The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (10 page)

“Your course got us through the asteroid barrier,” said Calvin, craning his neck to see the Polarian. “You should be proud.”

“Pride is fickle vanity. I did get the ship through, but at the loss of one of your people—the human doctor—I accept any punishment you wish to impose upon me as compensation for her loss.” At that, he knelt. Calvin was taken aback by this and really did not know what to expect.

“Stand up,” said Calvin. Rez’nac obeyed without question. “The loss of Rain is a tragedy for us all, and we will bear it together. But certainly no one is to blame, least of all you, Rez’nac. Had it not been for your advice, the entire ship might have been lost trying to navigate that barrier.”

“Your human platitudes are of no use to me,” said Rez’nac. “But I am humbled by your forgiveness. I promise to endeavor even more to ensure that no life is lost on my account. At least, no life on this ship.”

“You’re doing just fine,” said Calvin. “Keep up the good work.” Before risking an argument with Rez’nac over the Polarian’s responsibility, or lack thereof, regarding Rain’s death, Calvin abruptly asked Miles about the status of the defense systems.

“We’re stealthed and so our shields are down and the beam weapon is unpowered. I do have missiles loaded, just in case, and the guns are loaded too,” he sounded almost happy as he discussed the weapons. “I hope a Polarian warship so much as tries to tangle with us,” said Miles. “I’ll show those bastards a thing or two about human ferocity!”

“I believe the expression is tango with us,” said Calvin. “But I get and appreciate your ultimate point. Our weapons are ready, and those not ready can be made ready at a moment’s notice. I hope we will not have to use them, but it is good to know that we have them.”

“Just as it is good to have crumbs in your hands when you are starving,” said Rez’nac, getting everyone’s attention and surprise.

“What was that?” asked Calvin. “Some kind of metaphor?”

“Yes,” said Rez’nac, calmly but with a commanding tone. “When you are starving, you need a mighty meal to feed you and, although crumbs are food, they are not nearly enough food to take away your hunger. They are therefore no good to you. And you might as well have nothing.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that if we run afoul of a defense patrol here, we will have no chance of using our defense systems to fight our way free?” He wondered if there was something about the Forbidden Planet and its defenses he did not know, and that the apparently confused 3D display could not tell him.

For instance, did the Forbidden Planet hold a reserve of thousands of starfighters able to launch from the planet’s surface? Or perhaps, in the mish-mash of static on the 3D display there was a powerful fleet of Polarian battleships, tightly bunched, ready to slaughter any who would come to uncover the planet’s secrets. Either way, the stealth system should protect them, Calvin hoped. But if such a thing was true, and they were discovered, he had to concede that Rez’nac was right. Although the
Nighthawk
packed a nasty punch, the vessel could only take a small beating before it would be lost—it was a stealth frigate after all, not some dreadnought.

“I mean all your weapons and all your technology, marvels that they might be to us, as mortals, they will avail us nothing,” Rez’nac spoke matter-of-factly.

“Why will they avail us nothing?” asked Calvin, realizing that Rez’nac had been withholding information from him. Information they would certainly need if any of this plan had a prayer of working.

“It will be as the Essences desire,” said Rez’nac. “We shall see if I am right—if this place is guarded by the Sentinel or not anymore. If it is—then I wish you all honor and peace in the darkness that claims us all in time.”

“No, no, no,” said Calvin. “You’re jumping ahead.
And
being pessimistic. Nimoux has drafted up a beautiful plan; we are going to infiltrate the Forbidden Planet, expose the Dark Ones, and save not just your species but ours.”

“I hope you are right and I am wrong,” said Rez’nac. “I hope that with all my heart and, had I still a soul, I would hope with that too. But alas, it is lost to me. I no more have a soul than all of you.”

The way Rez’nac was speaking, Calvin found it difficult to get much more useful information from him, at least at this time. But he gave it one last try before giving up. “Rez’nac,” he said. “
What
is the Sentinel?”

“The Sentinel is the guardian,” said Rez’nac, as if that answer had been sufficient.

“That doesn’t help me,” said Calvin.

“Nor shall it, should we encounter it,” said Rez’nac, with a kind of religious awe in his voice. “Pray that we don’t.”

“Okay then,” said Calvin, feeling no option other than to continue to proceed carefully and assume that this alleged Sentinel was more a creature of legend, or being of myth, than something real and actually tangible; therefore, it was not a threat he needed to, nor could, assess.

“I believe it was my turn next,” said Summers, who had been waiting patiently in the XO’s chair this entire time.

Calvin made an open gesture. “Go ahead.”

“Jay, Cassidy, and Miles are all correct regarding our status and our systems,” said Summers. “Once the doctor got the dampening field disabled, I was able to jump the ship momentarily into alteredspace, which rendered the tractor beams moot—just as you had planned. Then, when we returned to normal space, we made certain to avoid the trap. Rez’nac guided us the rest of the way, and now we are here. And, to the best of my knowledge, sir, our presence has not been discovered.”

“Excellent work,” said Calvin. Then he asked the question that he most feared to ask. “And the pod, the pod with Rafael, were you able to retrieve it?” Calvin had noted Rafael’s absence on the bridge and had taken that as a bad sign.

“We retrieved the pod,” Summers confirmed. “It too was able to execute a short-range alteredspace jump to keep clear of the trap.”

“And Rafael?” asked Calvin.

“Safe and sound and onboard,” Summers smiled. Calvin felt a wave of relief wash over him. He’d lost Rain today, someone who had been a good friend.
No,
someone who had been much more than that, a counselor to him, a shoulder to lean on, someone who had helped him work through his issues regarding Christine, not to mention that she had been instrumental in helping him quit his dependency on equarius; but, most of all, she had been someone he loved, on many levels. There had been romantic love, of course, but also something else, something deeper. And Calvin felt as though a piece of his heart, or his soul, had been ripped away from him for good. Rain had meant
that
much to him. So, to hear that Rafael was still alive, that news nearly brought tears of relief to his eyes.

“Where is Rafael?” asked Calvin.

“He asked for leave to go to his quarters and rest; he knows the mission will be soon and he thought a thirty-minute nap might help him keep sharp presence of mind. I told him he could,” said Summers. “But I can order him back, if that is your wish.”

“No,” said Calvin, rubbing his chin as he turned his thoughts away from his crew and onto the purple star just ahead. “Let him sleep awhile longer. In the meantime, I want a closer look at that star. Jay, use the stealth propulsion and get us closer to the star, and the Forbidden Planet orbiting it. I don’t know what’s going on here,” he pointed to the scrambled 3D display, “But I need to know what is out there. We all do.”

“Yes, sir,” Jay acknowledged and the ship began to move, though, other than a change in yaw, the movement was undetectable.

“Sir,” said Cassidy.

“What is it?” Calvin instinctively got up to go hover over the Ops terminal. From what little he understood, everything seemed to be in order.

“I probably should have mentioned that, while all the ship’s systems are working, the 3D display is not. Not completely, anyway,” said Cassidy.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Calvin.

“I ran a diagnostic, but it came back inconclusive—my guess is this is the result of some kind of scrambler on their end; they don’t want ships scanning the Forbidden Planet—even if those ships have successfully gone through both the Veil and the Barrier.”

“Man, these people are paranoid,” muttered Calvin.

“Some things are so sacred that they must be kept secret,” said Rez’nac.

“Is there a distinction to your species,” asked Calvin, “Between the abstract ideas of sacred and secret?”

“Of course,” said Rez’nac. “Something sacred may be well known, such as the existence of the Essences, other things—things I cannot divulge here—those things are also sacred, but must be kept a secret.”

“But you wouldn’t ever describe such things as sacred as opposed to secret?” asked Calvin, hoping Rez’nac might accidentally reveal something that might prove useful.

“I believe I am speaking the human tongue correctly,” said Rez’nac without any condescension. “However, perhaps I am not. As I understand the concepts, sacred means something of precious and religious significance. Secret means something that only a few may be allowed to know.”

“No, I think your grasp on our tongue, as you call it, is quite perfect,” said Calvin, disappointed that Rez’nac did not divulge an example of something sacred
and
secret. It was interesting, to Calvin, how the muscular blue warrior still clung to the traditions, rites, and rituals of his religion, despite concurrently holding the view that he has lost his soul and could never get it back. To Calvin, it seemed like there was no longer a point—assuming there ever had been one. But, to Rez’nac, the practice of his religion, strange as it seemed to Calvin, must have been something so deeply rooted within his core that it probably could not be removed, not if Rez’nac’s personality was to remain intact. However interesting it was, Calvin ultimately dismissed it as the result of decades of thorough indoctrination. The important thing was that Rez’nac seemed unwilling to expound further about the Forbidden Planet’s secrets, and its defenses, which meant greater danger for the
Nighthawk
than Calvin believed necessary. Unfortunately, he could think of no way to compel or convince Rez’nac to speak of things that he held too deeply inside to share.

Calvin turned his attention back to the forward window and watched as the purple star grew larger as they approached.

And then the strangest thing happened. A kind of purple glow filled the bridge, completely ignoring the hull and the armor plating. It felt warm, a bit like the summer sun, but otherwise didn’t cause any discomfort.

“Sensors, what the hell is that?” asked Calvin, alarmed that he had just exposed himself and his crew to some kind of previously unknown toxic alien radiation.

Immediately, Rez’nac dropped to his knees and began chanting something in a whisper, almost as if in prayer. It might have been the strange new lighting, but Calvin could have sworn the Polarian looked bluer somehow.

“It is radiation emanating from the Forbidden Planet’s parent star,” said Cassidy.

“Will our shields block it out?” asked Calvin, not wanting to raise them—for fear that it would compromise their stealthy approach—but also not wanting to expose himself and his crew to a potentially lethal radiation source. He looked instinctively down at his arms and hands, seeing no bumps, moles, burns, or injuries forming.

“Unclear,” said Miles. “There’s a chance. But I can’t guarantee it. Should I raise the shields?”

Calvin didn’t like the idea of raising the shields merely for a chance that that it would block out the radiation, especially when it offered the Forbidden Planet, and its defenses, a one-hundred percent chance of noticing their presence.

“Not yet,” said Calvin. “But move the ship away, full-about! Get us away from this…whatever this is.”

“Aye, aye,” said Jay, and the ship turned, moving them swiftly away. Once the purple glow disappeared, Rez’nac returned to his feet.

“I am yours,” he said, addressing Calvin. “But I must counsel you, we must pass through the Violaceous Cloud in order to approach the Forbidden Planet. I assure you it represents neither harm nor danger. It is merely a medium with which a Polarian may feel as though he is one with the Essences.”

“I see,” said Calvin cautiously. Despite Rez’nac’s assurances, and the apparent requirement that they pass through this strange purple radiation, Calvin was hesitant to offer the command. Instead, he tapped his line for the infirmary below.

“This is the captain,” he said. “I have a question.”

“Dr. Andrews here, sir, how may I help you?” came the reply. Calvin felt a knot in his throat. He had half expected to hear Rain’s voice over the comm; hearing Dr. Andrews’ voice was like disturbing an unsettled wound. Still, he had to work with what he had. Rain had nobly sacrificed herself, an action Calvin would always regret, and yet—somehow—always be thankful for.

“Did you observe a strange phenomenon a few seconds ago, where everything appeared as if you looked at it through a purple lens?”

“Affirmative, sir,” said Dr. Andrews. “I was able to identify it as Ioceptian Radiation, a rare byproduct of a Class VII star.”

“I see,” said Calvin. “And, is it dangerous? Prolonged exposure to it by humans, I mean.”

“No, not really,” came the reply. “At least, I should think not. There have never been studies regarding prolonged exposure—meaning months, but it is known that humans can survive exposure for days, if not indefinitely. There is a really interesting case study that suggests—”