Phoenix Reborn

by Joseph Mackay

  “What?!” Setzer screamed as Harruhama, Sanders, and the twelve guards walked through the door.

  Connor sat down in an open seat and watched the man’s face turn white.

  “Colonel Setzer, I presume?” the general asked.

  “I don’t know what this kid might have told you, but I didn’t have anything to do with the attack. He has made a lot of enemies with that smart attitude of his!” Setzer said frantically.

  “Calm down, Colonel. What attack are you talking about?” Harruhama asked patiently.

  Setzer looked at Connor with an angry glare to see the boy smiling back at him, on the verge of laughter.

  “Oh it’s nothing, General. Some boys got into a fight in a training room and Pereira ended up in the infirmary for a few days,” Setzer said, backpedaling.

  “I trust a full investigation was made and the perpetrators punished?” Harruhama asked.

  “Of course,” was all the man said.

  “I’m sure the general won’t mind if you forwarded him your report,” Major Sanders cut in, offering Connor a wink.

  “Yes, please do, Colonel.” Harruhama nodded.

  “Of course, sir,” Setzer said through gritted teeth.

  Connor watched delightedly as the man squirmed. He hadn’t expected Major Sanders to step in and help out, but it made him wonder if he should reevaluate his dislike for the man.

  “On to business; as you know conscript Pereira has proven a capable and rational commander. We have a special assignment for him if he accepts it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Setzer was still sweating from his bald head.

  Harruhama walked over to where Connor was sitting and kneeled down.

  “I would like you to come with us to a special training facility, where your skills will be put to use for the greater good of the UEDF.”

  “Why me?” Connor asked curiously.

  “Because we need you to pilot Hati. I’m not sure if you know it, but you created a slipstream portal when you went to the Eagle Nebula that carried you much faster than we thought possible,” Harruhama explained quietly.

  Intrigued, Connor asked, “How much faster?”

  “The time lapse for you was twelve hours. The previous record was two-and-a-half weeks at that distance, and the standard slipstream takes months! You saved the lives of all the survivors of the UEDF Griswold with your jump, Connor.”

  “I had no idea. I was just worried about my brother,” Connor said earnestly.

  “Will you come with us and help us on a special mission against the Gortha?” Harruhama asked gently.

  “Sure, but can I say goodbye to my friends here?” Connor asked, looking like a little boy for the first time since Harruhama had met him.

  “Sure, Connor. I have business at the Academy; our transport will leave in twenty-four hours. Go be with your friends.”

  Connor turned to leave the room, pausing to look back at Colonel Setzer. He raised his fist, pointing one finger at the man, and jerking his hand backwards like he had just pulled a trigger. Then he ran to the lift and back to the Blue Army barracks to say his goodbyes.

  Chapter 15

  An Old Familiar Feeling

  He awoke to the smell of cinnamon rolls baking, the sweet air stirring him from a dream that dissipated ephemerally like smoke in the wind. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was a small apartment decorated with pictures of people he didn’t recognize. There was no holotube in the room, but an old-style record player was spinning, quietly playing an unfamiliar, haunting instrumental piece.

  He was lying on an old couch made from a coarse fabric that held up firmly against the weight of his body. Trying to sit up against the heavy blanket, he felt pain rippling with every movement. He could tell he had been injured, but couldn’t remember how. His ankle hurt the worst of all and, fighting the sting, he managed to sit upright. When he went to remove the blanket from his body, he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Modesty set in and he sat back, trying to remember how he got there.

  He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember anything at all.

  The sound of somebody moving in the next room caused him to reach unconsciously for a weapon on his back that was not there.

  “Now why’d I do that?” he asked to himself.

  “Oh, you’re awake!” a woman’s voice said from the next room.

  A woman wearing a light-blue dress walked through the doorway, carrying a tray of cinnamon rolls. She was a mature woman, in her mid-fifties maybe, with dark-brown eyes and light-blonde hair that was beginning to show the edges of gray on her temples. When she smiled at him, deep lines of a stress-filled life creased around her eyes. She had an aura of gentleness that made her seem like she had raised children and carried herself like a woman who was not afraid.

  “Hi,” he said, trying to smile against the pain of his body.

  “Hello, I’m April,” she greeted warmly. “Who might you be, sir?”

  “I am not really sure; I mean, I can’t remember exactly.” He fought against the haze in his mind to try to remember his own name.

  “I see. Well, you hit your head plenty hard out there; give it a few minutes and see how you feel. I managed to drag you inside and treat your wounds. They looked pretty bad.”

  She walked around to the couch and pulled up his blanket, examining his foot. From a nearby end table she grabbed a jar and began spreading a cool cream on his injury.

  “Thank you for helping me,” he said earnestly. “What is that?”

  “It’s a poultice to reduce swelling. I think you broke your ankle.” She grimaced as she worked.

  “Do you know what happened to me?” he asked, feeling the pain relieve in his foot a bit.

  “Well. I found you near the airport, under a bridge. A bright white light caused me to look outside my window and the whole area exploded. When I went outside, I found you lying there, alive. Since the riots started, I haven’t been able to get a hold of emergency services, so I took you in.”

  “Thank you kindly, April.” He smiled as he rested back against the cushion.

  “Would you like a cinnamon roll? You’ve been out for days, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  “That would be great.”

  He grabbed one of the hot rolls and broke it apart with his fingers, putting a small piece in his mouth. The cinnamon roll was delicious, igniting his taste buds.

  “Connor would love these,” he remarked offhandedly. The name was fuzzy in his mind and in an instant, was gone. “Who’s Connor?”

  “Sorry, I have no idea,” April replied, going back into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a tall glass of milk.

  “You’re too kind. Really, thank you,” he said, taking a drink of the milk.

  She smiled at him and sat down on a chair next to the couch, watching him eat.

  “Marlena, do you know where my clothes are?” he asked, remembering that he was naked under the blanket.

  “It’s April, dear. I have them hanging out to dry right now. They were an absolute mess when I found them.”

  “I’m sorry, April. What did I say?”

  “You called me Marlena. Is that someone you know?”

  The thumb on his left hand unconsciously moved to stroke the gold wedding band he wore.

  “Maybe … I think she is my wife,” he replied, fighting to remember.

  “Could very well be; although, I’m not sure what kind of a wife would leave her handsome husband alone on the street, near death.” April flashed him another smile.

  He smiled back uncertainly while grabbing another cinnamon roll off the tray and eating it. The smell made him think of a kitchen he used to bake in with his family. Their faces were shadows in the memory and he couldn’t quite place where they were supposed to be.

  “I think my memory is starting to come back. I can remember a house in a valley surrounded by vineyards,” he said to her, trying hard to piece together the images in his head.

  “Sounds lovely, b
ut there aren’t any places like that around here.”

  “Where is ‘here’?” he asked.

  “Queens, New York.”

  “Oh. You mentioned something about a riot, is it dangerous around here?”

  “It’s not so bad in Queens. Manhattan is completely closed off and surrounded; a lot of other places are too. Things are getting bad everywhere these days.”

  “Wow. What happened?”

  “Oh, a terrorist killed two members of the Earth Military Council and started a global conspiracy, which caused everyone to go nuts. I don’t know why though, the UEDF always seemed pretty good to me.” April shrugged.

  “Well, what about…” he began.

  She interrupted him, saying, “I think that’s enough talk about that for now, why don’t you rest a bit. You were almost dead two days ago, after all.”

  “Okay. Thanks again for helping me.”

  He rested back under the blanket and drifted to sleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  He knew it was a dream before he heard her footsteps in the hall. This house no longer existed. He remembered that explosion, even in his sleep. It had been hard to make the decision to sacrifice his entire estate; he had taken so much pride in building it with his family. He’d set the explosives, knowing full well that they might kill him, and timed the egress into the safe room behind the bookshelf in his office, when the operative ran out. He even thought he timed it right so that the assassin wouldn’t escape.

  Her smile disrupted the disturbing memories of the day he faked his death. Her red lips curving upwards, promising a sweet escape from the stress of his memories. She peeked into the office with a playful look in her eye. From behind the door, she raised a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “It’s just you and me tonight,” she said, her lips forming each word carefully. Her dark hair swayed as she leaned into the room, coming around the corner wearing a red dress.

  “You look beautiful, Mrs. Mercer,” William said, a smile forming on his face.

  “And you look very handsome, Mr. Mercer.” She walked up to him, looking up at him with her almond-colored eyes.

  He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her close. He could smell the scent of melon in her hair as he breathed in deep, intoxicated by this woman.

  “Why, sir, whatever are you doing?” she said playfully, twirling her hair with her left hand.

  “I am loving you with all my heart, Marlena.” The sincere weight of his tone caused her to shiver.

  “I got chills.”

  Tears rimmed his dark-blue eyes. “I did too. I wish this weren’t a dream.”

  “Me too, baby. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, every day,” he said as his tears began to fall.

  ~ ~ ~

  William awoke in the darkness, tears in his eyes as he sat up against the pain of his injuries. His memory had come back in his sleep and he knew he couldn’t stay in this place any longer.

  “April, are you there?” he called into the darkness.

  After a moment, a light came on from a room off the kitchen.

  “What’s the trouble, dear?” she asked, coming into the room wearing a long robe.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to leave.”

  “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. Why don’t you rest?” She sat on the chair next to the couch.

  “I appreciate all you have done for me, truly. But I am putting you in danger by being here and I need to go.”

  “I find that hard to believe, how am I in any danger?” she asked, sounding confused.

  “Because I am the Dragoon, the terrorist who started the riots, the riots that are becoming a revolution and I am a prime target for UEDF troops.”

  “I see. Are you going to kill me?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course not,” he replied, trying to sound unthreatening.

  She stared at him for a long while before speaking again.

  “It’s a shame.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s nothing, I’ll get you your things. But you are going to have trouble walking on that ankle for a while,” April warned as she went into the next room.

  “I know it. I’ll manage though.”

  She walked back in a minute later dragging his mechanized battle armor and clothes behind her. She set them by the couch and left the room.

  He slowly got dressed into his battle armor, which fit tightly against his skin, causing his aches to flare up. He grimaced as he bent over to put his pants on over the suit and proceeded to get dressed through the pain. He could barely put any weight on his ankle, even with the battle armor enhancing his movements.

  April came back in carrying his hat and gun. She handed the objects to him and moved in close, hugging him. William Mercer stood there holding his hat and weapon, accepting the hug passively.

  “You seem like a good man. Be careful out there,” she said, letting him go.

  William pulled his bandana up around his face and put his large-brimmed hat onto his head. He tipped the edge of the hat toward the woman who had saved his life.

  “Thank you again, for saving my life.”

  Using his gun as a makeshift walking stick, the man hobbled out of the apartment.

  ~ ~ ~

  When he got down to the street level, all was quiet. The sky had a pale orange color to it and the air was cool as he exited the apartment building. He had no idea how long he’d slept in April’s apartment or even what time it was, but it was clearly late. The fires set from the attempt on his life had been out for a long time. He walked slowly in the direction of what used to be JFK Airport, taking heavy steps that sent ripples of pain shooting through his legs.

  He knew he wouldn’t make it too far walking, but hoped that as soon as he could get into the military transport station, he might find an AMFR or at least some pain medication. The UEDF IG soldiers hadn’t rebuilt the checkpoint since the bombardment and he walked through, finding only ashen remains of what used to be a squad of soldiers.

  On the far side of the checkpoint William got lucky and discovered an AX-11 utility vehicle that had not been destroyed by the orbital defense cannon. He got inside and searched around for the keys. As luck would have it, the keys were above the visor on the driver’s side of the AX-11 and he started it up, listening to the engine grumble for a moment before putting it in gear.

  He drove slowly toward the airport, fighting to remain conscious through the waves of agony that were throbbing through his body. The walk to the checkpoint hadn’t been long, but the effort on the ruined body of the man had nearly put him on the ground. Now that he was sitting, he had trouble remaining focused and feared that he wouldn’t make the short journey to the transport station.

  Ahead in the darkness, he could see lights of transports flying in and out of the airport but saw no guards or patrols.

  “I guess now that I am dead again, they don’t feel so worried all the way over here,” he smirked.

  He stopped the truck outside the front of a terminal and hobbled into the building as quickly as he could manage. The area wasn’t busy at this hour; a few flight mechanics were sitting together drinking coffee at a table on the other side of the terminal and the occasional soldier walked by in a hurry to get somewhere.

  He removed his hat and bandana, trying to not seem too obvious as he walked across the terminal, limping heavily. He held his weapon under his duster, trying to keep it out of sight as well. The people here didn’t seem overly alert as he proceeded out to the gates. From the windows he saw many VS91 Transport Shuttles and old-fashioned planes at the gates and on the runways. They had brought several battalions into the city in order to quarantine Manhattan and quell the riots, but it looked like the soldiers who had come through were long since gone.

  William walked through one of the gates out to the transport. He went straight to the first aid kit in the back of the vehicle, opening it to find some mild pain medication. He consumed six tablets and settled into a seat in the
near the back. He didn’t know how to fly an aircraft, unfortunately, and got it in his mind to wait until a pilot arrived. The seat was comfortable, and the man closed his eyes, waiting.

  ~ ~ ~

  He awoke to the sound of someone walking into the VS91. Whoever it was seemed to be alone. In his haze, William hadn’t considered how he was going to fight if more than one person arrived to operate the transport. The sun had risen outside, and the morning was hazy from the smoke of fires he couldn’t see. As the man settled into the cockpit, William waited quietly in the back. The shuttle began to lift off, heading south along the shoreline.

  William waited until they were far from the city before walking up to the cockpit and sitting down in the co-pilot chair.

  “Hi,” he remarked casually.

  “What the?!” the pilot said, startled. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was in the back, waiting for you. I want to get to the OMBIcademy,” William said, raising his weapon at the pilot.

  “Calm down. If you could fly, you would have, so you’re not going to shoot me.”

  “You’re probably right. But you should know that I am the Dragoon, which means I will be killed if you land me anywhere near a base, so really I have nothing to lose.”

  The cold look in the man’s eyes told the pilot he was telling the truth. He looked out the front window for a moment and then turned back toward the man with the strange three-barreled gun pointed at him.

  “Okay, OMBIcademy it is! Which way?”

  “It’s off the coast of Japan, on an island called Kita-Daito. Can this transport make it that far?”

  “Sure, but I don’t know if we will get shot down before we get there,” the pilot said, turning the craft northward.

  “What’s your name?” William asked.

  “Captain Blackwell,” the pilot replied.

  “Well Captain, let’s make sure we don’t get shot down.” William smiled, the comment earning him a glare.