When the Hunter ship finally reached Capital World and the surviving crew of the IWS Nighthawk finally made it onto a shuttle and eventually to the surface of Capital World, they received a hero’s welcome. Kalila had seen to that. Not only had she spread the news of their heroism far and wide, she had arranged for massive crowds to greet them the instant their boots touched the ground.
Naturally, Kalila had also arranged for the deployment of security forces to keep the crowds a comfortable distance away, but Calvin still found it strange to see so many people, screaming and cheering for him and his small group of surviving crew. He had been a public figure on Capital World already—ever since he had agreed to become Kalila’s Executor—her right-hand puppet. But the experience was new for the rest of them; Summers seemed the most embarrassed as large cutouts of their faces were waved at them, along with massive, handwritten signs.
Before they could even be debriefed, or given a chance to rest or recuperate, they were herded, politely but involuntarily, by their military handlers in cars to the massive Public Square in the planet’s capital city. As they passed ruins, the result of bombing—most likely by Raidan—Calvin was surprised how much of it had been repaired, and how many people and resources seemed assigned to the task of clearing away all signs of destruction.
At the Public Square, Kalila gave a speech in their honor. Her words made them out to be far more heroic than Calvin felt and, as he stood there, along with the others, red-faced and tired, Kalila seemed to go on endlessly. Praising them, each of them, by name, and declaring before all the Empire how great these “Saviors of the Empire” were. The cheering, the applause, the overwhelming enthusiasm from the massive crowds, proved just as discomforting as Kalila’s speech. And whenever they interrupted her with their cheers, she encouraged them—so they did it often.
After what felt like hours, they eventually were taken to luxurious quarters and allowed some rest. Calvin didn’t know if the rest of his crew had interacted during that time or not, because he spent the time sleeping. What had been meant to be a short power nap somehow took the entire afternoon, and he only woke when food arrived, followed by their military handlers, who escorted them all, again in a motorcade, to Aelfred National Military Cemetery.
It was a massive cemetery, where only the Empire’s fallen soldiers were buried—and, even then—most required some sort of proof of heroism to qualify for burial in this place. Despite the stringent requirements, many thousands had been buried at Aelfred. As Calvin took it all in, the overcast sky seemed to mute the brightness of the green grass that spread all around, like a vast, endless ocean. Poking up from the grass, in orderly rows and columns, like soldiers in formation, were countess white ankhs, each inscribed with the names and details of the soldier whose remains rested in that spot.
As Calvin took it all in, held in awe at the amount of sacrifice that had led to so many thousands of deaths—and knowing it reflected far less than one percent of the soldiers and officers who had died in service of the Empire—he felt humbled.
He and the others were respectfully corralled to a prearranged spot where, again, they stood in positions of honor, in plain sight of the crowds of people and cameras. Calvin and his surviving crew were spaced apart, each of them standing behind Kalila, who spoke from a podium. Between them and the crowd of mourners, aside from a massive security force, were several coffins. Draped over each was the black, silver, and blue flag of the Empire. Calvin counted them, only to realize that each of the coffins represented someone who had died on the Nighthawk, or during the mission—all except for the soldiers, who were not represented.
Kalila gave yet another speech. This one too spoke of heroism, but focused mainly on themes of: sacrifice, martyrdom, honor, and grief. Eventually, after what must have been thirty-minutes of praise for the revered dead, Kalila read each name, one-by-one. And, one-by-one, a coffin was lowered into its final resting place; meanwhile, an honor guard fired blank rounds into the air.
These were my people, thought Calvin, as this process went on. It was my duty to watch over them.
Even civilians, like Rain, were given the full military honors. The entire time Calvin felt his eyes burn and he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and weep. Even though he did not recognize each of the names, every single one felt like an indictment against him, as the CO who had survived while all of these, his people, had died.
Calvin managed not to cry until the name Miles Brown was spoken. At first, his tears were of sorrow but then they turned to tears of rage. It’s your fault he died, Calvin thought, seething, as he stared at Kalila.
Eventually, the last coffin was buried, and Kalila went on to name each of the ships that had been destroyed during the Battle for Capital System. She also made it clear that this funeral—for which no expense had been spared—was also a tribute to those who had perished at Layheri-Alpha and Centuria V. Kalila did not mention how the Imperial Navy had turned and fled, abandoning Centuria V to its fate.
Eventually the vainglorious funeral ended and, slowly, the crowd dissipated, other than a select few VIPs who were allowed to remain.
Calvin wandered over to Rain’s grave, where he knelt and said his goodbyes. “I loved you,” he whispered. “Thank you. Thank you for all that you taught me.” He felt his eyes tear up and he had to take a moment to wipe the water from his eyes. “Thank you for helping me with…” Unable to continue, he stopped whispering and rose to his feet.
There were other people who had gathered around, and as Calvin looked around, it quickly became obvious that this was Rain’s family. The resemblance was obvious. In fact, for a split second, Calvin thought he was seeing Rain herself there, standing and weeping over her own grave. Calvin had to blink and, only after staring at the beautiful young woman with fiery hair and blue eyes, did he discover a few minor differences. Her sister, thought Calvin. Of course! It must be!
Before he could leave and pay his respects to the others, Rain’s mother stopped him and asked, “Did you know my daughter?”
“Yes,” Calvin replied. He could tell the woman wanted to ask more, but was clearly struggling to vocalize any words. So, Calvin answered the question he believed Rain’s mother was trying to ask. “Rain was…” said Calvin, “Perhaps the most remarkable woman I ever had the pleasure of meeting. She…uh…” he found himself wiping away more tears as a smile came to his face as a flood of memories overtook him. Even now, that damned Rain is trying to lift my spirits, he thought. “She was the most positive and optimistic person that I’ve ever met,” Calvin continued. “And she had a way of making even the darkest darkness always seem a little bit brighter, for everyone who knew her.”
“Thank you,” Rain’s mother mouthed the words, still unable to speak. Calvin nodded and moved on.
One by one he spent a few moments giving his respects to each of the fallen, including the officers whose names he did not recognize. I should have known you, he thought, every time he came cross someone unfamiliar. I should have made the time to get to know you. I’m sorry I didn’t. But, thank you. Thank you for giving your all and for the sacrifice you ultimately proved willing to make.
As he made the rounds, Calvin spotted Summers, who, like him, and seemingly the rest of his crew and the few VIPs, was also going from grave to grave, saying her goodbyes. But, he noted, she seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time at Nimoux’s graveside. Calvin wondered if that meant she’d had romantic feelings for him after all, or if she felt guilty about something regarding him—perhaps both.
By the time Calvin reached Nimoux’s graveside, Summers had moved on. Calvin knelt and whispered, like he had for each of the others. Digging deep within himself to try and find the right words—the right goodbye.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for watching over my ship and my crew, in my absence, and doing your all to protect them as best you could when…when I wasn’t there…but should have been.” He closed his eyes, letting the pain and the guil
t wash over him. “And, thank you,” Calvin added, still in a whisper, “For managing to save as many of them as you could. Especially Summers.”
Nimoux’s graveside had proven the most crowded with VIPs and clearly not all of them were strictly his family. Calvin supposed it made sense, since Nimoux had already been something of a celebrity before joining Calvin’s crew.
Calvin deliberately saved Miles for last. Partly because the idea of visiting Miles’s graveside felt the hardest and most painful, but also because it seemed like it wouldn’t be real—or, at least, it wouldn’t have to feel real—so long as he delayed going to the graveside. By the time he finally mustered the courage and managed to do so, he found Summers already there. As he approached from behind, and before she realized that someone was coming, Calvin even heard Summers weeping.
“It’s okay, let it out,” said Calvin, practically startling Summers. “I miss him too.” He made an attempt at cracking a smile, but found he couldn’t manage it.
Summers shook her head. “It’s the freshly cut grass,” she said, making an excuse for her wet, reddened eyes. “My allergies…”
“I know, I know,” said Calvin, looking at her, then down at the coffin, then back to Summers, who now had her eyes shut tight.
“He was…such an idiot,” she said affectionately. She shook her head. “But God dammit…I still miss him.”
Summers made her peace and moved on, leaving Calvin alone. Calvin knelt and opened his mouth, as if to whisper his goodbyes to his friend of so many years, just as he had done with all the others. But, when he tried to speak, no words came out. He knelt there for what must have been five minutes, his mouth agape, poised as if ready to speak, but finding nothing right to say.
No, he thought, closing his mouth and rising to his feet. I’m not going to say goodbye. Because this isn’t goodbye. I refuse to say goodbye, you big lug.
And so Calvin merely whispered, “See you soon, old buddy,” then he turned, ready to leave. Only then did he notice a man standing there; he was an older man, with white hair, and he stood about a head shorter than Calvin.
Calvin moved to step aside, wondering what relation this man had to Miles. But, as Calvin stepped aside, the man spoke.
“You’re Calvin Cross, aren’t you?” he said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I can tell.”
“Guilty as charged,” said Calvin, wiping the tears from his eyes. “How may I help you?”
“I understand that you and this man, this Miles Brown, were friends, yes?”
Calvin tried not to let the anguish he felt appear too obvious. “Yes,” he said. “You could say that.”
“And the two of you became acquainted while studying at Camdale, yes?” asked the man.
That took Calvin by surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Because I represent the school,” said the old man. “And, in doing my research, I discovered that the two of you studied there at the same time. It was just a guess but, I put two and two together—like they say.”
“Well, you did your math well,” said Calvin. “Miles and I did first become friends at Camdale.”
“We are going to be raising a statue of him,” said the old man. “Now what do you think of that? Nothing ostentatious, of course. But something life-sized. And we’re going to place it in Library Square.”
Library Square, thought Calvin. How ironic, the one place on campus where Miles spent the least amount of time.
“I think it’s a very nice idea,” said Calvin.
“Oh, and you’d be there too, of course,” said the old man.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Calvin, feeling embarrassed. “I’m not sure I would make for a very good statue.”
“Are you sure?” asked the old man.
“I—” Calvin began to speak, still intent on refusing to have a statue of himself placed at Library Square but, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea that, at least in one place in the universe, there would be a place where he and Miles would still be together. “You know what, I think it’s a great honor. Thank you, sir.”
This seemed to make the old man happy. They said their respectful goodbyes and Calvin wandered off. He got a good look at who remained at the cemetery, and the apparent absence of Kalila, along with the absence of most of the security force that had been there, seemed to confirm what he thought—she had left.
Calvin walked away from the funeral grounds and down the steps toward the street, away from the handlers, where he planned to make use of an automated car. As he waited and slowly approached one, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and was surprised to see Summers.
“Are you going where I think you’re going?” she asked.
Calvin nodded. “Now is the right time,” he said, checking his sidearm—making sure it was loaded and then re-holstering it. Thinking, there is no time like the present.
“Just…promise me two things,” said Summers.
“Okay,” said Calvin.
“First, promise me that you’ll be careful. I trust you, but don’t do anything rash.”
Calvin nodded. “Okay. And what else?”
“Be smart,” she gave him a worried look. “Like I said before. The stakes may be higher than you think. Just…promise me you’ll do the right thing.”
“Don’t worry,” said Calvin, feeling his hand instinctively curl around the handgrip of his sidearm. “I will.”
CHAPTER 24
Dusk was getting on, but it wasn’t yet night. That meant Kalila would not have gone to retire to her private chambers for the evening yet. Which, Calvin deduced, meant that she was still in the throne room of the Ancient Palace, a place she had taken quite a liking to, it was said.
Calvin was stopped by several guards as he approached the Ancient Palace, but as both the former Executor of the Empire, combined with his new status as a Hero of the Empire, he had little trouble getting past the guards by claiming that he and the queen had unfinished business. Which, for the most part, was true.
Eventually, Calvin found himself inside the Ancient Palace’s throne room, amidst the massive columns and sweeping tapestries; in the distance, was a grand throne. A feminine figure sat upon it, no doubt the queen herself, though he would not know until he had gotten closer. He advanced, fully confident, although he remained unsure what he was going to say or do. His trigger finger itched; the blood of Miles, and Rain, and all the others screamed inside him for justice. Calvin did not take it easily that he had been duped—played really—by this figure of royalty who now sat upon her throne, owed largely in part to Calvin himself, or one of the many friends of his who had died in the struggle to place her there.
More guards intercepted him, especially by the time he was within a few meters of the queen herself.
“I am Calvin Cross, former Executor of the Empire, and I have business with the queen,” he said, marshaling all of his confidence. “I command you to stand down.”
Kalila looked up at him, almost as though she had expected him to come.
“Stand down,” said Kalila, and the guards immediately withdrew.
“Now send them away,” said Calvin, “What we must discuss, we must discuss in private.”
Kalila paused before complying. She then waved her hand, “Do as he says,” she told the guard captain. “There is no need for guards here. Go away and don’t come back until I send someone for you.”
“As you say, Your Highness,” replied the guard captain, and he, along with the rest of Kalila’s personal bodyguards, left the throne room.
No doubt, if I kill her, thought Calvin. They will be near enough to hear, and I can expect them to kill me too. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is justice!
“Ah, Calvin, I expected you might come,” said the queen, not rising from her throne. “Our society owes a great debt to you, you know?”
“And you owe a great debt to our society,” he replied, no subtlety in his voice.
T
he queen did not respond for a moment. “Why, Calvin, whatever do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” said Calvin, trying to control his composure. “The so-called Dark Ones, deals to manufacture a crisis, deals to clear the path to the throne, deals for Rotham intelligence.”
The queen shifted her posture, looking at him differently now, more curiously, as if he were no longer her loyal subject, but rather some kind of specimen in a jar. “I know of no Dark Ones,” as you call them. “However, I believe you have discovered ENIGMA. And that is of which you speak. Yes?”
“Dark Ones, Skotadi, ENIGMA, whatever you called them, however you represented yourself to them, and they you, I know about the dark and secret pacts you made,” said Calvin, feeling his hand trace the handle of his handgun, tempted to draw it then and there. But he waited.
“I see,” said the queen. “So it is ENIGMA after all. I suppose that means you now see me as I am. No longer the idealist queen, but rather—”
“The master manipulator who purposefully provoked chaos inside our Imperial system,” said Calvin, filling in the words for her. “You, you’re no white queen. No, you’re as dark as anything I’ve seen out there trying to clean up your messes. Trying to save lives. Meanwhile, you’re playing goddess, treating people—treating lives—as playthings. As tools.”
“Well, that’s one way to see it, I suppose,” said the queen, sounding more intrigued than afraid. “But I do think you misjudge me, if you examine the big picture.”
“Oh, do I?” asked Calvin. “Miles? Nimoux? Rain? Millions of others…no, billions…If you’re not the saving grace of our people, then what the hell did they die for?”
“Noble deaths, and regrettable ones, of course. But they didn’t die for nothing, Calvin, they died as martyrs. It may be difficult to see now, especially through the haze of blood and darkness you’ve been forced to see as the universe, but the truth is—”
The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) Page 48
