The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7)

by Richard Sanders

  “Okay, that’s enough!” barked Calvin, pointing at the soldier.

  The man rolled his eyes. “This coming from the man who is too busy over there making friends with the enemy to bloody remember that we’ve got a mission; we’re supposed to be taking over that ship, remember? Of course you don’t. You’re in hysteria over losing your precious Nighthawk. You probably don’t even know what’s going on.”

  At that, Calvin’s temper flared. But not so much as Nikolai’s, as was swiftly evidenced. Nikolai went after the soldier again, sending more punches, faster punches, unleashing and letting the soldier have it all, everything Nikolai had. The soldier’s quick reflexes and martial training took over instinctively and he managed to block or deflect every blow; this exchange continued until their arms became entangled, restraining one another.

  “I already told you; you can’t beat me,” said the soldier. “It’s a waste of your time. This whole thing is. I say, I’m in charge now, and we takeover that ship without delay!”

  Calvin was worried that the other soldiers might be persuaded by this, especially without Nikolai—who no longer seemed invincible—to keep them in line.

  But then Nikolai did something the soldier did not anticipate, and for which all of his martial expertise, and his fast reflexes, and everything else he had availed him nothing. As they were still tangled up together, the soldier mostly restraining Nikolai’s arms from continuing to punch at him, Nikolai let out a war cry and head-butted the soldier with so much force, Calvin was sure that both of them had just sustained traumatic brain injuries. But, after a few seconds, Nikolai rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He was still bleeding from the nose, and his face was covered in bruises, and there even seemed to be a cut across his head where he had struck the other soldier.

  “Medkit,” said Calvin, pointing. Nikolai nodded as if to say “Thanks” and began patching himself up.

  Calvin then looked down at the other soldier, the one who had mocked him and challenged his command. That soldier did not rise. One leg was twitching, seemingly involuntarily, but otherwise he did not move.

  “Can you hear me?” asked Calvin.

  No response. Except, after a few more seconds, the leg stopped twitching. Then the soldier was no longer moving at all. Calvin checked for a pulse. At first he found one, but it seemed weak. Then, as he called for someone to come over and help, “Anyone, especially if you have any medical training,” the pulse went away entirely. Calvin checked for breathing, then searched for a pulse again. Nothing.

  A patched up Nikolai approached; he stood tall, looming large over Calvin, who knelt over the soldier who was sprawled out on the ground.

  “Get up, you weakling. Get up and follow orders. And I forgive you.”

  “I don’t think he can get up,” said Calvin. “I think…he’s dead.”

  Nikolai did not seem saddened by this news. In fact, he seemed even less surprised by it than Calvin had expected.

  “If he is dead then he was too fragile, like glass doll. Better without him.”

  To Calvin, that seemed kind of cold-hearted but he wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he returned to Ozumire, this time sitting next to him; meanwhile, Nikolai went on some kind of rant for the benefit of the other soldiers, letting them know they could expect the same—or worse—if they defied Calvin again. The soldiers asked anxiously when they would board the ship and Nikolai told them, “When Calvin says so, and not one moment before.”

  Calvin appreciated that, but he also knew he only had the luxury of a few more questions, to try and cement this trust relationship with Ozumire, before they would all take their chances and attempt to commandeer the Hunter ship.

  “I apologize about all of that,” said Calvin, once he was sitting next to Ozumire.

  “Humans,” said Ozumire dismissively. “The only sentient space-going species whose first-ever developed orbital weapon systems did not point outward, but inward instead. Amusing. Your kind has not changed much.”

  Calvin ignored the offensive remark and instead tried to get things back on track, where they had been. “You were telling me of the religious significance of this place to you,” said Calvin. “Or is spiritual a more accurate word?”

  “Your language does not possess the most accurate word, but I shall accept either, religious, spiritual, both are true to an extent,” said Ozumire. “You made a reference to something you called the traditional Polarian religion, did you not?” asked Ozumire.

  “I believe I did,” said Calvin. “I don’t remember exactly how I put it, just that—”

  “I remember,” said Ozumire. “And what you are referring to, I believe, is the religion of the so-called Essences, have you heard of them?”

  “I have,” admitted Calvin; his mind drifted to Rez’nac, and he wondered if his Polarian friend, the mighty warrior, was still alive. Or if he too had been a sacrifice of their effort to purge the Council of Prelains of all the replicants that had infiltrated it and taken control.

  “Good, that will make things easier. That religion, if it can be called a religion, is known as the False Ways.”

  “And what are your ways called?” asked Calvin.

  “Oh, they are not our ways,” said Ozumire. “They are merely the Truth. The Truth is what binds, controls, unifies, disrupts, and destroys all things.”

  “I see,” said Calvin, getting a better picture of what Rez’nac had meant when he’d said there had been a schism within the Polarian religion. When he said that many of the youth, and some others, had given themselves over to the other religion, with its monotheistic One True God, he must have meant that those Polarians had chosen to adapt the religion of the so-called Dark Ones, such as this captive, and his Truth.

  “No, you most certainly do not,” said Ozumire.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Calvin, confused.

  “I said the slightest thing about the Truth, not even so much as a grain of sand in a desert, and yet you claim that you see. It shows your ignorance, human. An ignorance that, regrettably, all your kind share. As does most of the galaxy.”

  “Then, please, enlighten me, what is this Truth?” asked Calvin.

  Ozumire hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to proceed with this conversation or not. Since Calvin was really using it to try to build a relationship of trust, or at least the appearance of it, Ozumire probably would have been better off not continuing. But, as it happened, he could not resist.

  “I suppose I can attempt to share with you one thing. The Truth that is greater than all the other Truths. Then, although I do not promise it is capable of it, perhaps your inferior human brain might begin to understand the significance of this star system, and the so-called Forbidden Planet that orbits it. Then you will know—or you won’t, depending on your intelligence—why I am here. Why so many of us returned here.”

  Returned here, thought Calvin, making note of that interesting little detail. If the Dark Ones are here because they returned here, he thought, then that must mean they have already been here before. Calvin wasn’t sure how significant such a detail was, but it at least struck him as interesting.

  “Please, tell me,” said Calvin. “I wish to understand.”

  “What the hell is all this?” murmured one of the soldiers somewhere behind him. “I mean, are we going to board the damn ship and go home or aren’t we? Who has time for these stupid riddles, I say—” the soldier immediately went quiet. Calvin could not see what had happened behind him, though he suspected Nikolai had something to do with it.

  “I wish to understand this truth you speak of,” said Calvin, hoping his soldier’s outburst had not offended the Dark One, or sufficiently annoyed him that he now was going to remain silent.

  The Dark One did not speak again for several seconds. But Calvin waited it out, patiently, deciding he would give it a good five minutes before accepting that—for the time being anyway—he had gotten everything out of their captive that he could.

  “Very well
,” said the Dark One at last. “I will try my best to share with you the knowledge of this Truth in such a way that you might have some small chance of understanding it. But you should be forewarned that my attempt to do so, to communicate such an ineffable thing to you, and have you somehow comprehend even the slightest bit of it, is no different than you reading what you would call classic literature to…” it took him a moment to recall the word. “A horse. Yes, that’s it—that’s your term for those beasts of yours. Allow me to better explain what I mean by that.”

  “I think I understand the analogy,” said Calvin, trying not to feel offended.

  “The fact that you think that, when you don’t even know where I’m going with it yet, proves that you don’t,” said the Dark One.

  He then launched into what, to him, was apparently a better, more accurate explanation of why Calvin would never be able to fully understand nor completely appreciate what was, essentially, as far as Calvin was concerned, the Dark One’s mythos for how and why the universe and everything within it existed. At least that was what Calvin took away from it. The rest of it was rather confusing, just as the Dark One had promised.

  “Teaching you even a shred of the Truth, and hoping you grasp even the slightest sliver of the simplest, most elementary, tiniest, fragment of a concept of it, what it really is, in all its magnificence, is like you taking all your finest literature, all the great works that you humans have ever written over the course of millennia—I assume there must be at least a half dozen or so that might be considered great, by some primitive criteria or another—and you take all of those great works and condense them into a single page, using none of the words from any one of them, and yet manage to successfully contain all of the greatness from each and every one of them, losing not a thing, and now the greatness, all of it, is entirely and completely contained within this one single page, and you take that page and go to a…stable, I think is the word. Whatever you call it, one of those places where you store life-forms that are slightly less intelligent than you. And you approach one of the horses living there and read to him that single page, sharing the complete collection of every great human thought ever expressed in writing, condensed to this one single page, and, by so doing, afterward you expect the horse, having listened to you, to not only have understood what you read to him, but to have a profoundly cathartic and transcendental experience because of it.

  “There. I think that puts it best, in human terms, what I am trying to say. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” said Calvin, although, truthfully, the analogy had been so strange he had in fact gotten bored and allowed his thoughts to go elsewhere while listening to it. Something about literature, he thought, and a fixation with some single page of writing, then somehow stables and horses are involved?

  Calvin’s takeaway from it was exactly as it had been before the Dark One had shared his convoluted analogy. That, really, all he was trying to communicate to Calvin was that he didn’t really expect Calvin to grasp the exact mechanics, or subtle nuances of the Dark Ones’ particular mythos. Sure, whatever, fine, thought Calvin. None of that had really been what he was after anyway. What he really wanted to know was: what were the Dark Ones trying to accomplish? What was their plan? And how, aside from infiltrating the Council of Prelains, did they expect to achieve their goal? And, most important of all, what was their end game?

  Unfortunately, Calvin could not come right out and ask these questions. Not without expecting to be stonewalled, ignored, or lied to. So they would have to be carefully coaxed out.

  “In that case, I shall make the best effort I can to share with you this Truth, and hope that, somehow, your mind is able to make a kind of sense of it.”

  “That’s all I ask,” said Calvin, believing he had just completed the first step in his interrogation plan, develop the pretense of a relationship with the prisoner, so he is less willing to resist sharing information with you.

  “However,” said Calvin, “I’m afraid now is neither a good time nor the ideal circumstances to learn more. I wish to be taught. I always seek more knowledge. But we have to go now.”

  “Human leader, if I tell you things, is it not true that you owe me something, such as giving me some of your, admittedly very limited, knowledge too?”

  Calvin considered this, knowing he could always just make something up if Ozumire asked about something classified, and if it meant leading him to more and better information, why not?

  “Yes,” said Calvin. “That is fair.”

  “Good,” said Ozumire. “Just understand first that I am not to be lied to. As a servant of the Truth. I can tell when someone is lying. Especially a primate, such as yourself, whose feelings are expressed in the color and shape of his face.”

  “You understand human facial expressions?”

  “Like reading a book. And not only that, I have found that your kind, along with most of the rest of the dretch that has populated the galaxy with its filth—no offense meant, it is merely a fact.”

  “None taken,” said Calvin, finding this view more insightful than insulting. “Dretch?”

  “Yes, it is a term we use to describe inferior life. Inventions of the One True God, who, through his wisdom, never elevated them to the level whereby they could know of, and understand, the Truth. Perhaps you, human, will prove not to be dretch after all.”

  “So it is like our term heretic?”

  “No,” said the Dark One. “Again your language has no exact word for, it but it is much closer to your term garbage.”

  Great, thought Calvin.

  “As I said, most dretch will say something, yet their body will betray them and say something else entirely. Whether they know it or not, they usually cannot avoid it. So, please, human commander—”

  “Call me Calvin.”

  “Calvin. An odd name, but acceptable, I suppose. Please, Calvin, do not lie to me even once. Consider yourself duly warned. For if you do lie to me, I shall never teach you any part of the Truth and you shall die in total ignorance, like most of the rest of the galaxy.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And one final gesture to demonstrate your good will, if you don’t mind,” said the Dark One, just as Calvin was about to move to the hatch.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Please do remove these restraints. Being in this crude shape and having to have arms at all is already an imposition, then, on top of that, having them rendered entirely immobile behind one’s back…it is brutally cruel.”

  “Very well, I can arrange that,” said Calvin.

  “Such is not wise,” said Nikolai. Calvin raised a hand to silence him. All of this was part of the game; Nikolai would not understand it.

  “But I will not have them removed now,” said Calvin.

  “Why not?”

  “Tactical reasons,” said Calvin. He then retrieved his gear and his carbine, much to the relief of his impatient men, and announced, “It is time we take the ship and go home!”

  “Huzzah!” the men cheered.

  Calvin approached the hatch. He was over ninety-nine percent certain that it would prove to be locked but, before he risked blasting any holes in the ship he planned to use as his ride home, he wanted to check the hatch first. In the unlikely event that it was unlocked, he could undo the seal and open it from the outside.

  He set down his carbine so he would have both hands free to attempt to open the hatch. “Cover me,” he said. Even though he highly doubted any soldier aboard the ship would be watching this particular hatch at this particular instant, he couldn’t be too careful.

  “I’ll cover you,” said Nikolai, standing close by, his weapon trained on the hatch, ready to fire on anything behind it. In case Calvin was walking into a trap.

  “All right, here goes.” Calvin pushed in and toward the right, which was the usual way to undo the fastener plate of an unsecured hatch. He fully expected to push with all of his might and have it do nothing, but instead, as he pushed it, s
liding it gently to the right, there was a soft click.

  “Sweet mother of God,” said Calvin, “The hatch is unlocked. We can just open it.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” asked First Lieutenant Ferreiro.

  “Everyone ready?” Calvin asked, one final time.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” the men replied. He glanced behind him to see them with all their gear on their backs and their rifles in their hands. “Everyone, remember where you are in order so we can get through the hatch as quickly as possible. Obviously, whoever was behind him,” Calvin pointed to the dead soldier, “Skip ahead one. That applies to anyone supposed to go after him.”

  Nikolai spoke up, “I still think first in should be me.”

  “No, it’s dangerous,” said Calvin, “It has to be me.”

  “Why ‘have to’ be you because of danger?”

  “Because I want it to be me,” said Calvin, making sure he was ready to throw the hatch open with all of his might.

  “Why you want through first?” asked Nikolai. “Because you are professional soldier?”

  “No,” admitted Calvin.

  “Then plan is stupid.”

  “Plan is not stupid. I don’t want anyone else to have to die because of me. You have no idea what that kind of guilt does to you,” said Calvin.

  “Maybe I have idea, maybe not. Does not matter. All I know is, plan stupid. Plan stupid because if first in dies, and first in is you, then bad things happen.”

  “What bad things?” asked Calvin, curiously.

  “Things like…right now we have pilot. Pilot can fly ship. If pilot goes in first and first in dies. Then no more pilot. Only soldiers.”

  “Oh, you’re worried about flying the ship once we take control,” said Calvin. “Don’t worry about it; there’s nothing to it.”

  “This thing you say, I have doubt.”

  Calvin steadied himself, placed both hands on the hatch, took one final deep breath, then said, “All right, here we go.” With a little bit of force, he got the hatch to pop and slide. Then, the instant he saw the hatch open, he saw the last thing in the universe he expected to see.