The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) (33 page)

The door opened and he stepped inside the infirmary, immediately scanning it over for the primary attending physician, who, at this hour, should be Dr. Andrews. The man who had saved his life.

Nimoux spotted Dr. Andrews easily, but it wasn’t the sight of him that made Nimoux’s heart temporarily stop and the pain disappear for a half second; it was the beautiful sight of the ship’s XO. Commander Presley seemed to be discussing something with Dr. Andrews, and deciding to be polite and wait, Nimoux remained by the door, far enough away not to eavesdrop, and enough out of sight not to draw their attention. The pain was back, despite the charming effects of Summers’ beautiful form, but Nimoux suppressed the pain, telling himself that he was in command of his body. He did not have to submit to it, no matter how hot it burned or fiercely it raged.

Summers Presley…Nimoux thought, as he watched the two of them continue their conversation. Her back was to him and so he could not see her exquisite face, but, as he just now discovered, there were many more exquisite angles to the commander than simply her flawless face. It was with some embarrassment that Nimoux caught himself ogling Summers from behind; he tried not to think of her, or what she would look like out of that blue-and-black uniform, but the thoughts were difficult to keep out of his mind. Besides, they seemed to help with the pain. Suddenly burning ache wasn’t the only thing he could feel; now the pain was in competition against Nimoux’s baser instincts. He didn’t like how much sway such instincts could hold over a person, and had always taken great pride in his ability to be respectful of others—even in his thoughts—but this proved to be the hardest test of his resolve yet.
I blame the wound
, he thought to himself, trying to excuse the sense of shame that swelled inside him.

After a few more seconds of conversation, which Nimoux could only guess at, Dr. Andrews handed Summers a report of some kind and the commander turned around. She did not spin around with the grace of a ballerina nor was there anything special about her movements, yet Nimoux could not help but find himself enchanted by the sight of her. And, now that he could see her front—especially her face—he found it even more difficult to keep his thoughts off of her. Part of him wondered what it would feel like to take her in his hands, feel her warm skin, and…
No
, he commanded himself.
No, I am better than this
.

“Captain,” said Summers, once she was near enough to notice him standing by the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for some medicine,” said Nimoux.

“Are you all right?” Summers approached, looking concerned. She stood so close to him now that he could smell the scent of her hair; it was a superb fragrance that seemed to combine lavender with peach and vanilla. Their eyes locked and he was quickly lost inside the green irises that seemed to have the depth of the sea and yet the light of the stars all within them.

He felt his face going red and so he blinked and looked away. “Yes, Commander, thank you,” he said. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of pain.”

Summers looked down at Nimoux’s abdomen, as if to examine the exit wound, but he was entirely covered in his robe. Or maybe that wasn’t where her eyes were probing…
no, stop that
, he commanded himself in his mind.

“I’m sorry to hear that you are in pain,” said Summers.

Nimoux nodded.

They stood there for half a moment, neither speaking, both seeming to soak in the other. Then it was Summers’s turn to look embarrassed. “Oh, yes, well,” she said, darting aside, “please allow me to get out of your way. I’m sure you need to see Dr. Andrews right away.”

The pain of his wound said
yes,
but all the rest of him thought the medicine could wait. Before he could say anything further, though, Summers saluted and made to leave.

“And, Captain,” she said, stopping just outside the exit, her face a distinctly warmer color than before. “It was…nice to see you.”

“You as well,” said Nimoux. With that, the door closed and Summers was gone.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice from directly behind him, the speaker was so close that it nearly startled Nimoux to hear him. Somehow, with all his attention on Summers, his trained special forces instincts had melted away and he had allowed someone to get the drop on him. In this case, that someone was Dr. Andrews, Nimoux noted as he turned around. The doctor was smiling, despite looking rather tired. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you two had a thing for each other,” his smile became a smirk.

Nimoux wasn’t sure which he felt most, the pain of the wound, the embarrassment at having his thoughts and feelings called out by the doctor, or confusion about how he should handle this encounter.

He opted for a strategy of noncooperation. “Mister Andrews,” said Nimoux, “the wound has flared up again, I…need something for it.” It was difficult for Nimoux to admit when he had a need, he preferred to be self-sufficient, a person who could help raise others up without needing such help in return. But there was little he could do for himself regarding a gunshot wound. Ergo, he was here.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dr. Andrews, his smile fading. “But let’s not get ourselves too worried; these flare ups are quite normal. Especially for someone on such a low dose of painkiller as you.”

“The Xinocodone is a highly addictive substance,” said Nimoux. “Besides, it dulls the senses.” Although he was not a teetotaler, Nimoux tended to avoid anything that impaired his judgment or affected his senses, no matter what effect it had on his mood.

“You are taking a very controlled dose—a minimum dose, really,” said Dr. Andrews, “I’m not worried that you will develop a dependence and I stand by my earlier suggestion that you accept the full prescription, and properly effective prescription dosages, so that you needn’t suffer more than necessary.”

“I appreciate the advice, Doctor, and, as ever, I shall take that under advisement,” said Nimoux. He just needed a little of the Xinocodone, just enough to stop the flare ups; otherwise, he could deal with the pain through the use of anti-inflammatories, meditation, and good old-fashioned self-discipline. Such were his preferred methods.

“You’re going to take the minimum dose at the minimum quantity again, aren’t you?” said Dr. Andrews. It was a rhetorical question. “Very well, before we get to that, let me just change my gloves and take a look at the wound itself, if you don’t mind. I’d like to make sure everything is on track and that there is no infection. You
are
taking the anti—”

“Yes, I am taking the anti-infection drugs and everything else useful that you have prescribed to me.”

“Okay…” said Dr. Andrews, likely realizing that that was the best cooperation he was going to get out of his patient. He replaced his gloves with new ones. “Now, if you’ll kindly sit over there and take off that robe, this should only take a few minutes.”

If the pain had hurt before, now it was overkill. The doctor poked and prodded at the injury, no doubt as gently as possible, but each touch felt like a javelin thrust, and Nimoux was forced to clench his teeth to keep from making an outburst.

Four Hundred; Four-Hundred and One; Four Hundred and Two
, he attempted a basic counting exercise in an effort to distract his mind from the searing pain.

“Hmm…” said Dr. Andrews, using that tone that implied bad news was about to follow. Nimoux braced himself.

“Tell it to me straight, Doctor,” said Nimoux.

“Well, there are some positive signs here, and there has been some definite healing—although it’s a bit premature to tell. I am also seeing signs of what could be infection. I’m going to have to take a sample for testing; I assume I have your consent.

Nimoux was certain it was going to hurt like hell, but gave consent anyway. He was right; by “sample” Dr. Andrews had apparently meant six tiny incisions and the removal of six tiny samples, along with some blood. “There that ought to do it,” said Dr. Andrews, once he was finished bandaging him back up.

Thank God
, thought Nimoux. He felt on the very cusp of doubling over in pain.

The doctor sent him on his way with a new bottle of Xinocodone, along with a different anti-infection medication, and strict instructions to keep the wounds bandaged, but to change the dressings with clean ones at intervals that, quite frankly, sounded annoyingly often. But, if that was the best way for him to get back to feeling like his whole self, then that was what he would have to do.

He took one of the pills before he left the infirmary, and by the time he reached his cabin, he was already starting to feel better. The sedative effects of the Xinocodone could be felt, although they were weak, and best of all the flaring, scorching, mind-numbing pain of his exit wound seemed to have died down, back to mere throbbing discomfort rather than the feeling of hell.

Nimoux intended to return to sleep. After all, he would need to be up and alert soon so he could give his soldiers drill orders and get some work done on Calvin’s plan. It would prove difficult to organize a successful invasion of the Divine Palace on the Forbidden World with such little information about it. Nimoux had plans to grill Re’znac the next day and get from the Polarian warrior everything he knew, but until he did that, most of Nimoux’s ideas were based on guesses and assumptions that were not so well couched in probability to make him like them.

He poured himself a cup of tea, the most relaxing blend he owned, and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the bed. If he was careful, the pain wasn’t so bad, and he liked sitting on the floor—most often in the lotus position—not only was it good for his posture and overall well-being, the slight discomfort of it helped him to remain sharp and thoughtful.

This time, though, try as he did, he couldn’t make himself feel sharp or alert any more than he could make himself begin working out the broader details of Calvin’s invasion plan. Instead, as he sipped his tea and relaxed, he found he could only think of Summers Presley. And a big, dopey, boyish grin spread across his face. He thought about what Dr. Andrews had said, that it looked like Nimoux and Summers each had a thing for each other, and Nimoux wondered if it could be true. Although it was entirely illogical and out of character for him, he found himself hoping that Summers did have feelings for him.

Perhaps I have been a romantic desperado long enough
, he thought.
Maybe, just maybe, when all of this is over…

With that last thought, he slumped over, and dozed off.

CHAPTER 16

It must have been her eighth pass around the LZ when she spotted them. Shuttles, several shuttles, landed in such a way to conceal them among the structures and debris of the ruined city.

“I’ve got something here,” said Sarah into the radio. She descended as low as she felt comfortable, in order to get a better look. There were figures moving on the ground, shrouded in dark clothes. They moved quickly, seemed hooded or cowled; most of them wore clothing that was either black or midnight blue, concealing them well as they scurried along the broken paved roads, moving at inhumanly fast speed.

“What is it?” asked Tristan.

“You’ve got company inbound,” said Sarah. “There are several shuttles here, I count at least nine or ten—there could be more.”

“Did they just arrive or do they look like they’ve been abandoned here for some while?” asked Tristan.

“Impossible to say,” said Sarah, straining her eyes and turning the transport around for another pass. “I see figures too, lots of them; it’s too dark to identify them, but they are a large group, swiftly converging on your position.”

“More Type I Remorii?” asked Shen.

“I don’t think so,” said Sarah, feeling a tingle along her spine. “I think they came from the shuttles. Besides, they’re too quick and too organized. I suspect—”

“Type II Remorii,” said Tristan, cutting her off. “Sarah, can you get a target lock on any of them with the transports guns?”

“I’ll try,” she said, swinging the transport around tightly and arming its few, primitive weapons. Target lock on the fast-moving humanoids proved to be impossible. She lit up the guns, firing in their general direction, and a lucky, high-caliber bullet my have caught one or two of them, but the rest simply scattered and continued racing toward the complex, closing in on Tristan and Shen’s group.

“Any luck?”

“Not much,” she said. “You can expect a lot of nasty company…and soon!”

“Understood,” said Tristan. “We’ll be ready.”

Sarah prayed that was true. She gained some more altitude when a few of the figures started to return fire at her. The small arms fire of their energy beams did little damage to the transport’s hull, but she didn’t want to risk a breach or other structural failure on the return trip back to the
Arcane Storm
, so she climbed to an altitude of two-thousand meters and continued to circle the LZ, waiting to pick up the others…hoping that they had come with enough force to prevail.

At least let Shen live
, she thought desperately.
I don’t know if there’s a God out there but, for God’s sake, please don’t let Shen get hurt.

“Any change?” Tristan’s voice came over the headset.

“They’re pouring into your complex in horde-like numbers…I can’t stop them. You’re on your own.” She hated to admit it, but it was true.

“That’s fine, we’ll handle them,” said Tristan confidently. “You just keep that transport intact and near the LZ; we may need a speedy pickup if things go south.”

“Understood.”

“And if you can get a shot or two off, see if you can disable or destroy some of those shuttles the bastards came in,” added Tristan.

“Now that, I might be able to do,” said Sarah, gripping the yoke tightly. It wouldn’t be easy, and it would require multiple passes, and the transport’s guns left something to be desired, but they should be able to handle large targets—like stationary shuttles.

“Good luck!”

“Same to you!”

***

Despite what had happened, with many of the most powerful senators being taken into custody right on the Senate floor, the mood of the room was one of measured, calculated calm. Above all, the remaining senators—those who had not been linked to the Rahajiim and hauled off to a secret hole somewhere—sought to appear in command and untouchable. After all, the Senate was not only the highest governmental institution within the Republic; it
was
the Republic!

Hardly a minute had passed since the final arrest before the Acting Speaker—the original Speaker was one of the senators who had been dragged away—called order on the floor and summoned the members of the Committee on Internal Security to begin a hearing immediately about what was going on.

This committee, made up of seven senior Senators—normally there would be ten, but three had been arrested—took the vacant seats on the raised dais to the left of the Speaker’s podium. They then conferred with one another for several minutes before announcing to the audience inside the Senate Chamber, which consisted of some two-thirds of the original Senate and a heavy military and Advent presence. Alex was one of the Advent operatives still stationed inside the Hall; he was there as an observer—to help maintain security—while lower ranking agents had been tasked with guarding the exits. Even though the Senate pretended to be in charge, and would make a great display of that fact—Alex knew—the truth was nobody could leave this room without Advent approval. Not yet.

The senior members of the Advent were summoned to appear before the committee and, in the interest of keeping this government shakeup from looking like a coup, the Advent leaders complied. It took the better part of an hour to get them all there, but eventually there they were, each of them occupying one of the three seats arranged below the dais, facing opposite the committee. They sat from left to right in order of descending rank: Grand Nau K’torva, Supreme Proxitor Ilishta, and lastly Nau T’ahne. It was rare to see the entire group of them assembled together all in one place—partly because of the tremendous security threat that existed by having all of the Advent’s top leaders in such proximity, where all could be killed in one swift act of terrorism or war; the other reason they rarely were near one another was because they each had vital functions that required their governance, meaning they could be anywhere in the Republic at any given moment. However, in anticipation of this operation, and the likely reaction on the part of the remaining senators, all three had returned to Ro, knowing that they would be summoned to appear. Explanations were in order. No group in the history of the Republic had ever forcefully captured a third of the Senate, and to do so in the High Chamber of the Esteemed Republican Senate itself. Arrests had been made of some of the most powerful figures in the galaxy, under the very words carved into the ceiling of the chamber—
WE ARE THE LAW. LET US GOVERN WITH THE WISDOM OF SAGES AND THE PRUDENCE OF GODS.

The meaning of the motto had long been lost on these corrupt, foul politicians, Alex reflected, and he believed that each and every one that had been arrested had gotten what he or she deserved. These were the very bastards who had, for their own personal gain, made deals with monsters, subjected entire star systems—including Republican systems—to terrorism, and—worst of all—had steered the Republic toward unnecessary war. They would get what was coming to them. Alex only hoped their intelligence had been current and complete enough to prevent many of the Rahajiim-connected senators from escaping; also, a few had undoubtedly slipped through the cracks.

We will find you
, he swore silently.
The reign of the Rahajiim is at an end
.

Upon receiving instruction from the Acting Speaker to do so, the Committee President spoke into his microphone, silencing the already mostly quiet chamber. “The Senate recognizes the following witnesses who have been summoned before us: K’torva, the Grand Nau; Ilishta, the Supreme Proxitor; and Nau T’ahne; the political, strategic, and diplomatic leaders of the Advent respectfully.”

As each of their names were called, the witnesses stood and bowed, then remained standing.

“Grand Nau K’Torva,” said the Committee President. “Do you give your solemn oath now to speak the truth faithfully, omitting nothing, under penalty of death should you perjure yourself before this committee?”

“I do, sir.”

The Committee President nodded. “Let the record so indicate. Now, Supreme Proxitor Ilishta, do you give your solemn oath now to speak the truth faithfully, omitting nothing, under penalty of death should you perjure yourself before this committee?”

“Yes, I do, sir,” she said.

“Let the record so indicate,” said the Committee President. “And, finally, Nau T’ahne, do you give your solemn oath now to speak the truth faithfully, omitting nothing, under penalty of death should you perjure yourself before this committee?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Let the record so indicate. You may now be seated.”

“Grand Nau K’Torva,” said the Committee President, hardly a moment after the three of them had taken their seats. “I shall get right to the point. Look behind you for a moment, do you see all those vacant seats?”

“I do, sir,” he said, after craning his neck to look behind him.

“And do you see the heavy presence of military and Advent presence inside this chamber?”

“I do, sir,” said the Grand Nau, perfectly calm.

“I ask you, then, did you authorize the use of these military and intelligence resources to storm the Senate Chamber and abduct a third of the Senate? I ask you to think carefully before speaking, for, to me, it sounds like such an order would be an act of treason of the highest order. Yet also bear in mind that your oath has been taken.”

“I authorized no abductions, only arrests,” said the Grand Nau.

“So you admit you arrested these missing senators?”

“I did.”

“And you did so under what pretext?” The Committee President demanded.

“I arrested them for crimes against the state.”

“Crimes against the state?” asked the Committee President, sounding appalled and in utter disbelief. “You are aware that the Senate
is
the state, are you not?”

“The institution of the Senate is the state, yes,” said the Grand Nau. “However, that does not mean the senators themselves are the state.”

“Yet surely it must be so,” said the Committee President. “The members of the Senate enjoy sovereign immunity from anything in the criminal code.”

“In the criminal code, perhaps,” said the Grand Nau. “But there is no immunity for treason.”

The accusation of treason was met with stunned silence inside the chamber and, although it was quiet enough Alex could have heard a pebble drop, he could tell that the atmosphere inside the Senate Chamber was one of electrified outrage. He instinctively moved to a more secure position, where he could place his back up against the wall and have a clearer view of the other senators—just in case.

“You bring a bold accusation of treason against many dozens of senators today,” said the Committee President, yet you, sir, sit here before us as the seeming architect of treason.”

“How dare you, sir?” demanded the Grand Nau. Just because he was addressing a senator, and a Committee President at that, did not mean one in such a lofty station as his must listen to such slander.

“I do not sit before you to indict you of treason,” said the Committee President, “however, it does seem suspicious to me that one of our government institutions has unilaterally swept in, using force, and taken away a third of our Senate. Can you at least admit that, on the surface, such lunacy seems the product of a backwards, upside-down world?”

“How do you mean?” asked the Grand Nau.

“I mean, sir, that your order appears to be treasonous until it is proven otherwise, do you not agree that that is the protocol before us?”

There was a pause as the Grand Nau seemed to reflect on the law, or else what he was about to say. Alex couldn’t be sure; all he knew was that a confrontation like this, between the Advent and the Senate, had never occurred before. And, although the Advent had the upper hand now, they only existed at the pleasure of the Senate, and all their power derived from the Senate, and so it was theoretically possible that every Advent agent involved in the operation today had signed his own death certificate in doing so. Although Alex did not think the Rahajiim—whose military and political leaders had been rounded up in one swift, simultaneous strike—had the resources remaining to them to regroup and exert enough control over the Senate, or the military, to take down the Advent. If they did, then the Advent had grossly miscalculated, and there remained no longer any hope.

“I agree to the protocol, yes,” said the Grand Nau finally. “That is the law. There is neither a presumption of innocence nor guilt, only a finding upon a balancing analysis of the preponderance of the evidence. However, I am confident the evidence weighs in my favor, and that you—and all the rest—shall see that I acted in the necessary interest of the Republic.”

“Necessary? To abduct members of the Senate?” asked the Committee President incredulously. “Including the Speaker himself?”

“Not abduct,
arrest
,” the Grand Nau again clarified.

“And you,” the Committee President turned to look at the Supreme Proxitor and Nau T’ahne. “Do both of you agree with the Grand Nau’s assessment that this…unprecedented mass arrest of the highest elected public officials was necessary to safeguard the Republic?”

“I do, sir,” said the Supreme Proxitor.

“As do I,” said Nau T’ahne.