The Phoenix Darkness (39 page)

“How could there have been another
decompression event,” asked Dr. Andrews, “if there’d already been
one? You can’t have air pressure if there’s no air.”

“The atmosphere and gravity had been largely
restored,” said Shen. “I don’t know how or why.”

“I see,” said Dr. Andrews, looking
puzzled.

Summers was more interested in the intruder
himself than the atmosphere of the deck. “But what was the intruder
doing here?” she asked. “And where did he go?”

“That’s clear enough,” said Shen. “He came
for the isotome missile. I don’t know how he knew we had it, that
it was on that deck, or even where on that deck. But by the time I
saw him, he already had it. There was a chain affixed to it which
was slowly pulling the missile along. He could control the chain,
sometimes stopping its motion in order to let himself fight our
soldiers. I don’t know how he did that. Somehow he must have had a
way of communicating with a retracting mechanism on his ship and
that
was pulling the chain…”

As Shen again went off on a tangent regarding
various scientific possibilities, Summers momentarily zoned out,
feeling a crushing sensation in her heart. The upside of all of
this violence, the failure of the mutiny, all the chaos, even the
possibly fatal injury of Nimoux, had been that now, maybe, just
maybe, she could destroy the isotome missile stashed in the deck
four auxiliary lab. But if the intruder had taken it…

“How did he move the missile with only a
chain?” asked Summers.

“The missile was floating in the null
gravity,” said Shen, “The chain needed only to pull it.”

Dammit
, she thought.
Pellew, you
damned fool, if only you’d destroyed the weapon when you had the
chance
…

“How did you see him?” asked Dr. Andrews,
still paying keen attention to Shen’s every detail. “If this man
had such perfect situational awareness, as everything seems to
indicate, why, then, did he not see you?”

“I—” Shen paused, sounding a bit like a child
caught up in the snag of a pesky, poorly thought out detail of a
tale he was spinning. “Well, it’s no use lying about it. I was in
the observation deck. When the alarm happened, and the door
sealed…I broke the door.”

“You
what
?” asked Summers.

“Don’t ask me how, I don’t know how; it
should have been impossible,” said Shen. “And don’t ask me why,
either; I don’t remember why. I doubt I was acting much on reason
at the time. But I beat my hands and fists against the door, and
then I pried at it, trying to force it open. And then, with a bang,
it just did.”

Neither Dr. Andrews nor Summers could believe
what they were hearing.

“You don’t have to believe me; once you get
down to deck four you can see for yourself. The evidence is all
there,” said Shen, very matter-of-factly.

“Okay, setting aside our skepticism,” said
Dr. Andrews, “how did you survive? You should have lost
consciousness in about ten seconds!”

“That one, sir, is a medical mystery, and so
I shall defer to you,” said Shen, sounding impatient and unhappy,
clearly not enjoying being a specimen under a microscope. Summers
knew the answer to that likely would need to be uncovered by Dr.
Rain Poynter, should that red-headed hussy ever return to the ship.
So Summers decided to again shift the questioning back where it
needed to be.

“Where were you when you saw the intruder?”
asked Summers. “And how did he not see you?”

“I was hanging from a fixture on the ceiling,
just outside the observation deck,” said Shen. He looked at Dr.
Andrews and quickly added, “
don’t judge
. I doubt you would
have done any differently.”

“Then what happened?” asked Summers.

“Well, then he came along, right beneath me,
his chain pulling the missile, him walking along beside it. I
couldn’t hear anything, but I imagined the clank of his magnetic
boots as he stepped forward, step after step, with surprising
dexterity, all things considered.”

“So that’s it? You just hung from the
ceiling, he didn’t notice you, and you watched him from there?”

“No, as a matter of fact, he did notice me,”
said Shen. “He even raised his railgun and pointed it directly at
me.”

“Yet you survive when apparently no one else
does?” asked Dr. Andrews.

“Did he fire at you?” asked Summers.

“No. He spared me. I don’t know why, I
suspect even he doesn’t know why. One second he’s raising his
weapon and aiming it at me, like killing me is the obvious, natural
thing to do, like it’s something automatic. And believe me, to
this
guy, killing
is
automatic. Then, one second
later, he’s lowering his weapon and moving on, leaving me
completely alone.”

“Maybe he assumed the lack of atmosphere
would do the job for him and he wanted to save the ammo,” suggested
Summers.

“Could be,” said Shen. “But it felt like
something different to me, I dunno what. I can’t really describe
it. But it really felt like he wanted to kill me and then, in the
blink of an eye, he didn’t. Like he’d changed his mind and thought
I deserved to live, if I could.”

“
Amazing
,” said Dr. Andrews, shaking
his head, seeming now to somehow simultaneously disbelieve what he
was hearing and yet trust Shen’s account of it. “Exposure to vacuum
would explain a great many of the symptoms you’ve presented…”

Summers wasn’t interested in the medical
mystery so much as the intruder who had stolen the isotome weapon.
Perhaps if we can identify him we can catch him
, she
thought. Then destroy the weapon and maybe him along with it, if he
is indeed so dangerous. She knew she couldn’t send her four
remaining soldiers to do the job,
no
, she’d have to prevail
in this contest ship to ship. But then, how could she? The
intruder’s ship had managed to sneak up upon a stealthed
Nighthawk
and literally cut a hole in her belly before the
intruder’s vessel could even be detected. How could she possibly
bring the
Nighthawk
up against
that
? But if she
didn’t, what of the isotome weapon? What of the billions of people
it would almost certainly be used against?

“Shen, did you get a good look at this
intruder?” asked Summers.

“Yes,” he said. “I got a look right at his
face when he pointed his railgun at me.”

“What was he?”

“Human for sure,” said Shen, thinking back.
“He seemed to be in his mid-thirties. He had—”

“Black hair,” croaked a voice. Summers
suddenly realized it was Nimoux. He was awake! “Pale skin,” Nimoux
continued, as two medics rushed to his side, to check on him. “A
narrow face, and these death-black eyes…irises such a shade of dark
brown they might as well be black.” He started coughing.

“Why, yes, yes that’s right,” said Shen.

“Nimoux, you’re up,” said Summers, racing to
his side.

Nimoux, however didn’t look at her, he didn’t
seem to be looking at anything. His eyes continued to stare at the
ceiling and he acted as if all he could hear was Shen. “Just as I
suspected,” he said. And then, like a lamp switching off, he was
gone. Not dead, the equipment clearly showed heart and brain
activity. But whatever part of him that had sparked consciousness
vanished away, leaving him as comatose as he’d been seconds
earlier.

“Is he all right?” asked Summers, pressing
Dr. Andrews urgently. Dr. Andrews, for his part, was examining the
patient, the medical equipment, and trying to find out exactly
that.

“I think it’s a good sign that he was awake,”
said Dr. Andrews. “But I’m not sure what made him lose
consciousness again so quickly…I’m hoping his body is just very
exhausted.”

“Yes, let's hope it is only that,” said
Summers. She needed Nimoux back. She couldn’t quite describe the
feeling; it went beyond concern for a valuable comrade, or even
that of a trusted friend; she simply
needed
him back. He
had
to be okay.

“He knows him,” said Shen loudly from his
bed. “Don’t you guys get it? Lafayette Nimoux
knows
who the
intruder was!”

That did seem to be true. Provided Shen’s
memory of the intruder’s description was accurate.

Come back to us, Nimoux
, thought
Summers.
We need you
. Despite herself, she found herself
wishing Dr. Rain Poynter were here to help revive Nimoux. For that
matter, she wished Calvin were here. He
should
be here. She
couldn’t keep doing his job for him and pretending to know what to
do with the
Nighthawk
.
Maybe you would have found a way
to destroy that missile
, she thought, feeling equal parts guilt
and rage that this intruder, whoever he was, had absconded with the
one
isotome missile she’d managed to actually track
down.

Summers supposed she'd better return to the
Bridge. After all, that was
her
place and Cassidy could not
be relied upon forever. On her way out, she heard Shen call.

“Sorry about before, Commander,” he said,
quite loudly. “I don’t know what came over me, but it won’t happen
again.”

She looked back at him quizzically, then she
remembered. Shen had needed to be dismissed from the Bridge
mid-operation; it had been very abrupt and against all protocol.
Honestly, Summers was surprised she’d forgotten. But she considered
herself a forgiving person; Shen had been through a lot since then,
and provided valuable intelligence to boot, provided it didn’t turn
out he had simply gone insane.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Summers, “and
you’re invited to return to duty as soon as you’re able. Provided
you
don’t
rush the healing process.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Chapter 16

Caerwyn stood in the throne room. Gathered
before him were the reigning patriarchs and matriarchs of the
highest ranked nobles still living on Capital World. Most had come
voluntarily by invitation; a few had been blackmailed or bribed
into attendance. The presence of each of them helped to lend
legitimacy to what he was doing. Even more important than the heads
of each family were the nobles who served in the Assembly. Again,
he had taken the necessary measures to compel their attendance and,
in no uncertain terms, his people made it clear to them they were
to act appropriately. Solemn when solemnity was required and
celebratory when the deed was finished.

Caerwyn stood with his back to the royal
throne. All eyes of the Empire were on him, he knew. At least a
dozen cameras were pointed at him and the broadcast was being sent
live to every home on Capital World, to the farthest reaches of the
galaxy, and everywhere in between. No Imperial citizen would be
ignorant, Caerwyn had decided. All
must
know of what was
happening here this day. Today was a red-letter day, and a first in
Imperial history.

“Today,” said the Supreme Judicator,
beginning the ceremony. She was the highest ranking member of the
Capital World Supreme Court, and, like the heads of the noble
families, she had been adequately persuaded to ensure her full
cooperation. “We are honored to gather as friends, countrymen,
brothers, sisters, and citizens of this glorious Empire, to raise
before us a new sovereign. A leader, a father, a patron, a monarch
who will bear the heavy burden that is this crown,” she lifted the
ceremonial crown for all to see. “We are here, united, as one
people, with one purpose, to witness and accept the vows of our new
king, solemn oaths of fealty, guardianship and duty to us all.”

There were cheers. Off camera, there were
signs that indicated it was time to cheer, and men standing ready
to make certain the crowd complied. They did. And when the signs
asked for silence, the throne room fell silent enough one could
have heard a pin drop upon the great marble floor.

“Who is he that would be our king?” asked the
Supreme Judicator, “and accept this heavy burden?” Again raising
the crown for all to see, most especially the cameras.

“Here I stand,” said Caerwyn, remembering his
role in this ceremony. It was a farce, a puppet show, showmanship
for the benefit of the common people of the Empire, but it was
necessary.

“If you would be our king, and accept this
tremendous burden,” said the Supreme Judicator, now facing Caerwyn,
her back to the crown. “Then kneel before your people.”

Caerwyn knelt.

“What is your name, sir?”

“I am Caerwyn Martel, of the noble Martel
family,” he said. “One of the Great Houses. A founding house of the
Empire.” Like most nobles, his status was the result of his
ancestors, long ago, choosing to support the first king quickly and
faithfully. Caerwyn did not miss the irony that now he waged bloody
war against that king’s great-great granddaughter.

“You, Caerwyn of House Martel,” said the
Supreme Judicator. “Be you compelled to kneel here?”

“No man nor woman compels me. I kneel here of
my own free will.”

“And be you of sound and able mind?”

“Yes, Supreme Judicator. I am of sound and
able mind.”

“Are you willing to take the Oath?”

“I am willing.”

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to
govern the People of this great Empire and all her territories,
according to our respective laws and customs?”

“I solemnly promise so to do,” said Caerwyn,
taking a moment to remember the phrasing exactly.

“Will you, in your power, cause Law and
Justice, and Mercy, to be executed in all of your judgments?”

“I will.”

“Will you, to the utmost of your power,
maintain the great and longstanding traditions and laws of our
Empire?”

“I swear it.”

The Supreme Judicator then turned to face the
crowd. “And do you, People of the Empire, accept this man to be
your king and sovereign, Guardian of the law and Protector of the
realm?”