The Phoenix War (48 page)

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 think 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.”

“It’s quite all right, Commander Presley,” he
said, unfolding his legs and standing up.

“You know who I am?”

“You seem surprised.”

“It’s just… I didn’t expect you to, that’s
all,” she said. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her cheeks
blush ever so slightly.

“When I was given the assignment to track
down the Nighthawk, I made certain to familiarize myself with
everything the Intel Wing archives had on the ship, including
personnel files,” he explained.

Summers nodded. “Ah, yes that makes
sense.”

“Commander, I know you and your crew have no
reason to trust me—since not too long ago I was trying to bring you
all into custody,” said Nimoux, “but I need you to understand that
things have changed. After what I experienced on Gamma Persei
Three… well, let’s just say I’ve had my eyes opened, and I want to
help you, not hinder you.”

Summers looked pleased to hear this, but she
also clearly made an effort to keep her face neutral. “I will ask
you all about that in a moment when Captain Pellew gets here,” she
said. “If you want to earn our trust, I cannot emphasize enough how
important it is that you tell the truth, omitting nothing.”

“Of course,” said Nimoux. Ever since he’d
reached out to the Nighthawk with the distress beacon, he’d always
meant to share everything he knew with them. “Will Calvin be
joining us too? He’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“Unfortunately he will not be joining us,”
said Summers without any further explanation.

Why ever not
? Nimoux wondered, wanting
to demand an answer, certainly his intel was worthy of the CO’s
time, but he knew demands would get him nowhere so instead he
asked, “could you expound on that?”

“Not at this time,” said Summers. Clearly
they weren’t going to share information with him until they’d
decided how far he could be trusted.

Very well
, thought Nimoux,
time to
get the ball rolling
. “The first thing you should know,” said
Nimoux, “is that there is an informer on your ship leaking
information about your movements to Intel Wing. That was how I was
able to track the Nighthawk to the QH-212 star.”

“Can you identify this informer?” asked
Summers, folding her arms.

“Happily. His name is Midshipman Patrick
O’Conner.”

Summers nodded, looking relieved that Nimoux
had named that particular name. “That problem has already taken
care of itself,” she said.

“How so?” asked Nimoux, curious.

“Mister O’Conner is now deceased. Come to
think of it, he died in that very spot,” her eyes flicked to the
cot in the brig not three inches from where Nimoux was
standing.

“That’s… comforting,” said Nimoux. Before he
could try to get more information out of her regarding O’Connor’s
death, the far door opened and two people entered. One was Captain
Pellew, who Nimoux had expected, the other was a member of the
medical staff.
I wonder why they need a doctor here
, he
thought.

“I’m glad to see that Baldy’s still in his
cell,” said Pellew shooting Summers a dark look. “I half expected
you to lower the forcefield for him and hand him the keys to the
ship.”

“I don’t very much like your tone, Mister
Pellew,” said Summers. She unfolded her arms and met Pellew’s gaze
with callous eyes. “Captain Lafayette Nimoux is in custody for the
time being, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that he is a hero of
the Empire. And you will show him the proper respect.”

“My apologies, Captain Nimoux,” said Pellew,
not making much of an effort to sound sincere. “I’ve just always
found it odd that you don’t do anything about your hair loss. Don’t
you think it’s peculiar, Commander Presley?”

Summers didn’t seem to know how to reply.

“That’s right, it’s
weird
.” Pellew put
his hands on his hips.

“It’s not
weird
,” snapped Summers.
“Besides, Captain Nimoux has more than earned our respect and you
will
show
it regardless of what you think about him, his
character, or his hairstyle.”

Nimoux supposed he ought to feel offended by
all this talk of hair but, rather than having hurt feelings, he
actually found the whole exchange quite entertaining. True, the
specter of male-pattern baldness was a demon that had been long
conquered by the advances of science and there were numerous
treatments available to correct the apparent problem, but Nimoux
had never really understood the fuss. He was who he was and looked
how he looked. He respected anyone who chose decided to take action
to keep their locks, but he personally found more in common with
the few who allowed nature to simply take its course.

“I apologize on behalf of my special forces
garrison commander,” said Summers. She looked far more embarrassed
than Nimoux felt.

“No apology is necessary,” said Nimoux. “And
if it’s all right with you, I’d rather just get right to it. I have
information that is
critical
. The Empire is in grave danger
and there isn’t much time. And while I appreciate the fact that
you’ve brought a medical professional here, I think its best we
dispense with any medical examination for the time being. I don’t
believe I have an pressing injuries.”

“Doctor Andrews isn’t here to give you any
medical examination,” said Pellew. “Andrews needs to give you a
shot.” He then looked at the other special forces soldier, the
woman who’d been standing guard. “Tara, lower the forcefield.”

“I promise we will see to your medical needs
as soon as we can,” said Summers, her voice was full of sympathy.
“But we have to do this first.”

What is going on
? Nimoux wondered as
the forcefield dropped and the doctor stepped closer.

“Mister Nimoux, I need you to please roll up
your left sleeve,” said the doctor. When he was about a foot away,
he stopped and withdrew a needle from his medical bag. He adjusted
it carefully and gave it a flick.

“Do as he says,” commanded Pellew, both he
and Tara held batons and looked ready to use them.

“I promise there is no danger,” Summers
reassured him.

“Very well,” Nimoux did as they asked and
rolled up his left sleeve. Once he had, the doctor cleaned a spot
on his arm and readied the needle. Nimoux wondered if the drug they
were about to administer was something meant to weaken his mental
faculties and make him more amenable to questioning. “I must advise
against injecting me with anything that might affect my
memory.”

“You’ll do as we say,” said Pellew.

“Don’t worry, it’s only Xinocodone,” said
Summers. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Xinocodone? That’s a pain medication
,
thought Nimoux,
a really strong one. But it doesn’t have any
interrogation utility, does it?

“I’m not in any pain,” he said. Wondering if
they thought, because of his haggard appearance, he was suffering.
“Though a hot cup of tea would not go unappreciated.”

“This isn’t for the pain,” said the doctor.
He stuck Nimoux’s arm and injected the chemical.

Almost instantly Nimoux felt a light-headed
tingle and a rush of calm.

“There,” said the doctor, removing the needle
gently. He cleaned and bandaged the injection site and then left
the cell. As soon as he was clear, Tara re-activated the
forcefield.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but it’s a necessary
precaution,” said Summers. “You’ll understand in time.”

“All right,” said Nimoux, more than a little
confused. He sat down on the cot because he felt a little
dizzy.

“Now, there was some critical information you
wanted to tell us,” said Summers. “What was it?”

“The prison,” said Nimoux urgently. Even
though his thoughts felt a little muddled by the drug, he hadn’t
forgotten the imminence of the danger. “There’s something you need
to know about it.”

Summers looked curious. Pellew, on the other
hand, looked at Nimoux like he was crazy. “The prison wasn’t just
any prison,” said Nimoux. “The people running it… they would abduct
people and take them there, making them into prisoners. I’m talking
about people of real influence. Corporate leaders, members of the
Assembly, admirals and captains, even Director Edwards and Vice
Admiral Harkov were there!”

“You saw the Director of Intel Wing and the
Commander of the Fifth Fleet?” asked Summers, her eyes widened.

“Yes,” said Nimoux. “They were abducted too
and brought against their will to Gamma Persei Three, just like
they did to me and everyone else. And that’s not the worst of it.
When they abduct a prisoner , they replace him or her with a
convincing look-alike. I don’t know how they do it exactly, but
they’ve found a way. So their people are the ones in positions of
power, masquerading as other people, and no one knows the
difference. The Jack Edwards who is in the Office of the Director
right now… he’s not the real Director Edwards. The real Edwards was
on Gamma Persei Three with me, I swear it. And they murdered him,”
said Nimoux. “I know it sounds crazy but you
have
to believe
me.”