The Phoenix War (44 page)

Rez’nac had lived and served and bled for his
Essence. Ever since the seer had discovered for him that he was of
Khalahar. One of the mightiest and most privileged of the Essences.
But in one stroke he’d undone it all, revealing his unworthiness.
He’d shown the Essences that he lacked the strength of will to
complete the Arahn-Fi and slay his son. A son who had constantly
defied him and had shed innocent blood. Had Rez’nac been strong,
had he true to Khalahar, he would never have hesitated. He would
have dealt justice and preserved the balance.

But I did not
, he reflected
sorrowfully. And yet, strange though it was, he did not regret his
decision. For it had been genuine, and had revealed his truest
self. It had been a test of his Essence and he’d failed it.
Revealing that he was unworthy. That he would not be joining the
Essence of Khalahar after his life ended. His unjoining had been a
tragic blow to his sense of self, destroying his pride and even
stripping him of his lifelong identity, but because of it... Grimka
had lived.

Grimka was not a perfect son. Indeed he left
much to be desired. He lacked knowledge. He lacked empathy. He
lacked grace. And perhaps most of all he lacked wisdom. But,
because of Rez’nac, his lungs still drew breath. And in time,
Rez’nac hoped, the young Polarian would be fostered by the
Essences, filled with experience beyond measure, and develop the
wisdom and virtue that would make him a great honor to his Essence.
Had I slain him during the Arahn-Fi, as our ways demanded, then
he would not have had any hope
, thought Rez’nac. Through his
disgrace, he’d purchased for his son a second chance, and though
the consequences were eternal and without end, Rez’nac knew it was
true to himself to do what he’d done, even if it hadn’t been true
to his Essence.

The Rotham ship sailed on through the empty
void of alteredspace, ever onward toward some mortal mission.
Something that, to everyone else on the ship, seemed unspeakably
urgent and profoundly meaningful. But Rez’nac knew it wasn’t. Their
actions now, indeed their
very
lives, were but mere breaths.
Blinks of the eyes. Mere flickers of light sputtering against the
unceasing darkness, there one moment and gone the next. They had no
Essences, no enlightenment, no higher purpose nor transcended
meaning. And now neither did Rez’nac.
I am rakh like them
,
he thought. Accepting that he was nothing to the Essences now,
devoid of all his potential, but refusing to believe he was truly a
Dark One. Even though the High Prelain, had he been there, would
undoubtedly tell him he was.

Still, despite all of the emptiness that
seemed to burden every action, Rez’nac remained a man of his word.
Though his word was technically of no value, at least in the sight
of the Essences, he knew he would never, indeed
could
never,
betray his friends or his oaths. And so, out of respect for the
other rakh he was serving with on this strange, Rotham ship, he
made every effort to do his part. Followed the instructions of the
human captain, Calvin Cross, as exactly and completely as he knew
how.
My life is as naught
, he reflected,
but, even though
it is of no value, it belongs to Calvin and the humans. As a price
for how Grimka wronged them by slaying their brother Patterson, and
as penalty for my decision to stay my hand during the Arahn-Fi and
choose for justice to go unfulfilled
…

After the ship had been travelling for some
time. Rez’nac found himself alone in the cargo bay, where he and
the one named Alex, a Rotham, lived. He set about performing the
rite of the Pon’yor.
The Offering
. An act of immense
gratitude to the Essences, pledging one’s loyal service to them in
exchange for safe passage through the dangerous black ocean of
space. It was the way all journeys were supposed to begin, and a
measure of protection against the threat of being lost forever in
the cosmos.

As he performed the ritual, Rez’nac knew his
gesture was empty. That the offering he made would neither be heard
by the Essences nor accepted. He was dark in their eyes, invisible,
indistinguishable from the blackness of space itself. The light
he’d once carried within him, the very torch of his soul, had been
extinguished forever by his unjoining. And so there wasn’t any
point to the Pon’yor anymore, not for him. And yet he couldn’t get
himself to refrain. He’d begun every journey this way. Even on the
Nighthawk, after he’d returned in disgrace, he’d still felt
compelled to perform the Pon’yor. And he had. Completing it in the
privacy of the quarters they gave him, alone, in the sight of no
one and no Essences. A waste of time, he’d known. But he’d done it
all the same. And now here he was again. Wasting more time. Walking
himself carefully through the chants and actions of the ritual,
with sharp attention to every detail, making certain every aspect
was done with perfect exactness.

When he was nearly finished with the Pon’yor,
the door opened and Calvin entered the cargohold. It seemed to take
him a moment to realize what Rez’nac was doing and then the human
looked apologetic. He seemed about to leave, clearly not wanting to
interrupt the ritual, but Rez’nac did not want him to go. It was
nice to not be alone. Polarians were not meant to be solitary
creatures, in life or in death. It was unnatural.

“You are welcome to stay, captain,” said
Rez’nac, pausing the ritual. It felt a little strange to be
speaking the human language directly after chanting so much in his
native tongue, but Rez’nac knew that Calvin—like most humans—was
unfamiliar with the Polarian language.

“Are you sure?” asked Calvin. “I don’t want
to disrupt anything.”

“You are no disruption,” said Rez’nac. “You
are master of this ship and master of my destiny,” he bowed. “This
ship and I both belong to you.”

Calvin seemed unsure what to say. And so
Rez’nac resumed the Pon’yor, exactly where he’d left off, and
Calvin watched from the side. Seeming every bit as curious and
confused as he had the last time he’d witnessed the Pon’yor. Back
when Rez’nac had still been of Khalahar, and his own master.
Perhaps Calvin’s confusion was because the Pon’yor was performed
differently when done by an individual.

Rez’nac passionately went through the motions
and chants that concluded the Pon’yor and at no point did Calvin
look comfortable, but to his credit the human maintained a
respectful silence and Rez’nac found it easy to keep his
concentration. Once the echo of the last utterance ceased and the
cargohold fell silent, Rez’nac felt a sad smile spread across his
face and he turned to Calvin.

“It is finished,” he said. “Thank you for
indulging me.”

“No problem,” said Calvin. “You’re welcome to
do whatever religious rites you want to here in the cargohold.
Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

“I am grateful,” Rez’nac nodded respectfully.
“And I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Is there something I may
do for you?”

“I was just checking on things,” said Calvin.
“I’m actually on my way to my cabin to get some rest before my next
watch. But I wanted to make sure everything was going well for
you.”

“That is understandable,” said Rez’nac.
Remembering how he would see to the needs of those who’d belonged
to him.

“So… are things going well?” asked Calvin,
giving Rez’nac a probing look.

“
Well
is a difficult state to define,”
said Rez’nac. “But things are as they should be, as the Essences
desire.”

“I mean, how are things going for you in
particular?” Calvin clarified. He took a few steps closer. “I know
it must be hard, going through what you’ve gone through. Having to
part ways with your comrades.”

It was obvious that Calvin had no idea what
Rez’nac had gone through, but it was kind—in a strange, human sort
of way—that he thought he did, or was at least making an effort to
pretend to understand.
Even though you are rakh
, thought
Rez’nac,
you are an honorable creature in this universe. If you
had been Polarian, no doubt you would have remained true to your
Essence. I am quite sure you have more honor than I
. But
Rez’nac kept those thoughts to himself and instead decided to say,
“I am what I am. I cannot say if I am well. But I can say that I am
willing. Show me the way and tell me what to do, and I shall do
it.”

Calvin nodded. His face seemed to change
color a little. Human faces had that tendency. It was a curious
attribute of the species. “If you don’t mind my asking,” said
Calvin, sounding hesitant.

“You may ask anything of me at any time,”
said Rez’nac. “And I shall always be glad to answer.”

“Okay…” Calvin hesitated, then spoke. “What
exactly happened with Grimka?” He folded his arms, keeping his eyes
locked on Rez’nac. Curiosity and confusion seemed to glisten in his
very irises. “I mean… the last time I talked to you, before I went
to Capital World, I gave you the evidence that implicated Grimka in
the murder of Staff Sergeant Patterson. And now you’re here by
yourself, without the rest of your division. What happened?” He
then quickly added, “you don’t have to answer that. If you don’t
want to.”

Rez’nac stared at the human, looking down at
the shorter person, and searched deep within his soul. Indeed, what
had
happened? He remembered the events in perfect detail and
yet he felt as though he didn’t understand what’d happened any
better than Calvin did.

“I suppose the answer is this…” said Rez’nac,
in sober reflection. “It is difficult for a father to end the life
he created… Or, at least, it was so for me. And… I found myself
unequal to the task.”

Calvin’s eyes filled with pity and he seemed
to regret asking the question. But Rez’nac did not mind answering
it. He was well aware of his shame, and its resulting consequences.
It would be pointless to avoid the subject. And empty to pretend
that anything other than the truth was so.

“As a result, I am unjoined. No longer of
Khalahar. No longer a true Polarian,” he stated it
matter-of-factly, showing none of the broken feelings that
tormented him inside.

“Oh I’m sure that’s not true,” said Calvin.
In a well-meaning, totally ignorant, display of human sympathy.
“You’re still you. You’re every bit the hero you proved yourself to
be on Remus Nine. And on top of that…” Calvin went on to tell him
how strong and brave he was. Launching into a series of statements
designed to reassure Rez’nac and prop him up emotionally.

It was not his place to interrupt Calvin,
Rez’nac knew, nor was it his place to contradict his master or
disagree. And so he listened respectfully to Calvin, knowing the
human meant well, even though his words were empty, and wrong, and
ignorant, and perhaps even blasphemous. But he didn’t know any
better. And his culture, that of the humans, was one of constant
moral encouragement, even when encouragement was undeserved. And
Rez’nac had always found it interesting that, unlike the Polarians
and the Rotham, the humans seemed to coddle their adults—and not
just their infants—and had a strange and pervasive need to wrap
their fragile emotions in a protective-tape of false compliments
and insincere praise. Calvin, no doubt, was trying in his own human
way to be a good person and show kindness. Rez’nac would not
dishonor him and so he listened politely, neither agreeing with
Calvin nor disagreeing. Eventually the human ceased his effort.
Probably believing that he’d helped undo some of the shame that had
befallen Rez’nac, through his positive—and entirely empty—words of
encouragement.

After that, Calvin left. And Rez’nac found
himself alone once more. Having completed the Pon’yor and knowing
there was nothing else productive to do, Rez’nac went to the corner
of the room and sat. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind,
allowing himself to listen to the silence.

***

“Three. Two.
One
.”

Summers watched the 3d display intently,
deeply concerned. Even though their scans had shown no military
vessels present in the system, she couldn’t get past the nagging
suspicion that the Phoenix was there. Waiting to slaughter them
all.
Have I ordered us all to our deaths
? She wondered.
Trying to play it as safe as possible, she’d ordered the White
Shift back to duty. She wanted her best people on the bridge in
case this proved to be an elaborate trap.

“We have returned to normal space,” said
Sarah. Instantly the window filled with stars. And the 3d display
showed the Nighthawk alone. “Currently five million mc’s from the
Gamma Persei star.” The unassuming yellow sun could be seen out the
window. A round speck about ten times brighter than any other.

“All stop,” ordered Summers.

“Answering all stop,” said Sarah.

“Mister Iwate, what do we see?”

“There are four small vessels in close orbit
around the third planet from the sun,” said Shen, examining his
displays. “It’s the only planet able to support life.”

“Starships?” asked Summers. Wondering why
their scans hadn’t detected them until the Nighthawk was physically
within the system.

“No, not starships,” said Shen. “They are
very, very small craft. Looks like surface-to-orbit planetary
vehicles. No alteredspace capability. The largest one is not much
bigger than a gunship.”

“Are they a threat to us?” Summers folded her
arms.

“No. Not even remotely.”

“Why didn’t we detect them sooner?” asked
Summers.

“The vessels are in such a low orbit that
they’ve actually entered the planet’s atmosphere,” explained Shen.
“One of them is in the lower thermosphere, two are in stratosphere,
and one is in the mesosphere. There is also debris on the planet
surface that is of similar consistency. Their orbits have decayed
and all craft are losing altitude.”