by Jeff Taylor
Flinging Con over his shoulder, Strinnger shouted to the sisters.
“Get to the middle pod!”
The escape vessel parked in the central launch trench was larger than the other two. Strinnger correctly deduced that it was the only one large enough to seat all of them. Despite his extra load, Strinnger was the first to arrive at the aircraft.
“Hurry!” he shouted.
He dropped Con into the back seat and strapped him in while Tina ascended the ladder to the hatch.
“How do we know the tunnel out hasn’t caved in already?” she shouted over the sound of collapsing rock.
She had every reason to doubt. After all, he had only known about the existence of the pods for a handful of minutes. He had no idea what lay beyond the gaping oval cavern directly before them, but they had no choice.
“We don’t. Just get in,” he finally answered.
Tina complied, taking the seat next to the slumping Con.
“Don’t let him pass out,” Strinnger barked to Tina. Tina nodded and wrapped the foil-like blanket from the emergency kit around her weakening neighbor then tore a piece of the skirt of her robe and pressed it to his bleeding throat.
Julia reached the top of the ladder and started to step into the cockpit but hesitated.
“What’s wrong,” Strinnger asked, worried that she maybe she saw something he didn’t, like some obstruction in the chute ahead. He looked to the escape tunnel when Julia grabbed his face with both hands and pressed her starved lips against his. He clutched her around the waist and lifted her off her feet, returning her kiss with equal passion.
“I love you,” she cried, her eyes moist, “and I want you to know that before we die. You’re the reason I’m alive, in both my body and my heart.”
Another explosion erupted in the hallway behind them. The ground shook from the blast. The steel doors flung from their hinges in opposite directions, ripping through the columns on one side and smashing into the pod on the far right where Klindon’s limp body had fallen. Without the columns for support, the ceiling caved in as a tidal wave of concrete, surging toward the still idle ships.
Strinnger pushed Julia into her seat and he quickly took the pilot’s position. He had no idea how to fly the thing but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He punched the ignition switch without strapping himself in and hit the accelerator. Just as the ship left the hangar, he looked to his right and realized that something was missing. The hangar suddenly disappeared from his view and the pod streaked into the miraculously intact tunnel.
The quartet hurtled ahead until it burst through a hidden doorway in a small, ordinary looking crater on the lunar surface. A collective sigh escaped their lungs and Tina went so far as to laugh at their good fortune. But Strinnger, though relieved to be alive, was disturbed by the last image of the hidden chamber just before they’d abandoned it. It was an image that would haunt him for years; the assassin’s body was not there but had vanished before the concrete ceiling crushed the bloodstained floor where he’d left her.
CHAPTER 32
AFTERMATH
The world slowly blurred into existence from the fog of unconsciousness. The harsh light from the artificial window to his left softened as his eyes adjusted. A distant voice followed by the roar of thousands thundered in his ears as if they were miles away.
Naitus Brill blinked away the disorientation and let his eyes roam around the room. He was lying in a bed with tubes and other apparatuses extending from his withered body to dedicated stations embedded in the walls.
The room was small with only enough room for a single occupant. The walls, ceiling, floors, even the furniture, were bathed in a brilliant white. The only things on the walls were the moving images projected from the control box installed directly over his head. In the distance, he heard the soft pings of machines and muffled voices coming from the other side of the heavy metal door on the right.
Brill strained his eyes to focus on the images, unable to determine what was happening on the broadcast. A large crowd, its participants waving their arms wildly in celebration while standing on what appeared to be chunks of rubble and large boulders, played out while a banner headline ran along the bottom.
“U.N. recognizes lunar nation of Republic of Carsus; Volkor Con elected First Consul?” Brill read, incredulously. “This must be some hoax! Where am I? What’s going on here?”
At the head of the gathering perched atop what looked to Brill like the remains of the stage at the Forum, was a triumphant Volkor Con waving to the crowd from behind a makeshift podium. Behind him spreading from east to west hung a series of white banners adorned with a deep blue stripe both above and below a dark crimson emblem Brill did not immediately recognize. The large, central symbol was some form of bird with its wings extending skyward, although to Brill, it looked more like a red tuning fork with a head. His mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing.
He tried to sit up on the bed to get a better look but found he was unable to move. The atrophy in his muscles gave him no strength, but that was not the only thing restraining him. A transparent binding pressed firmly across his chest while matching bonds encircled his wrists, abdomen, and ankles. Frantically, he tried to loose himself from them. His emaciated body thrashed about wildly, but to no avail. In fact, the more he fought them the tighter the bonds seemed to become. An anguished bellow of frustration escaped his parched lips, reverberating off the bare walls around him.
In a moment, there appeared the sound of soft footfalls in the hallway outside.
“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “I am Naitus Brill. I demand you release me!”
The heavy door slowly crept open and a curly-haired woman, whose uniform was even whiter than the walls, briskly entered.
“Get me out of these!” Brill demanded hoarsely, nodding toward the bonds which held him in place.
The nurse strode confidently over to the large display monitors embedded in the wall to his right, but did not answer.
“I said,” Brill hissed at the back of her head, “let me out!”
The woman, Debbie by her name tag, spun around sharply. Her small hands reached for the strap over his chest. Brill relaxed, expecting her to free him from this unwarranted captivity, but instead of releasing him, she assured herself that the bonds were still tightly fastened and then turned toward the door.
“Get back here! Get me out of this!”
Debbie, without facing him, spoke before she reached the door. “Someone will be in to see you soon. I would appreciate it if you would keep your voice down. You’re scaring my other patients.”
“I will not be quiet! I demand to know why I am tied up like this.”
The uncooperative nurse opened the door to leave. As she did so, he caught a glimpse of a man wearing a dark uniform just outside his room. The man himself was not what caught Brill’s attention so much as the large firearm holstered at his side. This man was standing guard.
Brill’s head spun. Why is there an armed guard outside? How did I get here? The last thing he remembered was . . . the stage. He was on the stage with Ahkman, and Josephina, and Fridman, and . . .
“Nathaniel,” he murmured.
Was he alive? Was Nathaniel alive? He couldn’t be, Brill speculated.
From what he remembered, the explosion originated from beneath Nathaniel’s feet. There was no way he could have survived, was there?
Instantly he turned his attention back to the television wall. Volkor Con, the partner and Chief Operations Officer of Carsus Corp stood before the crowd, his head publicly exposed for perhaps the first time in years. A jagged scar zigzagged diagonally down his check from the right nostril to just outside his chin. What had happened? Brill’s mind raced. What would have happened in the last few hours that would have caused the inconceivable outcome playing out before him?
“Volume, up,” he commanded the television.
The anchorman was talking about the events leading up to the occasion;
the miraculous save by the Carsus technicians in plugging the air seal, the terrible casualty count despite the heroic efforts of rescue staff. “But perhaps the greatest miracle leading up to today’s result,” the reporter opined, “is that the city in large part remained intact and the vote initiated by the late Nathaniel Kratin, or Nathaniel the Great as the public there is calling him, was ratified and the nation of Carsus was born through the voice of its people. And just this morning, the United Nations officially recognized the fledgling nation. First Consul Con commemorated the milestone with a special dedicatory speech on the spot where Mr. Kratin perished during the events of last March 15th.”
“No,” Brill hushed.
“Today we take a new leap over the threshold of space,” Con’s pleasant, yet sober voice echoed over the crowd on the video clip. “Today we complete the conquest that our benefactor, Nathaniel Kratin, envisioned for this people. Today we all witness a new birth of freedom, one upon which humanity can place a foothold to the stars and conquer the elements which bound us to Earth for so long. We now own the night sky. We have secured our destiny. We now have claim on the future.”
The image shifted slightly to a later portion of the speech.
“Today marks the beginning of a new age of humanity, our new age. And just as the phoenix of myth rose from the ashes to a new life, so too will this new nation. From the broken stones we now stand upon, this city will rise again, rebuilding and reinventing our home into a beacon as bright as the night goddess we inhabit. We will bring new life and a new civilization to the evolution of man.”
Hundreds of banners fluttered violently at the mention of the phoenix, which Brill then understood to be the figure at the center of the flag.
“And to demonstrate our destiny, we will adopt the very symbol that Nathaniel believed in, the symbol of hope, of rebirth,” Con continued. “Today, on the day when our charter is accepted by the rest of our Earthly brothers and sisters, we proudly accept the Phoenix as the symbol of our nation. Long may it rise!”
The jubilant crowd sounded its approval, chanting his impromptu slogan “Long May It Rise!” as Con stepped from the podium and waved back to them with a left hand encased in metal.
“What!?” cried Brill.
How long have I been out?! First Consul? Charter? Election? The Republic of Carsus?! When had this all taken place? Nathaniel’s announcement couldn’t have happened that long ago. The whole episode was still very much fresh in Brill’s mind, as if it had occurred only the day before. How could Con have assembled the necessary organization to put together a functioning government in such a short time? Let alone have enough time to get the U.N. to approve it.
As he ruminated over what he’d just witnessed, Brill did not notice the door to his room quietly open. Two men entered, each wearing the same dark uniform as the guard outside, their perfectly polished black boots hardly making a sound as they approached his bed. The taller of the two, with gray hair and an expression of chiseled stone, removed his cap and stared hard at the dumbfounded Brill. The second man glanced upward at the box recessed in the wall just below the ceiling and said, “TV mute.” Instantly, the program complied and the images dancing before Brill continued in silence.
The tall, gray-haired man stood erect, his officer’s cap tucked firmly under his arm.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brill.”
Still slightly disoriented, it took Brill a moment to recognize Security Chief Treyklor standing at the foot of his bed.
“Treyklor? What are you doing here?” His eyes skipped from one officer to other. “You,” he scowled at the chief, his voice grave as death. “You’re responsible for this mistreatment. I promise you that when I get out of this, you’re fired! I’ll . . .”
“Mr. Naitus Brill,” Treyklor abruptly interrupted, maintaining his cold demeanor, “by the authority vested in me as Third Consul of the Republic of Carsus, I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy in the attempted murder of Nathaniel Kratin.”
“What?!” The old man’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “How dare you. Guards! Where is my security detail? Tom, Arla!”
The younger man with Treyklor turned away at the mention of the two security officers, a glint of anger mixed with regret flashed in his eyes. Brill remembered the two had also been on the stage when it exploded. From the man’s reaction, it was clear that they had not survived the explosion.
“Nevertheless, you there,” Brill ordered the younger officer. “Cut these straps off me.”
The young man, whom Brill recognized as Daeman Strinnger when he stepped closer, only stared at him.
“As soon as you are able,” Treyklor broke in once more, “you will be accompanied to a maximum-security cell where you will await trial.”
Treyklor had to be joking, Brill thought. He shook his head, chuckling to himself as Treyklor babbled something about his rights. “You have absolutely no authority to do this.”
“With the official ratification of the Charter of Carsus, I do.” There was more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he spoke. “Like it or not,” he smirked, “I now outrank you.” Without further comment, he turned to leave.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me, you cold-hearted machine,” Brill said, spouting venom. “This is a ridiculous farce that will be rectified swiftly once I get my hands on an EMP. Then you’ll all fry.”
Stopping abruptly, Treyklor and Strinnger shot each other questioning glances.
“What did you say?” Strinnger asked. “Do you know where you are? What’s happened in the last few months?”
“Of course not! How could I?” Brill shouted, “You’ve kept me unconscious in one of your cyborg prisons for the last few hours to keep me from stopping Con’s idiocy. But it won’t work. Once I get back to work you’ll both go down.”
Both Treyklor and Strinnger started at the comment. They looked at one another, clearly puzzled by the response. Treyklor cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the ailing septuagenarian.
“Mr. Brill, you are in the west wing of the Na Ming Memorial Hospital. You have been in a coma for six months. Nathaniel died the same day you were admitted here. Strinnger here is now married to his daughter Julia and is the chief police officer for the city. Con, Jonu Vim and I are now the Triumvirate, the Three Consuls; leaders of Carsus. You have literally awoken to a new world.”
Brill was dumbfounded. “Impossible,” he muttered. “You’re a liar. It’s all a part of your mind games to deceive me into doing your will. But it won’t work. I won’t go quietly!”
Not a single sign of emotion was betrayed on Treyklor’s face. Of course, he wouldn’t show any feeling, Brill thought. His expressions are frozen in plastic. Underneath he is all steel and wires; he’s not even human.
Treyklor stepped nearer and Brill recoiled, suddenly fearful of would he imagined the “monster” would do to him. The Third Consul, in his crisp navy-blue uniform with red piping down the sides, bent over slightly to speak in the former founder’s ear.
“You’re lucky you have a history of mental illness over this last year. You might actually have a chance to get out of this. But Mr. Strinnger and I both know what you did. Just before she died, Leniston told us everything; that you hired the hit man that killed Hanel Schulaz and you were the one to convince her and Ahkman to do the same to Nathaniel. It was a very damning confession substantiated by the little napkin we found in your robe after you went down.”
Treyklor removed the cloth napkin with Eve’s message from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. Brill glared at it.
“I have never seen that before in my life,” he said defiantly.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Treyklor replied.
Straightening to his full stature, Treyklor tossed a transparent, feather-thin datapad onto Brill’s chest. The wounded man arched his neck to try and catch a glimpse of its content but could not get the proper angle because of his restraints.
“What’s that?” he growle
d.
A slight smile formed at the corner of Treyklor’s thin mouth. “A do-not-resuscitate order. I do hope you sign it.”
Brill was incensed. Yet just as he was ready to unleash a hail of fury upon the Consul, he stopped mid-breath, frozen in horror as if he were seeing death itself standing in the room. Treyklor’s eyes furrowed and he followed Brill’s gaze behind him to Chief of Police Strinnger. It wasn’t the young officer himself that Brill focused on, but the white armband on his sleeve. At the center of the white background was a palm-sized, crimson emblem, similar to the one Brill had seen boldly highlighted on the banners behind Con during his announcement, only this one was slightly different. Instead of a tuning fork this bird was more like a double-edged blade split at the center by another sharp dagger with the head of a sinister looking bird atop its diamond-shaped hilt.
Brill looked from Strinnger’s arm to the television. On the wall, the news broadcast continued. A still photo of First Consul Con standing before the fluttering RC banner was frozen on the screen while some analysts debated the politics of the Consul’s address. Brill cared nothing for the talking heads, but fixed his eyes on the triumphant Con and the blazing bird behind him. Another image conjured in his memory, one that he had suppressed but now recalled with amplified clarity; the fiery bird hoisted by the metal hand of a half-man half-machine monstrosity. Today we accomplish the conquest . . . and conquer the elements. Those had been Con’s words and they reminded Brill of others: By this, I shall conquer! As he watched the man wave his iron hand to the crowd, Brill realized his long-forgotten dream had been a vision, a prophecy of things to come. With those words and the symbol of the phoenix blazing in his eyes, Brill recognized Con as the monster of his nightmares.
