The Phoenix Darkness (32 page)

“The humans are a vain species,” Alex was
willing to admit.

“You see?”

“But these humans, and this Polarian,” Alex
paused, finding it difficult to say the words. “They are
different.”

“Different how?” the joy in the Nau’s voice
faded.

“I don’t know. They
seem…self-sacrificing.”

“Hardly a valuable trait; what else?”

“They are committed to each other. They
express loyalty.”

“They are tribal, go on.”

“No it’s more…” Alex simply could not find
the words. “They…are fighting against the same enemy that we
are.”

“The enemy of my enemy is
not
necessarily my friend,” Nau T’orrna said, quoting from a famous
Rotham treatise on strategy.

“But
they
are…” he stopped himself
before he could say the word.

“They are what?”

Alex didn’t reply. He tried to think of
something to say, something the Nau would approve of.

“They are your friends,” said Nau T’orrna.
“Is that the way it is?” As Alex had expected, there was tremendous
disapproval in his tone. And the worst part of it was, they weren’t
Alex’s friends; not really. The big one constantly mistrusted and
ridiculed him and the rest, even the kind ones, had treated him
like a pariah, something dangerous to be handled with delicacy, if
handled at all. And yet Alex felt a peculiar desire for the
extractions to end, for his former companions to not have to
suffer.

“No, they are not my friends,” said Alex.
“And if you gave me over to them, they would kill me.”

“Indeed, they would kill you. But only
because you betrayed them by handing them over to us as was your
duty. But one can only betray someone when there exists a bridge of
trust. The kind of trust which comes with friendship.”

“I was their
prisoner
,” said Alex
emphatically.

“Yet, in your debriefing you told us they
liberated you from the Rahajiim. Could you really be a prisoner to
those who freed you, especially when they gave you free reign to
explore their starship?”

Alex didn’t know what to say. He realized
he’d made a mistake. Not only had he failed to end the extraction
sessions, he’d weakened himself in the eyes of the Nau. And that
loss of standing would be unfortunate with regards to his Advent
career.

“I apologize, Great Nau,” Alex said, bowing
his head. “I have disturbed your rest to discuss things of madness
and lunacy; I should have known better.”

“Indeed, you should have.”

“I beg your leave to go now.”

Nau T’orrna nodded and Alex turned to leave.
Before he reached the door, he heard the Nau say, “Just one more
thing.”

Alex turned back to face him.

“Yes, Great Nau?”

“I shall release your companions from the
extraction chambers immediately,” said Nau T’orrna.

Alex tried hard not to appear pleased,
although it was difficult.

“Under two conditions,” said Nau T’orrna.
“The first, you will agree to sessions of rehabilitation once we
return to Ro after all this terrible Rahajiim business is put to
bed for good. It is clear to me your time with the humans has
affected you and softened your mind. I cannot have soft minds in my
organization, so you must necessarily be rehabilitated.”

“Agreed.”

“And
second
, you not only allow your
companions to participate in the upcoming mission, you
convince
them
to do so.”

“Mission, sir? I am not aware of any
mission.”

“Then there is much to tell you. Go to the
strategy room in two hours’ time and wait there. The V’ort and I
will explain everything.”

***

Miles lay on his back on the floor of the
room he’d been shoved into. All the others were here too, probably.
It was hard to tell without looking. But he lacked the strength to
stand, much less examine his surroundings. His eyes still stung,
though no more liquid was touching them, and the floor felt like it
was shaking, although it did not move. Worst of all, even worse
than the cuts and bruises on his chest, was the feeling of
spinning…faster and faster, round and round. He felt like he was
falling, only upward. Toward the ceiling. Falling at a thousand
kilometers an hour.

Please, Dear God, make it stop
, he
thought, but he couldn’t even mouth the words.

Eventually, the sensation lessened until the
vertigo faded altogether. But that only made the rest of his pain
that much easier to notice. He didn’t move, he just lay there
quietly repeating over and over. “Goddamned lizards…goddamned
lizards…goddamned lizards…”

***

They tossed him in a rather nondescript room.
It was empty of any furnishings or equipment, containing metal
walls, metal flooring, and a metal ceiling. Calvin supposed its
purpose on the destroyer was that of a cargo hold, but there was no
cargo to be seen.

“Good, you’re still alive,” said Rain. She
and the others were already there. Rafael stood leaning against one
of the walls; he seemed tired, but otherwise unharmed. Miles lay on
the floor muttering something over and over, but showed no signs of
permanent injury. Rez’nac was the only one who seemed to be
genuinely hurt. The tough Polarian warrior still managed to remain
on his feet, though Calvin did not understand how. He had been
stripped of most of his clothing and his muscular grey-blue body
was littered with bandages. It seemed he’d been cut in a thousand
places from head to toe, not to mention whatever other torturous
methods they’d imposed upon him, which Calvin didn’t even want to
think about. Yet it was none of the three, but instead Rain to whom
Calvin ran. She was sitting on the floor, arms curled around her
knees, her wild red hair obscuring much of her face.

“Are you all right?” asked Calvin as soon as
he got to her. She looked up at him. Her face, at least, was
untouched. And, despite their surroundings, despite all they’d been
subjected to, she still managed a smile. It wasn’t a joyous smile,
she showed no teeth, but as their eyes met, her lips subtly curled,
proving the Rotham had not entirely quenched her optimistic
spirit.

“I’m fine,” she said. She started climbing to
her feet and Calvin extended a hand. She took it and he lifted her.
She seemed surprised by the ease with which he pulled her to her
feet. Once she was standing, he did not let go of her hand
immediately; instead, he held it, feeling its tenderness and
warmth, enjoying the softness of her skin and, just before letting
go, he gave her palm an affectionate squeeze. This made her smile
even more.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” said
Calvin.

“This isn’t your fault,” she said, trying to
reassure him. “None of this is your fault.”

He saw no injuries on her anywhere and knew
they’d spared her from the whip and knife. Still, whatever they’d
done to her, it couldn’t have been pleasant. And despite what she
said to the contrary, the whole thing was entirely his fault, and
Calvin felt awful because of it.

“I brought you along,” he said, their eyes
were locked together. He doubted he’d ever seen a prettier shade of
soft blue than the perfection which were her irises. “I shouldn’t
have, and I knew it. I knew how dangerous this would be. But I
brought you anyway. That
is
my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” she tried reassuring him
again. “You didn’t make me come; I chose to come. I
asked
to
come. That was
my
choice.”

“I knew how dangerous it was. I should have
protected you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me,” insisted
Rain. “It’s my job to watch out for myself, just as you do for
yourself. You’re here because you chose to do this mission despite
the risks. It's no different for me.”

Calvin felt otherwise. He was her commanding
officer, which implied a greater sense of duty, an imperative to be
mindful of the safety of all of his charges. But he did not want to
argue. He was just grateful that she seemed so unharmed.

“What did they do to you?” he asked, not
really wanting to know, but too curious not to ask.

She pointed to her face. “They poured an
irritant onto my eyes.”

Calvin nodded. “They did the same to me.”

“And more,” said Rain, looking concerned,
apparently just now noticing evidence of the lacerations he had
from the whip. She grabbed at his shirt and looked down it to see
the extent of his chest injuries, and she gently touched his chest.
He knew she touched him and examined him as a doctor would her
patient and not in a romantic way, but still he closed his eyes and
couldn’t help but feel glad at her touch.

“Did they do anything to disinfect the wound
before they applied those bandages?” she asked.

“They did something; I don’t actually
remember,” said Calvin. He’d been unconscious before the extraction
had ended. Truthfully, he didn’t even remember what information
he’d told them. For all he knew, they’d gotten every secret out of
him before they were done, even though he’d intended to resist and
been trained by Intel Wing to resist giving up information while
under torture. But somehow this had been different. The Rotham
themselves were different.

“It looks like they did an okay job with
this,” she said, examining his bandages closer. “Still, if we were
on the
Nighthawk,
I could do something more about this. Are
you in any pain?”

“I’m all right,” he said, “it’s no more pain
than this.” He lifted his left hand which was still bandaged from
when he’d sliced the outermost skin of his palm. “Rez’nac over
there is the one you should be worrying about,” said Calvin,
nodding in the direction of the Polarian. He certainly looked like
he’d received the worst of it, by far, yet he stood defiantly. Not
laying down, not sitting, not even leaning against one of the
walls. He wore his bandages like badges of pride, and the wounds
they’d inflicted, although numerous, were superficial. Calvin
suspected the Polarian warrior had sustained, and survived, much
worse. Certainly that was the way he looked.

“I looked at him when he first came in,” said
Rain. “Or tried to, at least. He wouldn’t let me near and insisted
he was fine, that they’d barely scratched him.”

“Sounds like him.”

At this point, Rafael approached. Despite the
fact that he’d been leaning against the wall, and appeared to have
some difficulty standing straight, he didn’t show any signs of
pain. Calvin looked at the man’s eyepatch and was reminded that he,
like Rez’nac, had experienced torture before and had never broken.
Calvin wished he had the same fortitude.

“So, what now?” asked Rafael. “Are they going
to kill us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Calvin. He led
Rafael and Rain to the center of the room, catching Rez’nac’s
attention in the process. Even Miles stopped his mumbling and
looked up, although he remained on the floor. Calvin looked at each
of them and noted how they all looked to him for direction, and
wished he had some idea of how they could get off this ship and
back to Imperial space. In that moment, he wished for nothing more
than to be back on the
Nighthawk
. If he ever did get back on
that ship, it was hard to imagine anything could ever convince him
to part from it again.

“If they were going to kill us, I think they
would've done it already. Probably during the extraction,” said
Calvin. “So, obviously, we’re still worth something to them.”

“Or at least worth more alive than dead,”
said Rafael.

“Yes. It’s possible they want to trade us for
something, or someone,” said Calvin hopefully, thinking that was
their best chance of ever seeing the proper side of the DMZ
again.

“But you doubt it,” said Rafael shrewdly,
seeming to read Calvin’s facial expression. It was true; he did
doubt it. It seemed far likelier the Rotham had something else in
store for them. Perhaps more sessions of extraction.

“What we need to do,” said Calvin, “is to
figure just why we’re valuable to them, why they’re keeping us
alive. Once we know what our value is, we can leverage that to our
advantage.”

There was a whooshing noise. Calvin looked to
his left and saw the main door had opened. Four Teldari soldiers
entered the room and approached them. Rez’nac looked at them as if
ready to rip them to shreds with his bare hands, and Calvin didn’t
doubt his ability to do it. But he also knew, even with the Teldari
dead and their four weapons in Calvin’s team’s hands, that wouldn’t
buy them anything more than a swift death. They were too
outnumbered on this ship to hope to take it by force. So Calvin
raised a hand to stay Rez’nac just as the Teldari reached him.

“You,” said the forward-most Teldari soldier,
pointing at Calvin. “You’re the leader, yes?” Calvin had a
flashback to the brief time he’d been a prisoner aboard the
Thorpian cruiser in Abia. The Rotham had been interested in who was
the leader then, too, ultimately dragging Major Jenkins away for
torture never to be seen again.

“Yes,” said Calvin tentatively, hoping not to
receive the Major Jenkins treatment.

“Come with us,” said the Teldari. The others
looked ready to draw their weapons and attempt to take him by
force. Rather than risk a battle that could end up with one of his
teammates dead, or himself, Calvin elected to go peaceably.

“Very well,” he said. “Where are we
going?”

They grabbed him and shoved him toward the
door, clearly unwilling to answer his question.

“Easy,” said Calvin. “I’m going, I’m
going.”

He felt the point of one of their rifles
stick into his back as he marched for the door, wondering just what
the hell they had in store for him.

Chapter 13

Summers observed the Bridge from her spot on
the floor, still tied up and gagged. She worried for Nimoux, who
still remained unconscious, but she now also was concerned for the
ship. From the chatter she’d heard, both over the speakers and
between the Bridge officers, it sounded like the
Nighthawk
had been invaded, boarded by a ship of smaller but similar size,
and that the intruders were trying to abscond with the isotome
weapon. If they did, then the very last one will have slipped
through her fingers and her mission to destroy them will have
resulted in a total failure.