The Phoenix Rising (29 page)

“
We’re almost there,” said
Tristan. He led them into one of the larger chambers, which,
despite its metal walls, felt surprisingly open and aesthetically
pleasing. It was the only place on the canton, so far, that hadn’t
made Calvin feel like a caged animal.

“
What is this place?” asked
Pellew.

They collectively marveled at the artistic
displays that covered the walls, and were set up throughout the
room. A few token patches of citizens wandered around, looking over
the displays, and police patrolled in groups of two.

“
This is the public park,”
said Tristan.

It wasn’t like any park that Calvin had ever
seen. There were no plants, nor open fields. Nothing was green or
alive. And yet, despite the cold deadness of the place, it was
still beautiful and serene. A tribute to art and technology. The
only place where culture was allowed to flourish in this
information-controlled dystopia. Although, as he looked over
several of the displays: paintings, murals, sculptures, and so on,
they were admittedly limited in theme. Even here, self-expression
was kept in check.

“
Okay...” said Calvin. “What
are we doing here?”

“
Finding the
Key.”

Tristan led them to the far side of the
chamber and told them to disperse. He then approached a marble
fountain, alone. Calvin watched him as best he could, while trying
to look natural—feigning interest in some other display. Tristan
approached the water fountain, which sprayed water up into a pool.
Calvin could hear the rush of it as it cycled.

Tristan dropped something into the fountain.
Three things actually. They looked like bits of metal. Local
currency perhaps? Calvin couldn’t tell. Metal currency seemed so
antiquated, but he knew some civilizations still preferred to keep
it in use—for whatever reason.

They waited. Calvin moved to a different
display, still keeping Tristan in sight as well as possible.
Tristan sat down on the rim of the fountain and pressed his face in
his hands, as if in deep thought.

A patrol of two policemen passed by, they
took a look at Tristan, apparently assessing his threat level, then
continued on.

After they were gone, one of the civilians
wandered up to Tristan and began a conversation with him. Calvin
couldn’t hear what was being said. It was brief, though. There was
an exchange of words. Tristan pointed to Calvin—for some reason,
and instinctively Calvin tried to look like he wasn’t watching
them—then something changed hands. The man walked off one way and
Tristan went the other.

Calvin decided that now was as good a time
as any to meet back up with Tristan, so he caught up to him—without
looking like he was in a hurry.

“
I’ve got the Key,” said
Tristan. “It will let us reach the Enclave.”

“
Is it a physical key?”
asked Calvin.

The others spotted Calvin and Tristan
together and seemed to take that as a sign to regroup.

“
No, it’s a pass phrase. One
that changes every day. No one gets in without knowing
it.”

Tristan led them out of the park and to
another ring that was even closer to the center. He took them to a
storage unit, which he was able to unlock by entering a command
code, and they went inside.

It was brightly lit, like every other room
in the canton had been. Tristan led them to the far corner of the
room and opened a secret hatch which had been camouflaged perfectly
into the floor. They climbed down a short metal ladder and reached
a tiny landing. There were no lights down here.

Tristan was the last one down, and after he
closed the hatch above them, they were in total darkness. Pellew
withdrew a small tactical light and turned it on. He pointed it
down what looked like an endless dark crawlspace.

“
This way?” asked Pellew.
Other than the way they came in, it was the only way to
go.

“
I’ll go first,” said
Tristan. “I hope no one is claustrophobic.”

***

“
Look at this,” said
Dae-Hyun. The younger core collector looked suddenly
excited.

“
What is it?” asked Mi-Cha,
walking over to see what Dae-Hyun was looking at on his tablet
computer. It had been a quiet day at the Intel Wing safehouse, and
they were knee deep in an investigation tracking recent weapons
movements inside the Alliance. Mi-Cha had been busy reviewing some
intelligence she’d collected, separating the useful one percent of
it from the worthless ninety-nine. It was hard to focus with
constant interruptions. Especially since Dae-Hyun had a bad habit
of getting overly excited about what almost always turned out to be
nothing.

“
Look, do you see
it?”

Mi-Cha scanned over what appeared to be a
government arrival manifest from one of the shuttles. “No, what is
it?”

“
The computer flagged this
report because it recognized these names.”

She realized at once that this discovery was
not nothing. This time Dae-Hyun had found something big. “Well how
about that...” said Mi-Cha.

The manifest clearly listed six highlighted
names, the computer tagged them with the code EC. They were fake
names. Manufactured identities that Intel Wing had worked hard to
put in place inside the Alliance citizen database for use in future
operations. Now, suddenly, these names had faces attached to them.
But who were they really?

“
Could these be new Intel
Wing agents?” asked Mi-Cha.

“
If so, I wasn’t notified,”
said Dae-Hyun. “According to my records, those names haven’t been
put into use yet.”

Mi-Cha nodded. “We’d better check this out.
I’ll feel around and find out where this group is going. I’m
thinking either customs official Kyung-Sune or T’voram from the
Enclave will be able to keep tabs on this group—if it isn’t already
under surveillance. In the meantime I want you to forward this
information to Intel Wing as soon as you get a clear communication
window. Send them the photos, the names, the arrival time, the name
of the shuttle they docked from, what ship they arrived on... send
them everything.”

***

The dark crawlspace made Calvin extremely
uncomfortable. He’d never admitted it to anyone before, but he was
claustrophobic and the thought of being surrounded by people in
such a tiny, confined space, threw his mind into a state of intense
panic. Given the choice, he would’ve rather had a bath full of
spiders, or be forced to stare down over the edge of a mile-high
skyscraper, or even give a public speech before the entire Empire.
Really, just about anything seemed preferable to this.
Miraculously, though, he forced his way through it and, after what
seemed like hours, the tiny tunnel opened up into a small utility
room. There were a few pipes, gauges, and knobs, but all of them
looked fallen into disrepair and disuse. It was hard to get a very
good look at things with Pellew’s compact torch as their only
source of light.

Calvin was surprised they could all breathe
as easily as they did. And decided that the entire canton probably
had oxygen circulating through it at all times to help maintain its
relative lightness compared to the extremely dense atmosphere.

“
Now what?” asked Pellew.
They were at an apparent dead end.

“
We use the Key,” said
Tristan. He walked close to one of the walls and spoke what Calvin
could only guess was the pass phrase. The only other possibility
being a sudden capitulation to insanity. “Is there no peace for a
wandering one?”

Calvin guessed there was a hidden
microphone. He made sure to remain closest to the crawlspace
opening, if it turned out they had to go back the way they’d come,
he wanted to be the first out. He’d had enough feeling of
entrapment to last him a lifetime. He imagined he was locked in a
coffin six feet underground, scratching uselessly at the top of it.
Waiting to asphyxiate… the thought gave him chills.

“
I said—is there no peace
for a wandering one?” repeated Tristan.

Nothing.

“
Well?” asked
Pellew.

Tristan looked genuinely frustrated. He
repeated himself a third time, much louder than the previous
two.

They heard a click. Pellew shined his light
in its direction, and they saw a secret door open up.

“
Enter swiftly,” a deep,
passionless voice said.

“
Come on,” said Tristan. He
went first; the others followed. Calvin brought up the rear. Once
he was inside, the secret door closed and sealed it
shut.

“
Where are we?” asked
Calvin. They stood in a black room, it was no brighter than where
they’d come from. Apparently the strigoi didn’t rely on visible
light the same way humans did. Either that or they preferred the
darkness.

Pellew shined his light around. By all
appearances the room wasn’t very large, and was interconnected with
two doors on every wall. Like the mouth of a long maze. Its décor
was a curious mix of savagery and sophistication. Beautiful art
splashed the walls with vibrant designs that showed a flare of
passion that seemed almost human, and yet the favorite medium
seemed to be blood. There were artifacts, and ancient books, and
finely crafted sculptures—made from human bones, as well as skulls
and scratch marks. Trails of dried blood where bodies had been
dragged. To Calvin it felt like a catacomb. A potent, haunted mood
stalked them as they went farther. There were other figures nearby,
dressed in clothes like people, but they did not hold themselves
like people. As Pellew’s light bounced off their eyes, they seemed
to glow—almost like cats’ eyes—and sharp, developed teeth protruded
from their mouths.

Calvin shuddered. Flashes of
the Trinity flew through his mind and he was momentarily ushered
back into the darkest horror of his past. These were the
slaughterers of men. The blood-thirsty, ruthless, compassionless
killers that had slain almost everyone on the Trinity, including
his beloved Christine. Gruesomely transforming many of the
unsuspecting humans into depraved creatures of darkness. He felt
the urge to draw his weapon and open fire on these…
monsters
, but he
restrained himself. He’d known he was coming here. He’d known he’d
be again face-to-face with the strigoi. But he’d still failed to
adequately prepare himself for the resurgence of feelings that
ripped through him like a fierce winter storm.

“
Why do you come here?”
asked the deep voiced creature nearest them. Pellew shined the
light on the speaker, he stood about a meter away, was tall,
thin—though toned—and his eyes were deep amber.

“
We’re here to see
Savetnik,” said Tristan.

The strigoi addressing them hissed. It was a
foul, almost screech-like sound. Calvin nearly covered his
ears.

“
It is
you
, Najamnik!” he said, clearly
recognizing Tristan now. “You are not welcome here.” He said
something else, which Calvin understood as some other, non-human
language—probably the strigoi’s native language—and several other
strigoi advanced. Surrounding them. Pellew shined his light from
one to the next, no doubt counting their numbers and doing a
tactical analysis in his head.

“
Listen to me,” said
Tristan. His eyes began to glow red, lighting up a little of the
darkness, and his muscles swelled. “We are not here for the Ratni!
We are here as guests.”

The strigoi hissed again, apparently
unimpressed. He and the others closed in some and Tristan tensed,
crouching down as if preparing to strike. Calvin felt a surge of
adrenaline and he drew his weapons, Pellew and the three other
soldiers did the same. Though Calvin’s baser instinct was to fight,
his memories reminded him that it would be a futile endeavor, the
strigoi would slaughter them like animals. Unleashed strigoi were a
true fury. One that had painted the Trinity’s walls red. If four
hundred men and women hadn’t been enough to stop the strigoi, what
chance did a mere six have?

“
Do you not recognize him?”
asked Tristan, jerking his head in Calvin’s direction. “Look at
him.
Smell
him.”

The strigoi seemed surprised. “Can it
be?”

“
What the hell do I have to
do with anything?” asked Calvin. He was ignored.

“
Yes, this one is the same,”
said another strigoi. Pellew shined his light on him. He was
shorter than the apparent leader, and even thinner, but his sharp
teeth and taught muscles still seemed every ounce as
vicious.

“
You are right,” said the
first strigoi.

“
And we must see Savetnik,”
said Tristan, relaxing some.

“
Yes, I suppose he would
like that,” replied the first strigoi.

“
No
,
let’s be rid of them,” said the second strigoi. “They are a
threat.”

“
And Savetnik?”

“
He would not have to
know.”

“
But he
would
know,” said the first
strigoi.

Calvin was unsure whether they were about to
get what they asked for, or be pounced on. He chambered the pistol,
as quietly as possible, just in case.

A heated disagreement erupted between the
different strigoi, all of whom seemed to have an opinion. Calvin
had no idea what was being said. Their language, which was
strangely beautiful, despite its sharpness, was a total mystery to
him. He only hoped Tristan could follow it.