The Scorpion's Fire (Beyond the Impossible Book 8), page 37
“I never said I didn’t cheat, Caleb.”
They shared a laugh. After duty, they’d share a few drinks and a smoke. Paul understood why Exeter married the man. He was more than a hell of a soldier; he was a great friend.
A holo opened above his plate.
“Captain, you have an incoming message from CC.”
“Who is it, Lieutenant?”
“The High Admiral.”
“Be right out, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
A mix of unease and excitement gripped them both. Caleb didn’t allow it to interfere with his duties, but no news from the Lightfoot rubbed him a little raw.
Paul took the Captain’s chair, with Caleb at Nav.
“Throw her up, Lieutenant.”
His old friend greeted Paul with a muted expression.
“High Admiral. What can I do for you?”
“Capt. Ochoba, I’m making the rounds, so to speak,” Cando said. “I just finished talking to System Adm. Sing. He reports high readiness. Strong morale among the Captains. How’s the old girl?”
“She’s a fit beast. Always was.”
“Your officers?”
“Actually, I just sat down with my XO and reviewed the sector reports. I doubt we’ll squeeze another drop of efficiency out of this crew. Top marks across the board.”
Cando snagged a reflective grin.
“We used to run her with a crew of what? Ten? Twelve?”
“On a good day, Admiral.”
Paul got the impression Cando filled his time with busywork. The Hokkaidan fleet consisted of twenty warships, and Cando happened to select Scylla. He wanted to see a familiar face.
“If I may, Admiral, any news of the mission?”
“No word, I’m afraid.”
“That’s what? Four days?”
“Yes. We allotted a five-day window for talks. If we don’t hear anything in another twenty standard hours, we’ll send a scout.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Admiral. It’s a delicate mission. Making history takes time.”
“That’s what I tell myself at night, Captain.”
“Hey, between your wife and my XO’s husband, it’s a can’t-miss. Speaking of, Col. Silver says he and Capt. Woolsey want a proper honeymoon after Lightfoot returns.”
Caleb stared at Paul like he’d been stabbed from behind. The other bridge officers smirked.
“You tell the Colonel: When Lightfoot returns with a deal, I’ll grant them one before the fleet moves to Phase Two.”
“You should see the daggers he’s giving me, Admiral. Oh, you’ll appreciate this, he accused me of …”
“Captain!”
“Yes, Lt. Varley?”
“I hate to interrupt. The worm tracker has detected movement at the edge of the system.”
“Throw it up.”
Paul studied the holo; he saw twenty clusters of unidentified objects eight hundred million miles from Hokkaido.
“Transponders?”
“Working to identify.”
“Course projections?”
“Overlaying now, sir.”
Paul didn’t need to identify transponders. They had the same destination: Hokkaido.
In the next few seconds, Adm. Sing sent out a system-wide alert. The time stamp on the holo clarified: Targets would reach Hokkaido in two minutes.
“They’re here, Admiral. The Swarm are here.”
Cando closed his eyes and sighed.
“Understood. Good luck, Captain. Kill the bastards.”
“We’re on it, Admiral. Good luck to everyone.”
He tossed the holo and opened a channel to Scylla.
“Crew, this is your Captain. We are at war. This is not a drill. Combat stations.”
Caleb returned to his duties. There would be no time for an arm wrestling rematch.
Paul had hoped never to fight the Swarm again. One way or the other, this would be the last goddamn time.
* * *
The Hold
Michael Cooper felt right as rain. The phasic trauma tube in the cavern of Splinters did its job once again: His mind cleared, headaches vanished, limbs charged, and belly screamed for food.
He waved to Rikhi Syed, who remained on the asteroid after Michael pushed him away. He was a good friend, more than Michael deserved. Outside the tube, Rikhi scrolled through charts.
“What’s the verdict?” Michael asked.
“Fever is a little high, and you lost another ten pounds. These recoveries burn so much of your energy.”
“Same old story. I’ll live. Anything else?”
Rikhi dropped the tube’s cascade barrier.
“Five days, Michael. This recovery was a few hours shorter than the last. Perhaps you’re turning a corner.”
“Huh. Told you this place would do me right.”
Unlike previous comas, the latest experience did not feel like a slog. He sensed a type of rebirth. Was it the last time?
The Jewel of Eternity responded to his thoughts.
“Yes, Michael. If you do as you’re told, you will never see the inside of a trauma tube again.”
“How do you know? You agreed with the other Jewels. You said I’m dying.”
“You are. The next time you collapse, you will not heal.”
His joy turned cold.
“It’s all or nothing? How long?”
“I cannot say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Michael, whether you die today or in ten thousand years is beyond my control. The paths are converging. You must atone. Soon, you will be presented with an offer. They hold Creation in their hands. They always did and always will.”
“The hell? Who are you talking ab …?”
Michael sensed a disconnect. The Jewel buried itself deep inside his subconscious and refused to speak.
“What’s wrong, Michael?” Rikhi asked. “You’re crying.”
Michael wiped his tears.
“Oh, just thinking about the family.”
“We can go home. Don’t you miss Aeterna? You’re fit again.”
“Until I’m not. I need to get on my feet, Rikhi. I’m hungry as a damn horse.”
“The phasics recommend two more hours of rest.”
“Screw that. Give me a hand.”
Rikhi leaned in then jerked backward. He looked both ways.
“Did you hear that?”
“Nope.”
“I could’ve sworn I heard voices.”
“You’re paranoid, dude. Gimme a hand.”
Rikhi took a step back, his jaw agape. He stared up the cavern toward its entrance. Michael heard the voices, too.
“My old stomping grounds,” someone said. “Seems smaller than it did at the time.”
“Partner, it’s a cave,” another man replied. “You enjoyed living in this hellhole?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t be where I am without it. Neither would you. It’s where the whole damn story begins and ends. Let’s see what this asshole’s got to say for himself.”
Michael sat up as Rikhi reached for his pistol.
“Who are you?” Rikhi said.
The new arrivals laughed. Michael twisted around to view.
The men appeared human, but a few details told Michael they were not. The men wore their hair long and their beards full. One blond, one black. Their trench coats matched in design, but one was blue, the other brown. The one with black hair pulled on an impressive cigar, while the other drank from a flask. They were seven feet tall with broad physiques, close to Michael at his peak.
Yet the eyes gave away their secret: Feline in shape with green irises, while a distinctive gold beacon shined in place of the pupil. Michael had encountered something similar long ago; he killed the monster who bore that trait.
The black-haired man with the cigar pointed to Rikhi’s pistol and laughed as he puffed.
“Not even hello? You assholes are all the same. A pair of gods walk into a cave with seventy million, six hundred and twenty-two thousand, four hundred and five Ca-zon Li’Af, and you think drawing a laser pistol is the right way to go?”
“Yeah, no,” the man with the flask said. “Understand, partner. They’re first instinct is usually hate or fear.”
The dark-haired man responded in another language. He spoke with clicks, low-pitched intonations, and a song-like rhythm. His companion chirped in the same alien gibberish.
“Rikhi,” Michael said. “Stow your weapon. Now.”
The immortal obliged, but the strangers advanced until the dark one blew smoke in Rikhi’s face.
“He’s not important,” the cigar smoker told his companion in Engleshe. The other nodded and said, “But they’re friends.”
“He’ll get in the way, partner.”
The blond responded with brief clicks and intonations. The other tucked his cigar in the corner of his mouth, lunged at Rikhi and pushed him against the cavern wall.
“No,” Michael shouted. “Put him down. Who are you people?”
“Don’t fight, Michael,” the blond man said, leaning against the phasic tube. “It’ll be quick.”
When the companion pressed his cigar against Rikhi’s cheek, the devoted aide screamed. Fire spread beneath his skin. The glowing flames burrowed inside his face and drilled into his skull.
Rikhi Syed incinerated.
His killer dropped what little remained, tucked the cigar between his teeth, and wiped his hands clean. Then he joined his partner at Michael’s side.
“You’re a little pissed,” the flask-drinker said. “We get it. He was probably a nice guy. Eh. Lots of nice guys. Women, too. But, you know … life. Am I right?”
“He … he …” Michael stammered for words. In the old days, he would have torn into these bastards with unchecked fury. “He never harmed anyone. He wasn’t a threat.”
The companions shared a laugh.
“Nodamnbody’s a threat to us, Michael. As my partner Moon pointed out, he was a threat to you. He might just talk you out of what’s best for the universe. We can’t have that shit.”
“Enough! Who … what are you?”
“Us?” Moon blew smoke at Michael. “Nobody. Just the guys who are going to save Creation.”
He heard that word again. Creation.
“Who are you, really?”
“It’s funny, Michael,” the blond said. “I knew this guy about … oh, I’d have to go back a good two thousand years. Smart man. I think. Those days are like blurs. But I was running around killing people because I was a touch out of my gourd. This man, he sat me down one day. He said, ‘Ryllen, you don’t belong here. You need to join your people on Aeterna.’ Told me to hook up with the Minister. Said I’d find a good home. But I didn’t want a damn thing to do with you people. Huh. Now, here we are. Looks like I’ll be working with the Minister, after all.”
“I don’t understand. Are you …?” Michael pulled the threads together. “He said, ‘They hold Creation in their hands.’”
“Who said? The Jewel inside your head?”
Michael’s heart skipped a beat.
“How do you know about the Jewel?”
The man knocked himself upside his skull.
“Hello? I’m a god.”
“He said you’d make an offer.”
“Huh. I wouldn’t call it that. Would you, Moon?”
“Not especially.”
“Then what?”
The man extended his hand.
“You can call me Royal. What I got for you is the opportunity of a thousand lifetimes.”
Michael accepted the hand, as if he had a choice.
“An opportunity to do what, Royal?”
They pulled Michael from the tube. He stared at Rikhi’s ashes.
I’m sorry I let you down.
Royal offered Michael the flask and led him to the forest of mirrors.
“So, I hear you’re unstuck in time and looking to atone for being an asshole. Perfect! Let’s chat.”
THE END, BOOK 8
How will the paths converge? The saga concludes in Book 9: The Final Verdict. Assume nothing! Coming January 2023.
You would make this author very happy by leaving an honest review on Amazon. You can also join my newsletter and receive updates about my work in the universe of the Collectorate at www.frankkennedy.org
Frank Kennedy, The Scorpion's Fire (Beyond the Impossible Book 8)
