The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (6 page)

So here I am
, she thought.
Alone
. She had never expected to die alone but, in a sense, she supposed all people died alone—for the most part. Even those with family and friends surrounding them, unless they too died simultaneously, then they were there to watch the dying person’s consciousness disappear into the unknown—never to be retrieved again. It was a horrifying thought, but also, in its way, strangely beautiful.

Rain used her gloved hands to help shield her face screen from the dust storm and she spotted the control box; it couldn’t have been more than thirty meters away. She went toward it. Stumbling a bit against the heavy winds and trying to find purchase, step by step, on the rough, heavily-cratered terrain. Eventually, though, she reached it.

It was running, just as suspected. However, the symbols were incomprehensible to her. It didn’t matter though; the setup was straightforward enough. All she had to do was pull back on the spring-loaded activation lever, and then hold it back for as long as she could—hopefully buying the
Nighthawk
, and Rafael, enough time to escape the trap.

She curled her gloves around the lever and yanked backward with all her might. There was more resistance than she had anticipated, but she managed to pull the lever into the off position and hold it there. The instant she did, the terminal responded, and the graphical interface—despite the alien text—quite clearly showed power levels dropping.

I just have to hold this down. As long as I can. Then the others can go forward with the mission
, she thought.
And save humanity
.

As she held the lever, the windstorm intensified and a large rock flew up into the air and smashed into her helmet. The face-shield absorbed the blow, sparing her from any direct injury, but the force had proven enough to crack the helmet. She looked down at her wrist display and watched as her O2 levels began plummeting.

She was doomed. And if the
Nighthawk
and Rafael didn’t jump soon, assuming they hadn’t already, then they were doomed too. I tried my best, she reassured herself, as she began to feel lightheaded, her grip beginning to slip on the lever.

Before she realized how it had happened, she found herself lying on the ground, staring up at the dust and the stars above. Her vision blanked in and out, and she felt as if she were falling asleep. A sleep from which, she knew, she would never wake.

As she lay dying, breathing in nitrogen and virtually nothing else, she reflected on life and what it meant to her. It had been a good life, she decided, even if, by some standards, hers had been cut short. Even if she’d escaped the planet, she’d only had months left to live. A fact she had made peace with long ago.

I’m truly lucky
, she thought, as her consciousness began to fade. She did not know what came next, whether there was some sort of after-existence, or if death truly was the end—the jaws of dark oblivion that awaited every living thing—but even in her uncertainty she knew one thing. And that was that she had been lucky ever to have lived at all. Even though her life had been brief, in the eyes of time, how lucky she truly was, she reflected, that the right events had happened, against all probability, to fertilize the right egg with the right sperm that had resulted in her. It had been quite the honor to be born, rather than being one of the infinite number of people that might have been, but never were. And, going even further, she’d been allowed to live out many years and decades, having gotten to see the galaxy in all its surreal beauty. She’d experienced pain and anguish as sure as she’d experienced delight and happiness, but even the negative emotions had been a privilege of a sort. To have been made of the kind of matter that could feel, and be self-aware, and experience, and not just another apathetic chunk of rock or pile of goo…

Her eyes finally closed for what she knew to be the last time and, as the darkness swallowed her, she smiled. Ever grateful for the life she had been privileged to have.

Her last thoughts were of a small smooth stone, skipping quietly along the surface of a large pond, disappearing further and further into the distance. She watched it vanish and smiled.

***

Calvin awoke with a start, immediately disoriented by the bright lights and white walls around him. The last thing he remembered, he’d been on his way down to the pod, to go to the planet’s surface and disable the dampening field. Then…something had happened. But he couldn’t quite remember what. Someone had stopped him. But why? And just how had he gotten here?

He began to sit up and, as he did, Dr. Andrews approached from seemingly nowhere.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the man said.

Calvin, now in a sitting position, finally recognized where he was, but couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten here. He was in the
Nighthawk
’s infirmary, on one of the medical beds, but that didn’t add up. Had he dreamt the mission? Or had he succeeded?

“Is the ship moved?” he asked.

Dr. Andrews looked confused.

Calvin spoke again. “The ship. The
Nighthawk
. Did we move? Are we away from the dampening field?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Andrews with a nod. “I don’t know exactly what has been going on up on the bridge, but we’ve stood down from General Quarters. So I take that to mean good news.”

Calvin looked around, counting the number of medical personnel on the shift, and realizing that Rain was nowhere to be seen. As he thought of her, it seemed to trigger a memory. He had said goodbye to her last, just before he must have gotten into the pod and descended upon the harsh planet’s surface.

“Where’s Dr. Poynter?” he asked. When Dr. Andrews glanced away, unresponsively, Calvin spoke again. This time getting up and looking the medic directly in the eyes. “Where’s Rain?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Dr. Andrews. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you but…she didn’t make it.”

“What the hell do you mean, she didn’t make it?” said Calvin, alarmed and confused. He walked away from Dr. Andrews, shouting “Rain. Rain! Where are you? Dr. Poynter!”

The medical staff stopped what they were doing. Dour expressions were on each of their faces.

No
, thought Calvin, trying to remember what Rain had said to him when last he’d seen her. Something that felt like it had only been minutes ago. Perhaps seconds.
No, that can’t be right. Rain is on the ship. She’s fine. She has to be. This has got to be some sort of practical joke. And NOT a funny one.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Dr. Andrews again.

“I’m telling you,” said the doctor, gently, “She’s not here anymore. Rain’s gone.”

Rain’s gone
. Calvin just couldn’t believe it. Their romance, brief as it had been, poured through his mind; he could still feel her touch, her hands in his, her lips on his mouth, her insights ringing in his ears—and now he would never see her again. Could that really be true?

“Just what happened?” asked Calvin. “And how did I wind up here of all places?”

“Rafael brought you here; when his pod returned, he apparently found you passed out on the deck near hatch three,” explained Dr. Andrews. “When you got here, we ran some tests and we discovered that someone had administered a strong general anesthetic into the back of your neck, followed by another medication meant to counter the respiratory depressive effects of the anesthetic.”

Rain
, thought Calvin as he reached behind him and felt two bandages on his neck. “Someone wanted you to be temporarily incapacitated, but that same person also administered an antidote of sorts, to make sure that your vital functions would be safe and that you’d gradually awaken within a short window of time.”

“It was Rain,” said Calvin, now vaguely remembering their encounter at hatch three. How she’d coaxed him into removing his climate helmet so she could kiss him. He didn’t remember anything else about that encounter, but somehow, the young doctor must have used her wiles to forcibly inject him—no doubt to save his life, and sacrifice her own…

“After evaluating you, I believe whoever did it was a medical professional,” said Dr. Andrews. “It is reasonable to believe that Dr. Poynter was the culprit. Especially since, according to Rafael’s reports, she entered the pod, wearing your climate gear, and told Rafael that she had taken over that facet of the mission, under your orders.”

“My orders,” Calvin repeated dryly. Such was Rain, he supposed, always the martyr. He shook his head. “Well, I assure you she was not acting under my orders.”

“I gathered as much, sir,” said Dr. Andrews.

“Can you tell me, did my probe idea at least get executed?” asked Calvin, wanting to make sure that everything possible had been done to save Rain.

“I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Of course not, thought Calvin. “In that case, I’ll need to use your intercom.”

“You know where it is,” said Dr. Andrews, gesturing to his left.

Calvin used the intercom to hail the bridge; Jay responded.

“It’s good to hear you up and about,” said the pilot.

“Thanks,” said Calvin, somewhat dismissively. “I need a status report right away, and an update regarding the last several minutes. I want to know exactly what happened.”

“Understood, sir.” There was silence for a while, no doubt Jay was conferring with whoever had the deck—probably Summers—and then, after a little under a minute, Jay’s voice returned. “Rain was able to disable the dampening field long enough for the
Nighthawk
to jump to safety. Since then, we have carefully navigated around the trouble spot and evaded the trap.”

“And what of Rafael and his pod?” asked Calvin.

“The pod is docked with the ship and Rafael has safely returned,” said Jay. “He’s in his quarters at the moment.”

“Did he make any effort to retrieve Rain?” asked Calvin, trying to keep his voice under control. “Or did we just abandon her?”

“We made every effort we could,” said Jay. “We even used one of our probes—like you directed—to try to distract the matrix of tractor beams, to allow Rafael’s pod to return to the planet and retrieve Rain but, unfortunately it didn’t work, and the
Nighthawk
had to rescue Rafael’s pod just as soon as the tractor beams were switching targets from the probe to the pod. So a return trip to the surface is impossible.”

“Well, there still might be something else we can do,” said Calvin determinedly. “For all we know, Rain is down there waiting for us. Depending on us to get her back here. And I’ll be damned if we give up now.” He felt his face burn red.

“I—I’m sorry, sir. Rafael was able to monitor the O2 levels in Rain’s climate suit and…something must have breached her climate gear because she rapidly lost oxygen, shortly after the
Nighthawk
and the pod were able to escape. She’s now been without oxygen for so long that…
well
…I’m sorry, sir.”

Calvin took a moment to let that sink in. Rain really was gone. And not just gone—dead. He knew she would die one day; she had been terminally ill, but somehow he’d never believed that she would actually go. She had been too vibrant, too determined, too full of life and optimism and energy. It had seemed to him that nothing in the universe could have ever truly taken her. And yet it had. The cold, merciless Reaper’s scythe had come for her, just as it would surely come for the rest of them eventually—and perhaps sooner rather than later. He shuddered at the thought.

“So the decoy probe, is it just sitting there?” Calvin asked, thinking to leave it behind would sloppily leave evidence of their existence for any patrolling Polarians.

“No, sir. Summers had it thoroughly destroyed.”

Well, at least there was that, he supposed. “Current position and heading?” asked Calvin.

“I’m following Rez’nac’s path, moving us carefully through the celestial debris and toward the Forbidden Planet.”

“Can you give me an ETA on when we’ll be clear of the asteroids and all their traps?” asked Calvin.

“Hard to say, as we keep changing speed—out of caution. But it could be quite a few minutes still, at the soonest. I’m sorry I can’t tell you exactly.”

“That’s all right,” said Calvin. “Calvin out.” He switched off the intercom.

He left the infirmary, vaguely making his way toward the bridge, but instead he found himself absentmindedly arrive at the observation deck. He was pleased to find it empty. Out the massive window, he could vaguely see various asteroids and other space debris and the
Nighthawk
’s lights shined on them, and the vessel turned, maneuvering deftly to avoid the obstacles.

Calvin knew that he should be on the bridge—perhaps especially now, while the ship was still in peril; for that matter, he needed to find out why the order had been given for all decks to stand down from General Quarters—but instead of doing his duty, and following his better judgment, he remained, feeling transfixed by the sights out the window. He approached it, placing his hand against the cold material that separated him from the dark oblivion just beyond. It felt like glass, despite being stronger than steel.