The Phoenix Fallacy Book I: Janus (27 page)

Chapter 34: Dark Horizons

Janus woke up only because his room seemed inclined to make him do so.  With a set of hideous alarms and a sudden flooding of bright light, he came miserably awake.

The door slid open and Janus heard a familiar voice yell, “On your feet!”

Janus looked around groggily, and sighing to himself, rose from bed.

“I thought this might happen.  I tried to convince the Praetor last night to let you take another hour’s rest, but he was adamant.”

“Wouris…?”  Janus was confused.

“Yeah, yeah – I’m too kind.  You’ve got half an hour before debriefing.  I reset your alarms to give you more time to rest.  Get up or the Praetor will have my hide.  Oh and remember, it’s Sergeant Wouris to you.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Janus came awake.  “Thirty minutes.  I’ll be there.”

Twenty-five minutes later Janus was jogging into the center of Valhalla.  He was still a cadet until the Ceremony of the Ascension, but was now allowed to wear the ODIN symbol emblazoned on his shoulder, matching the huge seal that now glowed brightly in the morning sun.  He had his pistol belted to his waist along with the Praetor’s Immutium Ghostblade on his back.  Celes ran up behind him, and they took the lift up to command, which was designated by two runes meaning ‘Odin’s beacon’ or ‘Odin’s torch’:

It was the third beacon of Valhalla.  Command was at the very top of the trunk, and Valhalla’s nerve center.  The Praetor was the only person with a residence on the level, but few would argue the
chief officers did not live there – each spent so much time in the Torch.  Every important decision that impacted ODIN was made within its heavily armored walls.

Wouris was waiting for them at the entrance.  She gave them a quick inspection and nodded in approval. 

Heavy doors slid open to reveal a blur of activity.  They had stepped directly onto the main bridge, which was abuzz with the Adepts who piloted and watched over Valhalla.  Hundreds of monitors, tracking everything from power consumption and activity levels, to scans of the skies and flight control, stretched across the room, ending in a huge panoramic window that revealed a dazzling view.  Valhalla was hovering above a long coast line under a cloudless sky, slowly moving South.  Adepts constantly relayed information to the Captain of the Watch, Major Tuorneg, the commander for all of Valhalla’s control deck crews.  She was a grey-haired, fierce looking woman.  Janus had heard stories about her – that she was the equivalent of some ancient seafaring captain in demeanor, at home on her ship and rarely leaving to step ashore.  She, along with the Praetor, was probably the only one who knew all of Valhalla’s intricate inner workings.  Janus watched her lightly sip a coffee, perched over a MuDi in the center of the room, all the while maintaining a hawk-like eye over the myriad displays and stations.

“Don’t get in anybody’s way,” Wouris whispered, nudging them forward.

Janus walked slowly between the stations, careful to avoid disturbing any of the Adepts, listening to their chatter and watching their screens.

“Engineering, we’re seeing inconsistent spikes in engine three’s power.”

“Roger, LB 039, you are clear for departure.”

“Water purifier 04 is on the fritz again.”

Janus walked to the huge window and stared out.  It was breathtaking.  The views from the various levels of Valhalla were incredible, but from the command deck, they were truly spectacular.  The bridge formed a long wide ring around the crown of the city, and Janus was given a full view of tall white clouds to the west and broad rolling hills and plains far to the east.  Seabirds wheeled below, using the huge mass of air pushed by the gigantic city to lift them ever higher.  Janus looked at Celes and smiled, she too seemed to be agape at the view. 
Cerberus might be taller, but it didn’t afford views like this…

“Captain, scouts report a storm front
40 km South-South-East, bearing 176.”

Janus turned to look at Major Tuorneg, and realized that she had been keeping a close eye on both him and Celes, “Adjust bearing to 185, keep us off the coast,” she responded.  Her eyes roamed the room, watching every minor detail.  Every so often her gaze would resettle upon the pair.

At a signal from Wouris, Janus and Celes carefully made their way back and followed her into a round, glass walled meeting room.  A MuDi rested in the middle of a circular oak table in the center.

Praetor Jennings appeared on the bridge, had a bri
ef word with Major Tuorneg, and strode easily into the room.  With a wave of his hand, the walls of the room became opaque and the doors slid shut.

“Ah, glad to see all of you made it back safely.”  The Praetor seemed to be in a much better mood this morning.  “At ease.”  The three relaxed.

“Sergeant Wouris has already filled me in on most of the details of your little adventure, but I would like to hear the stories from your own perspectives, as well.  Before we begin, however,” he turned to look at Janus, smiling, and stretched out his hand.  “I believe you have something of mine.”

Janus removed the Praetor’s blade from his
back and handed it to him.  He felt oddly light without it.

“Excellent,” his mood became more serious.  “Now, if you would, please tell me about the mission,” he motioned for them to sit at the round table at the center of the room.

So Janus began the long tale, with Celes filling in parts as they went along.  He discussed the landing, the first group of S.T.s, the planting of explosives on the Comm. center, learning of the trap, the three’s escape and finding the factory.  He concluded with Wouris’ final revenge on the Titan troops.

The Praetor listened carefully, asking questions only for clarification.  As Janus finished, he nodded.  “Yes, everything seems to be exactly as Wouris described it.  Janus, I wanted to thank you, by the way.”

Janus was confused, “For what?”

The Praetor smiled sadly, “The few seconds you gave us probably saved many lives.  Our casualties could have been far worse without your warning.”

Wouris nodded at Janus, “Several of the officers reported your warning saved them.  Everyone was glad to hear that you made it back.”

The Praetor stood and put his hands behind his back, “Indeed.  Now, however, one question remains foremost in our minds:  How did Titan know we were coming?”

“And what about the Cerberus forces in the Phoenix ruins?”  Celes said.

“Yes, that too is a concern.  Anytime a Corporation goes through so much for secrecy, it is a cause for alarm.  With the state that the Adept Legions are in, we can’t afford to have any one corporation gaining too much power.”

Janus felt a turn in his stomach, “Unfortunately, we don’t know the answers to either of those questions.”

“Yes, but we do have a clue to at least one of the mysteries.  You, Celes, and Wouris overheard the report about the SPARTAN citadel near Lightemann’s ridge.  It is a mountain range located Southeast of Phoenix.”  The MuDi in the table switched on with a touch of the Praetor’s hand and displayed a 2-D view of Valhalla’s current position as well as a view of the Southern continent in question.  “I had Major Tuorneg set a course for it immediately this morning.”

Wouris leaned forward as the MuDi popped up into 3-D and displayed the ridge, “If we search the area surrounding the ridge, we may be able to find some answers to the question of Cerberus’ activities.”

The Praetor nodded, “It seemed the wisest course of action, as we do not have any other leads right now.  It is likely that the Cerberus facility under the Phoenix ruins will be on high alert for some time.  It will take us two weeks to reach the ridge.”

Janus and Celes looked up from the map, surprised.  “
Two weeks?  But Valhalla can travel much faster than that!”  Celes said.

“Yes, but until we have a better understanding of the forces at play here, I am not taking any chances.  We are moving at a reduced speed with scouts running out ahead to make sure there are no more surprises in store for us.  The search will take some time; we will have to do it
carefully so we aren’t detected.  Our slow arrival will give time for our forward scouts to get a general idea where the Lightemann’s facility is located.  While we travel, you will rejoin your fellow Adepts to continue your training.  Any questions?”

Janus spoke up.  “Actually, I have one, sir.”

“Yes, Janus?”  The Praetor gave him his full attention.

“Do you think Cerberus hired us to distract Titan and halt their mining operations so that their own operation would remain undiscovered?”

The Praetor thought carefully for a moment before responding, “We can’t be sure.  This Delacroix fellow is troubling.  If he is a Cerberus Executor, he’s playing a dangerous game.”

“Sir, what else could he be if he’s not a Cerberus Executor?” Celes asked.

The Praetor shook his head in dismay, “I’m not sure.”

The silence hung there, making the air seem thick.  Finally, the Praetor seemed to break through the malaise, “Any other questions?”

Janus shook his head, “No, sir.”

“Celes?  Sergeant?”  Celes and Wouris both shook their heads as well.

“Good, dismissed.”

Chapter 35: Technique

“The others are already training,” Wouris said as the lift descended from the Torch.  “Normally, you would be placed under the command of another Sergeant after graduation to full Adept status.  However, since you did not have an opportunity to fully complete your training,” she glanced at Janus, “the Praetor has left me in charge of you for the time being.”  Sunlight filtered down from the skylights above, giving Valhalla a comforting glow.  Wouris pointed over the edge.  Far below them, Janus could see his fellow cadets training on the ground floor of the great hall.  Ramirez’ huge figure loomed above the rest. 

“I believe Captain Rogers is overseeing your squad mates for now.  You wi
ll train with him until tonight,” Wouris continued.  The lift slowed and stopped at the bottom of the trunk.  Janus and Celes got off, while Wouris remained behind.  “I need to talk to Col. Keats and Col. Hawkes, so train hard – you know what’s at stake.”  The lift sped away, leaving Janus and Celes to join the others.

As they approached, they watched Ramirez square off against Jones and Valers.  They circled Ramirez, preparing to attack him from opposite sides.  With a cry, Valers leapt to attack Ramirez from behind while Jones rushed him from the front.  It might have gone well – if Ramirez hadn’t whirled around, grabbed Valers in mid-air by the ankle and tossed him mightily over his head and into Jones, all in one smooth motion.  Jones and Valers skidded painfully across the floor of the hall in a tangled mass.  Slowly extricating themselves from each other, Valers shook his head in dismay, “Ramirez, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Watching Jones and Valers fight made Janus’ stomach churn, a mixture of happiness and bitterness.

Jones noticed Janus and Celes watching the exchange, “Hey!  Look who’s back to train again!” 
Valers and Jones jogged swiftly over.  Ramirez watched in the background, exchanging an understanding nod with Janus.

“We really owe you one, Janus, and you too, Celes.  I never really got the chance to thank you for saving our lives the other day,” Valers shook Janu
s’ hand, “We owe you.”

“Big,” Jones added, “If you ever need us
…”

“We’ll be there,” Valers finished.

“And next time, we won’t be taken out so easily,” Jones pounded her fist into her palm.

“We are just glad that you guys made it back okay,” Celes said with a grin.

Janus nodded, and excused himself from the conversation.  Jones made a motion as if to say something else, but Celes quickly cut in, “Why don’t you two show me what you were practicing just now,”

Janus wandered over past the remaining cadets, watching Lyn absentmindedly as she ducked, weaved, and flipped in an elegant dance to avoid attacks by Holloway and Kirsten.  As he looked around now, he suddenly realized how many faces were missing, faces he co
uld imagine still there – Byron, he could see him now, sparring with Roderick… Young, with an irate Captain Northcott yelling in his ear to aim higher…Browning, Freeham, and Bynes, the three of them begging him to join in a game of Brevis Bellum… Thomas would undoubtedly be laughing, his warm, friendly laugh – maybe at Holloway and Kirsten as they struggled to fight Lyn, maybe at himself if he had been here to fight her… Alexis and Hastings, they had been inseparable, even in death.

All of them gone – a third of the cadets – in an instant.  It hadn’t rea
lly registered with him before, perhaps some part of him did in the Longboat home, but not truly, until right now.  He felt angry.  He had failed.  He had let his squad down.  No, not his squad – they were supposed to be his family.  And he felt oddly detached.  He knew all of them, but he didn’t really know anyone of them.  Where did Thomas come from again?  Medusa?  What was it that Alexis hated, the thing Hastings always did?  Was it mixing her Passers together, or slipping ‘Radishes’ on her plate?  Or was that Freeham?  How much did he know about those who survived?  But to ask would be to invite questions – about him, about his past.  And he didn’t really want to talk about that.

Could he have warned them sooner?  Could he have saved their lives?  After all, of all the cadet squads, he had lost the most.  He didn’t even kno
w how some of his team had died.  He could feel tears of shame, of anger, of despair suddenly well up – but he forced them back down.  They couldn’t see him like that.

He had seen loss in the slums, and crying about it did not help – not when one’s survival was on the line.  Janus swallowed hard and clenched his fists, steadying himself, searching for something to take his mind from the pain.  He spied Marcus some distance away working with
an unpowered Ghostblade.  As Janus approached, Marcus acknowledged him with a simple nod, looking over towards Captain Rogers, who watched the Adepts work from afar.

They stared at each other for several moments before they both took a fighting stance, and Marcus launched himself at Janus, swinging the dull blade.  Janus ducked a
nd weaved, never striking back; only deflecting and dodging the fearsome weapon. 

Janus had no idea why they performed such an exercise – what possible benefit it could pass on
to them.  But it felt right, and it was challenging.  Once, he thought he caught a glimpse of Rogers, and maybe Keats, watching them, but Janus couldn’t dwell on it – every bit of his concentration was poured into avoiding the flurry of blows.

They sparred for
what seemed like hours, only stopping to switch who carried the blade, and who struggled to stay away.

Late in the day, Wouris arrived.  She and Rogers passed solemn looks to one another, and Rogers dismissed them.  Wouris moved them along quickly back to Sigma 3.   Lining them up, she spoke quickly to them.  “At sunset, we will hold the ceremony for our lost comrades.  You will form up as a platoon at 1820 around the trunk in formal dress, at which time we will proceed to Platform A for the Blood Poets’ Ceremony.”

Adepts rarely performed burials, not because of a lack of respect for the dead, but because very rarely did they have a body.  This was part practicality and part tradition of the Adepts.  No Adept who fell in battle wished for a friend to die in an effort to retrieve him or her.  Often, due to the nature of combat and the weapons of the S.T. troopers, an Adept was either treatable or dead; very rarely would one die once evacuated.  So instead of a burial, the Blood Poets’ Ceremony would be performed to remember those left behind.  Janus had never witnessed the ceremony himself, but he knew it would be of particular importance.

Each ceremony was led by a Blood Poet
– masters of arms, words, and spirit so respected that other Adept Legions would recognize them as honored guests and never harm them.  The Praetor was the military, economic, and social leader of a Legion.  A Blood Poet was the spiritual one.  If a Blood Poet was ever lost or killed, Legions who had been at war with one another had been known to allow their Blood Poets to travel to their enemies’ camps to perform the Ceremony.  Even Corporations granted respect to Poets, and on rare occasion, requested their presence.

Wouris’ voice seemed distinctly different when she discussed the Blood Poets’ Ceremony.  There was neither anger nor sadness in her words, but they gave Janus chills, “Anyone who is late will receive
two weeks’ confinement, reduced rations for three months, and be placed on inactive status for the next mission.  Dismissed.”