything happened.”

  Sif decided to ask about Litsa. “The people we were with, Mr. President, are they—”

  “Ah, Steven. Thank you,” Carlisle said as Ratley entered the office carrying a tray with three rocks glasses, two ice cubes each, and filled with a double shot of centuries-old single malt. They each took a glass, and the president offered a toast. “To the valiant crew of the good ship Resolute, may you find health and happiness in your new world and find your place as part of the Phoenix family. Cheers.”

  Sif clinked her glass, then took a sip. “Oh God. This is outstanding.”

  “A taste of the world you left, Commander, and a promise of the world to come. You don’t realize it yet, but your arrival came at the perfect time.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. President?” Hunter asked.

  “On board Resolute, Colonel, may be the salvation of our planet. Your ship might just hold the key to wiping out the Riy scourge for good.”

  Chapter 44

  Even before she was fully awake, Litsa could feel the straps holding her down. She strained against them with what little strength she was able to muster, but it did her no good. She could move her head, but her arms and legs were held fast. She cracked her eyes open and saw nothing but a blur—everything was white, and the smell, so artificial, flat, and lifeless . . . As her awareness increased, she could feel a mask covering her mouth and nose. She tried to scream, but all that left her throat was a muffled croak. Her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy. A steady drumbeat pounded away between her temples.

  She felt a hand on her arm.

  She turned her head,
squinting against the glare, and could tell someone was standing beside her. And then he—no, she—spoke.

  “This one’s coming to. Turn the overheads down, remember their eyes are sensitive to the light.”

  Their eyes. Were the others here, too? Or was this woman just referring to her people in general?

  “The others are starting to wake up, too.”

  A different voice, also female.

  The glare subsided, and Litsa was able to open her eyes. Her sight was still slightly blurry, but she could see them more clearly now. Uniforms, but not the same ones she saw other Takers wearing. These were white, and the women carried no weapons she could see.

  “Mr. Ratley left instructions that he was to be notified as soon as these . . . people started to wake up.”

  Litsa chaffed at the venom that seemed to roll from the woman’s tongue.

  “I’ll take care of it,” the second woman said. “We only care about this one. Adjust the other three to keep them under. The restraints should hold her, but don’t hesitate to contact security. I’ll be right back.”

  The woman’s shoes squeaked as she padded across the floor, and then a door opened, shut again, and locked with a click. So, she and some others—exactly who, she didn’t know yet—were in a locked room and guarded. Apparently, the Takers were afraid of what might happen if they weren’t restrained.

  Good, Litsa thought. They should be.

  She turned her head to the left and could see someone lying in a bed beside her—she couldn’t see the face but knew it was Talia. She, too, was restrained, with straps binding her arms and legs. Beyond her were two more beds, which she assumed were Conrad and Geller. It made sense, since the three of them were loaded in the same truck. Apparently, she had joined them.

  Litsa was surprised she was still alive, considering she cut two of them. They should have killed her. It was what she would have done in their shoes. No, they wanted her alive, and the others, too. It had to be because of their contact with Sif and Hunter. She could think of no other reason.

  Litsa wriggled against the straps, but to no avail. She was startled as the other woman reentered the room. Again, the door clicked shut, and the lock slid into place.

  The woman saw Litsa was awake, and a smile replaced her spiteful glare. When she spoke, her voice was soft, comforting.

  “Now, there you are. Finally waking up, I see.”

  Litsa watched her closely as she approached the bed. In her eyes, Litsa could still see the truth. This woman didn’t want to be here, and she surely didn’t want to speak to her.

  “I know this is confusing and probably scary, but we’re not going to hurt you. You’re in a facility called Phoenix, and we’re here to help. Both you and your friends.”

  Litsa wanted to rip the mask from her face and scream, but decided to control her emotions as best she could. She was at a severe disadvantage and knew she would have a better chance of getting out of here—along with saving Talia, Conrad, and Geller—if she played along. At least for a time. The opportunity to act would present itself. It always did.

  Litsa softened her glance and nodded. She hated to see the look of smug superiority flash across the woman’s face—as far as the woman was concerned, Litsa was a poor trapped animal, hanging on her every word.

  Take off these straps, woman, and I’ll wipe that look from your face. Permanently. Beneath her mask, Litsa managed to force a smile.

  “All we ask is that you cooperate with us, and we’ll remove the straps. We don’t want to have another episode like what happened when you arrived.” The woman paused, and Litsa could tell she was struggling with what she was going to say next. “It was understandable, what you did. You were afraid and struck out because you didn’t comprehend what we’re doing here.” She paused again, and Litsa could see hateful shadows flash across the woman’s eyes. “They’re going to be okay, in case you’re wondering. Just some superficial wounds.”

  Liar, Litsa thought. I left them with more than superficial wounds, and she despises me for it. Litsa watched her glance at the others.

  “Your friends are all doing well, too, and they’ll be waking up soon.” The woman reached for the mask, and Litsa couldn’t help but tense. The woman pulled her hand back. “I’m going to pull your mask off a little so you can tell me your name and the names of your friends, okay?”

  Litsa nodded. She figured it would do no good to scream, or to lie, for that matter.

  The woman pulled the mask down, and Litsa took a deep breath. The room smelled even more artificial than before, and she could smell something else, too. The woman was afraid. Litsa could smell fear seeping from her pores.

  “My name is Litsa.”

  “Litsa,” the woman repeated, glancing at the other woman, who was staring down at a clipboard. Litsa saw the other woman nod. “And your friends in the cave. Can you give us their names?”

  “The girl”—the one you shot in the leg and almost killed—“is named Talia. The two boys are Conrad and Geller.”

  The woman quickly replaced the mask and stepped away from the bed. Litsa watched the other woman nod again, apparently confirming what they needed to know.

  “You’re going to be fine, Litsa,” the first woman said. “Just fine.”

  The two women immediately started removing the restraints from Talia, Conrad, and Geller. We’re being moved, Litsa thought but changed her mind as the women adjusted the tubing going from the bag over her bed and into her arm—she felt her arms slacken, and what little strength she had was gone.

  They removed her restraints, but Litsa couldn’t move. Or talk.

  “You’ll be getting some visitors soon,” Litsa heard one of the women say, her face appearing right above hers. “Let’s make sure you behave.”

  Litsa tried to speak but couldn’t. She fought to move but had no strength.

  She was awake and aware, but paralyzed.

  Chapter 45

  They need something from us, Sif realized. Aboard Resolute was an item—or items—that could wipe the Riy from the planet, if what the president just said was true. Sif wondered how they would have been treated if there were nothing valuable aboard Resolute. She swallowed her Scotch and felt the burn travel down her throat. It was old and smooth, but she decided she had tasted better.

  She asked the obvious question. “What is it?”

  The president smiled and sat back in his chair. “When we first received the hails from your ship, we immediately did a database search through all the old records. As Major Murphy explained, NASA was quite thorough, recording every detail of your mission, and luckily those records were archived here when everything began to fall apart. You are carrying a culture of genetically modified Bacillus subtilis, which we confirmed with Lucas Hoover. It’s that culture, Commander, that may hold the key to wiping out the Riy for good.”

  Sif was far from an expert on the little bugs—a term she used when she felt like antagonizing Lucas a bit—but knew they were quite an amazing organism, able to adapt and live in harsh environments, and were used for a number of different purposes. They could clean up radioactive waste, break down some types of explosives into their base compounds, and—then it dawned on her. “It’s a fungicide.”

  The president nodded. “Very good, Commander. One of its uses is as a fungicide.”

  Sif glanced at Hunter and saw him squint a little. He wasn’t tracking completely.

  “B. subtilis is a naturally occurring organism, Mr. President,” Hunter said. “It’s abundant. I don’t see how our experimental culture is any different from what you could grow here.”

  “We can grow it, Colonel, but there are other things we can’t do.”

  Sif found it hard to believe that a complex that could manufacture form-fitting uniforms and self-snugging boots with nanotechnology would have any problems accomplishing just about anything.

  President Carlisle stood. “When Phoenix first started operating, during the height of the Riy apocalypse, we
brought the best scientific minds here. Geniuses in their fields.”

  “And left the rest of humanity to fend for themselves, right?” Sif watched the president’s face change—to annoyance, maybe even anger—then return to the politician’s friendly, vote-getting visage.

  “Again, as Major Murphy explained, Phoenix was a one-of-a-kind facility and represented the last hope for human survival. Decisions had to be made, Commander. Tough ones. Yes, while some people were saved—those with the abilities and skills needed to ensure that humanity had a fighting chance—others, sadly, were not.”

  Sif looked into the president’s eyes and saw no regrets. But then again, why would she? This man was born decades after those decisions were made, and he was only carrying on the legacy that others prepared for him. She regretted her outburst, but the thought still sickened her. So many were left to die, while the privileged few hid safely underground. But it wasn’t this guy’s fault. She figured she owed the man an apology.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I’m trying hard not to be judgmental, but like Colonel Webb said, we’re still trying to adjust.”

  The politician’s smile was back.

  “No problem, Commander. Once you see the rest of the facility, you’ll have a greater understanding of what Phoenix is all about. I guarantee it.”

  Hunter spoke up. “And we are looking forward to seeing it, Mr. President. As you were saying, sir?”

  “Yes, yes. At the start, Phoenix was outfitted to perform many of the same functions you two would find in your labs and major research hospitals, but as time passed, we lost some capabilities, and sadly, individuals with certain skills. Accidents, fires, things any other city suffers, but in our case, they were quite damaging. There are some things we can’t do, and one of those things, unfortunately, is exactly what your scientists were able to do with B. subtilis. Genetic modification.”

  “You lost your labs? Equipment?” Hunter asked.

  “Not all, but enough to restrict our research. Seventy years ago, a large portion of the complex was lost to a fire—along with it went decades of experience and knowledge. All lost. To be honest, we’ve never fully recovered from that one unfortunate incident.”