The Phoenix Conspiracy

by Richard Sanders

  ***

  When Calvin arrived, he found the infirmary locked down. He approached, and the two soldiers stood down for him to pass.

  The door whisked open, and he stepped into the infirmary. It was a medium-size rectangular room crowded with beds, computers, and all kinds of technology he didn’t understand. In the far corner, Dr. Monte Blair was stroking his thin gray beard while looking over an X-ray monitor and giving out sporadic orders to some of the other medics.

  “Hello there,” said Calvin.

  Monte looked up and, upon seeing Calvin, ambled over. “What brings you here?”

  “I want to know about our injured soldiers.” He noticed them on two of the beds.

  One still had his eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping, but the other was sitting up, bent over, and running a hand over his buzz-cut hair—he seemed distant, almost unaware of his surroundings. They both looked much better than they previously had.

  “They seem to be doing okay,” Calvin said.

  “They’ve both regained consciousness—don’t let that one fool you. He’s not asleep just resting.” Monte shook his head. “Neither are ready to return to duty yet, however. Mitchell has some swelling, and they both have head and neck pain. Nothing serious, no spinal damage or anything. They’re going to be fine.”

  “Are they up for some questioning?”

  “I think so. Just go easy on them for now. In an hour or two they’ll be free to leave and return to Special Forces HQ.”

  “Okay,” said Calvin. “I’d like to interview them in a more private environment.” His eyes shifted from the noisy machines to the busy staff.

  “How about my quarters?” offered the doctor.

  “Perfect, and I’d like you to come along.”

  “Of course I’m coming. It’s my quarters.”

  Once they were all together behind closed doors, Calvin got right to the point. “I’d like to know how you were incapacitated and put into that container,” he said, looking one of them in the eyes—the name “Adams” was stitched to his fatigues, and he wore the emblem of a master sergeant.

  “I don’t know,” said Adams.

  “Dr. Blair told us what happened, how you found us and all,” said Mitchell, the other soldier. “But we don’t remember any of that. It’s not like we would’ve let someone put us there by choice. I mean, what if we ran out of water or air or something?” Mitchell sounded edgy, almost defensive.

  “I’m not implying you let yourselves be overpowered, soldier. I just want to know what happened. When a prisoner escapes and surveillance footage disappears, and two of the Empire’s finest soldiers get taken down on my ship, I want to know why and how.”

  “Makes sense,” said Adams. He shot Mitchell a look that made him hold his tongue.

  Calvin wondered if Adams was sending Mitchell instructions on how to handle this conversation, perhaps to keep a secret.

  “Okay, let’s take it back a step. You don’t remember being put in the container. What about before that? Were you in a fight? Did you catch a glimpse of your attacker?”

  Adams shook his head slowly. “No, we weren’t in a fight. And, no, I didn’t see anything. Did you?” He looked at Mitchell, who shook his head.

  Calvin kept pressing. “Did you hear anything? A footstep? The crackle of the force field powering down? Anything at all?”

  “No.”

  It really did seem like they were sending each other signals on how to answer. Shifty eyes, nervous glances, subtle body language, Mitchell’s defensive posture …

  Calvin ordered one of them out of the room so he could talk to them individually.

  “Okay, Adams,” said Calvin. “What is the last thing you do remember? You were guarding the brig, the werewolf was behind the force field, then what happened?”

  “We stood guard as ordered, sir.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. Until I woke up in the infirmary.”

  “So you have no idea how the force field was deactivated?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did the prisoner say anything to either you or Mitchell?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How long were you standing guard before your memory gets all fuzzy?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Dammit, make a guess, son,” said Monte.

  “Umm … I dunno. Maybe ten minutes or so. I’m sorry, sir. I really don’t know.” He paused. “I was standing there, gun in my hands, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

  Calvin looked into the man’s face, particularly his eyes. He was perfectly calm, eyes steady, face placid. Even his voice was smooth and crisp. Calvin couldn’t decide if that meant he should trust him or not. Either he told the truth or his lie was masterfully practiced, perhaps overly so.

  “Thank you, Adams. That’ll be all.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Tell Mitchell to come in on your way out.”

  With a salute, Adams left.

  “What do you think?” Calvin looked over at Monte who now had his feet up on his coffee table.

  “He might be telling the truth. It is possible for someone to lose consciousness and not remember the moment when it happened. Like the instant when you fall asleep. You can’t remember that.”

  The door opened and in stepped Mitchell. Calvin ordered him to take a seat.

  “Mitchell, what is the last thing you remember before waking up in the infirmary?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  Calvin sat up. What a strange response. “You mean you don’t remember the last thing you remember?”

  “I don’t know,” he said abruptly—not nearly as well composed as Adams. But he wasn’t sweating or trembling. Just sharp, abrasive, and a bit thoughtless.

  “It’s very important that you listen to me carefully.” Calvin spoke slowly. “And answer truthfully and completely. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “What is the last thing you do remember?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you’re not hearing me, soldier.” Calvin’s voice sharpened. “But that’s not what remember means. When I ask you what the last thing is you remember, you tell me the last thing you can think of. Do you remember being put on duty in the brig area?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you remember the prisoner there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Describe him for me, please.”

  “A man, early thirties, brown hair, red eyes, light brown skin.”

  “Did you notice anything peculiar about him?”

  “Yes, sir. His eyes were red at first. Glowing bright red.”

  “How red?”

  “Red, sir.”

  “How red?”

  “Very red.”

  “I said, how red?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Red like … an apple that’s on fire.”

  “That’s better.” Calvin relaxed. “Now, what is the last thing you remember?”

  “I was on duty with Adams. We were standing guard by the prisoner. And that’s all I remember.”

  “How long were you on duty?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long …” Calvin paused. “… before the prisoner made his move.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten.”

  “Did he say anything to either of you at any time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I mean, I don’t remember, sir.”

  “And if you had to make a guess?”

  “I’d say no. I don’t think he did. Or, if he did, I didn’t hear him. He really didn’t seem like the talkative sort.”

  “Did anyone else come onto that deck or walk by?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, or you don’t remember?”

  “No, sir, they did not.”

  Calvin drummed his fingers on the table
beside him. “Okay, thank you, Mitchell. You’re free to go.”

  Mitchell saluted and left.

  “A single person with amnesia is one thing,” said Calvin, looking at Monte once more. “But two people forgetting the exact same thing at the exact same time, doesn’t that seem improbable?”

  “Yes, it does,” Monte admitted. “Unless neither of them were looking the right way. You can’t remember something you didn’t see.”

  “Could be,” said Calvin, wondering. “Or maybe they were tricked into lowering the force field, and they’re both too ashamed to admit it. So they conveniently don’t remember.”

  “Our soldiers are trained better than that.”

  “I would hope so. The only other logical conclusion that I can see,” said Calvin, “is that someone let the lycan go. How else could the force field be powered-down and the surveillance footage be missing?”

  “You think these soldiers let the prisoner go on purpose, and then tried to hide it?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Calvin. “They weren’t in any position to switch out the surveillance footage.” He paused. “But someone did that. Either that someone was working with Mitchell and Adams, and had their full cooperation, or else arranged for them to be taken down and stuffed away in that container.”

  “Don’t you think, if they were coconspirators, the odds of them both being randomly assigned to guard the prisoner is a bit slim?” asked Monte.

  “Unless the person who assigned them to guard the prisoner was in on it.”

  “Major Jenkins?” Monte laughed. “No way!”

  Calvin agreed that sounded absurd. He’d known Jenkins long enough to be sure of his character, and he would never, under any circumstances, compromise his own unit to let a dangerous prisoner roam free. But, Calvin realized, there was always the slim chance he was wrong.

  “You Intel Wing types are always seeing too much into things. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

  “Sometimes,” said Calvin. “But not always.” Silently he agreed with the doctor. None of these suspects had motive to let Tristan go. And none of them could have known in advance that Tristan would be on the ship. It was a dead end.

  “It could be amnesia,” said Monte. “What’s important to establish here is, what is causing them to forget?”

  Calvin rubbed his chin. “Could it be some kind of drug?”

  “I don’t know. I have mixed feelings about that hypothesis,” said Monte. “Giving someone a drug intended to take effect later in the day can be rather imprecise, especially when you want it to affect two people of different sizes at the exact same time and in the exact same way. It’s not as simple as it looks in the movies. Most likely what would happen is that one soldier would go down before the other. And the one still standing would have plenty of time to alert someone.”

  “What about when the dentist put me out to pull my wisdom teeth? I was out like a light after only a few seconds.”

  “That’s a really strong general anesthesia. With something like that, total unconsciousness can be achieved in no time with guaranteed loss of memory. But it would have to be administered shortly before the patients—I mean soldiers—became unconscious, and there are all kinds of complexities. For instance the person could easily stop breathing, or, if they’re undermedicated, they could have dangerously high blood pressure. Not to mention the anesthesia must be maintained to keep someone out for an extended amount of time. It would be dangerous and complicated.”

  “What about blunt injuries?” asked Calvin. “You know, blows to the head?”

  “Their bruises and trauma weren’t severe enough to suggest that,” said Monte. “And that would risk neck and spinal injuries. Maybe the culprit wouldn’t care about our soldiers’ long-term health, but, whether or not he did, neither Mitchell nor Adams experienced any kind of trauma that would have risked a long-term injury. So, considering that, maybe the culprit did have some motive in keeping our men intact. If so, then knocking them out with blunt force, that carefully and precisely, seems as likely as the lycan using some kind of magical ability to do all of this.”

  “So what is your working theory?”

  “I don’t have any working theories. I just patch people up and figure out ways to make them feel better. How they end up in one of my hospital beds is their business.”