As his men breached and stormed what was probably some kind of command structure, Pellew led Nimoux and Nassar around the other way. Toward the mysterious black mound he and Campbell had spotted from the air.
“Stay sharp,” said Nimoux.
“Room clear,” he heard reported over the radio. Followed by, “southeast corridor secure.”
The dust thinned as they neared the south side of the largest structure, where the mound had been spotted.
“Something smells foul,” said Nimoux.
“What is it?” asked Pellew. Thinking his mask be filtering out the smell.
“It smells like—” Nimoux cut himself off suddenly. They’d reached the blackened mound. Pellew only had to examine it for half a second before he realized what it was. “Oh god no…” said Nimoux.
It was a pile of burned corpses. There were traces of bones in the ash but for the most part nothing even remotely human-looking remained. Whole skeletons had been broken apart and, in many cases, ground up.
“Oh shit,” said Nimoux. He ran into the pile and began sifting through the ashes and debris. “Oh shit, shit, shit…”
Pellew nodded to Nassar, who hefted his rifle and went to secure the perimeter, he then bent down and examined the charcoal-black remains for himself. There was a slimy residue, he traced it with his gloved finger.
“Looks like they used some kind of chemical agent to speed up the reaction and intensify the flames,” said Pellew. He looked at the ground up bone remains. “Not sure how they shredded all those bones. Could have been the fire I suppose, but it looks like something they did after.”
When Nimoux didn’t say anything, Pellew gave the ex-soldier a good hard look. The man seemed off in another world. He was hunched over a mound of ash and bone not moving. He was staring intensely at what looked like a skull fragment.
“You all right over there?” asked Pellew. He approached. Stepping on ash and bones as he walked.
Nimoux didn’t say anything. He still seemed lost in his own world. His mental faculties were undoubtedly weakened by his experience trying to live off the land, and now he seemed to have snapped.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” said Pellew, kneeling down next to Nimoux. He snapped his fingers directly in front of Nimoux’s face and only then did the man respond. He looked startled for an instant and met Pellew’s gaze with austere eyes.
“I killed them,” said Nimoux.
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Pellew. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Area secure,” he heard over his helmet. “The structure has been searched and secured.”
“Report,” replied Pellew.
“There’s no one here. And all the computers and terminals have been smashed to pieces.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Pellew. Obviously whoever had been here had left in a hurry, and taken care to eliminate whatever identifying evidence they could. And by the looks of it, they’d left recently. Perhaps only hours before.
“Requesting instructions. ODB is prepared to search the remaining structures at your command, sir.”
Pellew looked at Nimoux, how broken and angry he seemed, as he knelt in the ashes and bones of the people he’d lived with for the last little while. People who’d been swiftly and callously destroyed along with the rest of the evidence.
“Don’t bother,” said Pellew. “We’ve found all we’re going to find. Everyone back to the lander. Campbell, prep the bird for takeoff. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Everyone headed back to the lander like he ordered, everyone except Nimoux who simply knelt there. Staring blankly.
“Come on,” said Pellew.
No response.
He grabbed Nimoux by the arm and physically yanked the man to his feet. Nimoux’s eyes narrowed and he gave Pellew a threatening look.
“Come on,” said Pellew, nodding toward the LZ. “You can cry about it later. But right now it’s time to go.”
Reluctantly, Nimoux did as he was told and started walking back to the LZ. Clenching and unclenching his jaw as he went. Eyes staring off into the distance, furious and full of rage.
“And I’ll be taking that back,” said Pellew, relieving Nimoux of the sidearm. Thinking to himself how very interesting Nimoux’s interrogation promised to be.
***
There was no visible change out the window, everything looked as black and empty as ever. But the navigation display told them very clearly that they’d just crossed the Zero-Three-X Plane, the border of space denoting the edge of Alliance territory.
“We have now officially entered Alliance space,” said Rafael.
“Any sign of activity yet?” asked Calvin. So far their journey into the DMZ had been eerily quiet and uneventful. Now that they were entering Alliance territory, he was sure they’d run into some kind of border patrol.
“Nothing still,” said Rafael. “The kataspace channels are silent and our scopes remain empty. No one’s out there. Not even one ship.”
“That can’t be right,” said Calvin. An ominous feeling seemed to hang in the air. Rafael fidgeted nervously as he stood, keeping a watchful eye on the ops display. Miles looked rigid, every muscle tense, his face ghost-white. And even Alex seemed uncomfortable, though it was hard to tell for sure.
“I agree,” hissed Alex. “The Advent’s best intelligence has always indicated that the Alliance constantly patrols the edge of their territory, and sometimes a little beyond.”
“Intel Wing agrees,” said Calvin, thinking of the files he’d studied along with what he’d personally observed whenever he’d been near Alliance space. “But maybe we’re just in between patrols? You know, lucky timing on our part or something.” He tried to be optimistic but it was difficult.
“Perhaps,” said Alex, sounding as skeptical as Calvin felt.
“Dammit I’ll say it if no one else will,” bellowed Miles, it was the first thing he’d spoken in fifteen minutes. “They ain’t here because something bad has happened. I know it. I can feel it in my gut.”
Calvin thought Miles was probably right. He recalled the warning Samil had sent them, the chilling claim that the Alliance would soon cease to be a threat to Rotham Fleets attempting to cross the DMZ. Something has definitely happened, Calvin knew. But it was hard to guess exactly what, the Alliance fielded a mighty fleet of warships and was led by a paranoid regime that would surely utilize its sweeping political and military powers to defend its domain. What could have challenged them? All-out war with the Republic? Surely such a war would be prohibitively costly to the Rotham, and rumors of it would certainly have leaked across the border. And Calvin had heard nothing. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that something else was going on. But what?
“Perhaps they’ve withdrawn their patrols,” suggested Rafael. “Maybe the Republic brokered a deal with the Alliance to allow their fleets safe passage through the DMZ.”
That sounded the most reasonable to Calvin, but still grated against everything he understood about the Alliance’s disposition and famously distrustful nature.
“Preposterous!” hissed Alex. “The Republic would never seek such an arrangement! We are a peace-loving people.”
Calvin rotated the pilot’s chair and gave Alex a good hard look. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure,” said Alex, obviously resenting the assumption that the Republic was an aggressive party. “Besides, the Alliance would never agree to any such deal.”
That point, at least, rang true to Calvin. “All right, well, then there must be some sort of alternate explanation. Anyone have any theories?” He looked at each of them in turn, first Miles, then Rafael, and lastly Alex; none of them seemed to have any idea why everything had been so eerily silent.
“Yeah, I don’t have any guesses either,” mumbled Calvin. He spun back to his controls and made some minor adjustments to their heading and jump depth.
“So what do we do?” asked Rafael.
“We proceed as planned. We’ll go to Tybur and then see for ourselves exactly what is happening,” said Calvin. “For better or worse…”
“And if it’s bad, what then?” asked Rafael.
“I guess we’ll find out,” was all Calvin could think to say.
“We should turn back,” said Miles, “take me at my word, Cal, we’ve got to turn back.” He started pacing back and forth in what little space remained in the crowded control room.
“Sadly that’s not an option,” said Calvin. “We have to see what’s going on and then get the word out to the queen and her fleet. That’s our mandate.”
“And what about saving our asses?” asked Miles, stopping in his tracks to stare at Calvin. “What about that mandate?”
“We have to find out why the Alliance has gone dark and see if there is imminent danger to the Empire.”
“Is this really worth dying for.”
“Nobody’s going to die,” said Calvin. Hopefully. He kept that last part to himself.
“How can you be so sure?” Miles’ face turned red. “Don’t get me wrong, you know I’ve always got your back but… I don’t want die.”
“We’re just an innocent, unarmed, Rotham cargo ship on our way back to the Republic,” said Calvin in a reassuring tone. “We’re going to pass through Tybur as part of our natural flight plan back to Rotham space. No one will think anything of it.”
Miles seemed to calm down a little at this. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, yeah. Yeah that should work. We’re going to be fine.”
“Exactly,” said Calvin. Wishing he could make himself believe his own words. “Alex here will handle the comm, we’ve got our cover story all ready to go so no one should trouble us. We’ll do a quick flyby, see what we can see, and then we’ll be safely away and send word to the queen.”
Miles nodded. “Yeah. We can do that.”
“Exactly,” said Calvin, showing his friend a big fake smile. “Piece of cake. After that we’ll take a quick peek at Rotham space and then we’ll all be back onboard the Nighthawk before you know it.”
Miles laughed, looking greatly relieved. “When you put it like that, I don’t know what I was so worked up over. I guess it’s just tense in here. Oh I know—it’s cause it’s too hot. Too many people.”
“Yeah it is a little crowded in here, isn’t it,” said Calvin, adding quickly, “you know what, you’ve been working hard for a few hours. Why don’t you go take a break. Go get some rest.”
“Well, I am pretty tired. Are you sure you don’t need me up here?”
“Nah, it’s cool, I’ve got it. If I need you, I’ll call.”
“Okay, good deal.” And with that, Miles was gone. Off to get some much needed shuteye.
“That one is not very intelligent,” said Alex, after Miles had gone.
“Oh cut him a break,” said Calvin as he returned his attention to the flight controls.
“Did he seriously believe that?” asked Alex. “That we’re not risking death on this mission? And what does that mean anyway?—this is going to be a pastry?”
“Not pastry, piece of cake,” said Rafael. “It’s an idiom, it means something is going to be simple and unchallenging.”
“You don’t believe that, do you Captain?” Alex asked, hovering over Calvin’s shoulder. “That this mission is going to be simple and unchallenging?”
“No,” admitted Calvin. “No, I don’t.” But I wish, I could, he thought. “I expect it to be dangerous and difficult and we’ll be lucky to get through it alive…”
“Good,” said Alex. “I can tolerate being around a fool, but never being led by one.”
“Nothing to worry on that score,” mumbled Calvin. Hoping he hadn’t doomed them all when he’d picked them for this mission. He reminded himself of the larger picture, especially the danger to the Empire, and how important any intel they gathered would prove to be. He also had a strong hunch that whatever mysterious events were happening in Alliance space were directly connected to the conspiracy that had thrown the Empire into disarray, though it was hard to guess how.
“All right, Alex I want you to be near the comm system at all times. If we pick up anything over kataspace, I need you to be ready to reply to any hails we receive.”
“Understood.”
“Rafael, I want you to broaden our scans. If we see anything, I want to know about it right away.”
“Yes sir.”
“And keep a sharp lookout for any kataspace activity.”
“Of course.”
Calvin sighed. They would be reaching Tybur in only a few hours—assuming no one intercepted them. “Time to find out why the Alliance has gone dark,” he said. Adding silently, and whether or not we get to live.
Chapter 23
The Nighthawk’s brig was almost identical to that of the Desert Eagle. Which wasn’t really surprising, considering the two ships shared blueprints. But what did surprise Nimoux was how eerily the similarities made him feel like he was a prisoner on his own ship. And thinking about it made him miss the Desert Eagle. I wonder where it is now, he thought. Promising himself he’d be back aboard as soon as he could.
After fleeing Gamma Persei Three, the orbital landing craft had docked with the Nighthawk. And once the away team had returned to the ship, the Nighthawk’s soldiers had wasted no time dragging Nimoux off to the brig and throwing him behind a forcefield. One of the special forces soldiers was ordered to stand watch and she didn’t look too happy about it. Nimoux had tried to speak to her only once, asking for the time, and she’d barked at him to remain silent. Not wanting to cause a problem, he didn’t press the issue.
I’ll just wait, he decided. And so he did, sitting cross-legged on the hard cot. Contemplating everything while he listened to the gentle hum of air cycling through the vent as he tried to empty his mind.
The reality of what’d happened on Gamma Persei Three was difficult to process. He understood what had happened on a cognitive level, but emotionally he simply couldn’t make sense of it. He could see Harkov’s face vividly in his mind, as he recalled how—not many days ago—he’d tried to convince her to escape with him. But she’d insisted on staying with Edwards. Never fully appreciating how much danger she was in.
They were rounded up after I left, Nimoux thought. Thinking of the mound of bodies. Corpses that had been scorched by such extreme temperatures and then so thoroughly ground up that even the bones had been borderline unrecognizable.
Two questions kept repeating over and over in his head, weighing heavily on his spirit. Was there anything different I could have done? And, even harder to grapple with, did they round up the prisoners because of me, because I escaped?
Answering the first question was difficult because it depended on what the answer was to the second. If they had indeed killed off the other prisoners in response to his escape, then there was something he could have done to prevent it, he could’ve chosen not to escape. Or else delayed his escape. Or perhaps he should have chosen to remain and fight. True, he’d considered it at the time and ultimately decided the odds were strikingly against him, but they weren’t zero. He’d had a chance to try and save the others and he’d selfishly chosen not to take it so he could protect his own life…
What felt most damning was that he knew, clear and well, that the guards might do something like this. He’d distinctly gotten the impression that they were wrapping things up, and it was only a matter of time until they dealt with the prisoners in one form or another.
He couldn’t stop seeing the ring of bones and ashes in his mind, the remains of what’d been human beings mere days ago—perhaps mere hours ago—innocent victims who’d been illegally abducted, wrongly imprisoned, and now evilly slaughtered.
Damn this slaughter...
He felt himself trembling, suddenly aware of how tight his muscles had become. He felt cold even though sweat slicked his brow. He knew he needed to calm himself. To stop obsessing over the people he’d failed to help and instead th
ink of the ones he still could. The whole Empire was potentially on the brink of disaster. They needed him. They needed to know what he’d seen.
He began one of his breathing exercises and tried to empty his mind. It proved difficult. He exhaled slowly and struggled to think of blackness. Emptiness. Space. Nothingness. The void all around. It worked, allowing him to let go of the horrific images of Gamma Persei Three, and the prison, and the slaughter, and the faces of the people he’d known there. He let go of everything. Focusing on the darkness. The wonderful stillness. The tranquility of silence. The solace of empty space. Once he’d calmed his mind, he processed everything as rationally as he could.
He even started to convince himself that the slaughter before him wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted it. He certainly hadn’t ordered it or carried it out. He’d failed to prevent it. And that tasted as bitter as wormwood. But that wasn’t the same thing as being at fault for the atrocity that’d taken place. Their blood wasn’t on his hands…
Unfortunately, after a minute or so of this, another unwelcome image forced itself onto the stage of his mind, one that haunted him frequently.
I’m outdoors on a hot summer day. At a funeral. There are three caskets not five meters away, each draped with an Imperial flag. Someone is speaking, reciting praises for the fallen. And I’m forced to stand and listen quietly, burdened with a secret, knowing it’s my fault the dead are in those boxes. I put them there…
He was startled from his meditation by the sound of the door. He snapped his eyes open and saw a woman enter. She was clad in the blue-and-black uniform of the Imperial navy and wore the gold insignia of Commander on her lapel, its color matched her hair. She was strikingly good-looking, even more than her file photo had led him to believe, and Nimoux found himself taken aback for an instant—but only for an instant. Yes, she looked like some kind of mythological goddess, and that was hard not to notice, but Nimoux had learned over the years that such rare beauty usually came with its share of problems.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain Nimoux,” said the woman. “I’ve had pressing things to attend to.”
The Phoenix War Page 35
