Skyfall: The Phoenix Enigma, #5

By Jay Aspen

A training exercise becomes a deadly battle.

New dangers and allies in the wild eastern marshes.
And a data heist becomes a tense hostage standoff.

 

Jac's medic principles are tested to the limit when a terrifying but controlled training exercise transforms into a desperate fight against invaders.

The Resistance is growing into its power as the rangers' training in close teamwork reaches new levels––
but in the heart of the city the Avarit regime has new and sinister tactics to unleash that will challenge everything they have learned so far.

The risks are high in this near-future world that has many bizarre twists and yet seems eerily familiar...

Skyfall is the fifth book in the Phoenix Enigma series, the near-future dystopian epic from Jay Aspen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandfire Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jun 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201648725

Jay Aspen

Jay writes from experiences in wilderness travel and extreme sports; snow peaks in the Andes, big walls in Yosemite and Baffin Island, sailing the Irish sea to photograph puffins and dolphins. A science degree and training with Himalayan shamans led to an interest in bio-psychology. She lives in the wild Welsh Borders, sings jazz, rides horses.

Book preview

.

Resistance Archives 5

.

.

The long-term hope of the Resistance is to bring reform without a devastating civil war, working with allies within the corrupt system. After years of running food banks and free clinics, their leaders have earned the trust of the trapped citizens.

.

But it leaves them with a new question.

.

Which of their powerful new allies can they trust?

.

Archives 5; 6

Maps

Future Britain

.

.

.

The City

.

.

1

Jac waited in the shadowed doorway of the barn, watching the last half-dozen falconers still busy settling their birds in the temporary mews.

Late arriving for their training session yet again!

The other islanders who had travelled south with her to the Warren had headed down to the rangers’ training area twenty minutes ago. Raine had probably already started the session without these latecomers.

The sound of quiet human footsteps and the ruffling of hawk feathers echoed softly in the gloom, stirring the air with sounds and smells that reminded Jac of the Icehall mews far to the north that she had left behind only a few days ago. She knew the stragglers’ delay and dithering was not entirely due to the usual chaotic way the islanders seemed to do everything. Her heightened awareness could sense the tension, the newcomers’ uncertainty in unfamiliar surroundings. Add to that some painful memories of the previous day’s relentless fight-training routines and it didn’t take much imagination to understand their reluctance to get moving for more of the same.

Jac stroked Sybina’s soft neck feathers thoughtfully as the peregrine shifted balance on her leather-gauntleted wrist. She had flown the peregrine early that morning, knowing the hawk needed to hunt and eat before returning to the mews to rest and digest. She had promised to spend the rest of the day helping the other rangers train this bunch of tough but unruly island pioneers, preparing them for a dangerous trek in search of new territory to occupy and farm.

The few days she had spent in the frozen Ice Islands had shown her how precarious the existence of the snowbound exile community had become. More people than ever had been fleeing the capital, risking a perilous journey on overgrown and potholed roads to reach comparative safety in the remote north, beyond the grasp of Avarit military patrols and surveillance. And now those increased numbers had resulted in over-hunting, tipping the balance against long-term survival.

The islanders still showed no sign of moving out of the barn. Jac sighed and left them to it. Her sharp insights would be more use on the training ground than hanging around here.

She settled the peregrine on a perch in the corner before running outside and down the narrow path to the training ground, wondering why it felt so reassuring to be back at the Warren when everyone knew the Avarit military might attack any day. They had to trust their lookouts. At least now they had been joined by eight falconers from Icehall whose hawks were equipped with powerful cameras in their flight transponders. The rangers were relying on the new eyes in the sky as well as on the ground, hoping this would give more advance warning of the new threat from Avarit enforcers.

For Jac, the reminder of her escape from the previous attack on the Warren was still raw and recent enough to bring sweat to her palms every time she thought about it. Six years’ medic training with her grandfather had left her confident in her healing skills––but a few weeks of dodging bullets with the Resistance had been a painful lesson in how little she knew about self-defense. She found it hard to believe her unusual skill in deep communication could ever compensate for a life lost if someone died protecting her, never mind how much the rangers valued her skill in deep communication.

From the edge of the clearing Jac could look down from the dappled green shade to the activity in the sunlit grassy space below her, where twelve of the forest rangers were trying to train the newly-arrived islanders. She paused to concentrate, reaching out her senses in search of elusive clues to why the recruits’ responses were so chaotic. It wasn’t even clear what they were trying to achieve in the exercise.

Raine was standing near the ruined hut, his tall athletic frame distinctive among the milling group of people. She could sense his concentration even from here as he watched the islanders’ progress.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Jac walked over and slipped her arm around his waist, a tingle of excitement running through her at the touch. Back at his side again after their separation, every step felt like a dance, sounds more vibrant, sunlight warmer...

She could feel his tension as taut muscles urged him back into the action but that tension also held him motionless, trying to figure out why the training program wasn’t working. She leaned into him, loving the physical closeness and at the same time hoping to calm and encourage him, to offer reassurance. He was the one with the expertise, but she knew only too well how much that responsibility could take out of him.

I just hope there isn’t another attack that forces us in different directions again...

He turned to look at her, breaking into a cheerful grin that was almost convincing. But she knew him too well, could sense his determination to see the lighter side of the shambles playing out below them. She had seen how carefully he could hide his doubts if he felt others needed the support of his self-confidence. He would only relax his guard with his older advisers, but maybe one day he would accept that she could feel his uncertainties whether he spoke of them or not. Then perhaps she could become an extra listener, someone with whom he could talk through the strain of being a leader in dangerous times.

He ran archery-calloused fingers through her untidy curls, stirring the fresh tang of herbal dye she had used that morning to darken her natural chestnut back into line with the rangers’ strict camouflage discipline. He raised an eyebrow.

Not sure if I’ll ever get used to you looking like a ranger.

If it means we can both be in the same place for a while...

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. I couldn’t face almost losing you again. But the priority is to get you into second level training, develop your psych-skills. So our paths should be the same, at least for a while. As soon as we can get these islanders sorted and moved out of here.

Jac felt his sudden shift of focus as the pull of duty turned his gaze back to the activity on the training ground. Their time together was always squeezed into snatched moments between Raine’s obligations to the other hundred rangers based at the Warren. And now there were thirty islanders to train as well...

His brow furrowed under the tangled dark hair.

Right now the islanders have no hope of surviving if they run into a military patrol on their way across country. Two months would be more realistic than two days to get this lot into shape. I hadn’t expected this level of confusion.

You sure they can’t stay here a few more days?

Raine shook his head. It’s a bigger risk for them than heading out into the unknown. Everyone knows the Warren could be attacked any time, which is why I’ve been keeping all but a dozen rangers out in the forest on Outlander-protection. With fewer people here, we’ve more chance of disappearing into the forest. But we’re scheduled for changeover tomorrow––which means our Outland patrols are coming back in, plus thirty rangers due to arrive from the western mountains tonight. Even with all our training and experience we’d find it difficult to hide so many in the forest at short notice if there’s an invasion. The islanders will have no chance without the discipline for it.

Jac followed his focus to the action below, trying to work out where the key to a breakthrough might be.

I only spent a few days with them on their home ground, but I did get a feel for how they live. Many of them are second or third generation––they have never known anything other than a kind of hunter-gatherer life based in the northern halls. As snow hunters, they’re well used to rough country and cold bivouacs, but they can’t respond quickly to unfamiliar situations.

Raine glanced back up the hillside. "Speaking of timely responses, where are the last few falconers?

I left them at the mews, still faffing around with their hawks and their gear. They’re not used to flying them in relays, but we have to do it that way here so the surveillance from the transponder-cams doesn’t have breaks in the coverage. It would be just bad luck if the invasion happened during a blind spot.

Jac shaded her eyes as a sturdy figure emerged from the trees, the morning sunlight catching red on a mane of bright ginger hair.

That must be Fox. I guess he’s a living example of why rangers figured dark hair is safer if you’re trying to stay out of the sightlines of an enforcer attack.

Fox spotted them and ran over to deliver an update.

The stragglers won’t be long. Usual stuff. They have to check on the hawks, collect things they’ve forgotten, get some water to drink... He shrugged apologetically. I think punctuality might be first on the list for today’s training?

Raine’s gaze moved over Fox’s shoulder to the edge of the trees as the last group of islanders finally appeared, herded by a couple of volunteer rangers in the role of perplexed sheepdogs.

That and a few other things! All this wandering around isn’t going to help if their leader needs to warn them of immediate danger. He watched the shuffling and confusion on the training ground degenerate into total chaos as the newcomers tried to join in. Fox? Do you have any ideas why your people can’t seem to adapt? Jac said you’ve only lived in the Islands for ten years. I wondered if you could still relate to what it’s like down here, within reach of the military. Maybe find a way of translating across the culture gap we seem to be dealing with right now.

Fox kept his eyes on the scene below as he spoke.

I think it’s because we’re used to hunting alone or in small groups. Look, you can see how everyone can move quickly and silently through open spaces and trees––any kind of wild terrain. We have to be aware of our environment, weather conditions, the movements of our prey. We learn to communicate among ourselves with a few hand signals if we have to make adaptations as we go along.

But you don’t operate in large groups?

Never. It doesn’t work for us. Even if thirty people happened to be on a salvage expedition across the jetstream to fetch glass and stuff from one of the derelict towns, we’d be in five or six small groups, just keeping close enough to rescue each other if a bad storm hit.

What about fight training?

We don’t need it. Enforcer convoys haven’t managed to cross the frost damage on the roads––and they don’t have much appetite for invading on foot. Not yet, anyhow. Fox broke into a mischievous grin. And we’re too busy surviving in the snow to have the energy to attack each other!

Point. Raine hesitated for a moment to think it through. "To us, your country is the safe place to send families with children, but I can see the lack of threat would affect the way you all think and act. Can they use Illyrian language for covert communications?

Fox shook his head. No. I picked up a few words of it but it has no function for hunting. We rely on learned stalking patterns, with hand signals if we have to improvise.

We might be able to work out something by developing the hand signals they already know. I guess we focus on what’s realistic in the short time available.

Jac tried to recall her last few days with the pioneers.

I noticed how well everyone sorted themselves out to take care of their hawks when we first arrived here. Is there a way we could adapt a strategy from that?

Fox frowned. The motivation might work, but eight falconers working out how to care for nine hawks isn’t the same as thirty people responding instantly to emergency orders to deal with a military attack. He waved a despairing hand at the chaotic scenes in the meadow below them. Which is what is supposed to be happening down there.

Jac felt a ripple of insight, a cool flow of clarity through the confusion. In the weeks since Fin had removed her neural implant she had noticed the exhilarating sharpening of perception that her own focus could bring. Although the implant had helped originally, it had eventually held her back. Now, without it, she was experiencing sudden glimpses of truth like this one. It was still too new to fully understand but she knew she had seen something useful.

I know how to do it. Well, at least it’s an idea.

Raine turned to her in surprise. Insights into healing I would expect but self-defense? What else have you been learning while you’ve been away from here?

It’s something Razz showed me when we were living underground in the city. I said I wasn’t happy about the way he and Kit had to risk their own lives as my bodyguards because I couldn’t fight. He told me to imagine the attacker was trying to stop me taking care of my patient––and Luc was obligingly lying on the floor with those burns on his arm, not-really-needing-to-act the role of desperate casualty. And it was starting to work for me. So maybe, if the islanders imagine the threat, whatever it is, getting between them and an injured hawk or sled-dog that needs attention, then it might work for them. Training with that perspective helps the two mind-strands to work together in synch, instead of the habitual one blocking anything new and different.

And it really worked for you?

Yes––it worked if I felt the attacker was preventing me from reaching my patient. Not that there was time to develop it much further. I’m not sure about the large groups bit though.

Raine glanced back at the milling islanders.

Maybe making a breakthrough with the first part will help the rest of it fall into place.

Kit pushed his way out of the chaotic melee of confused islanders, his broad shoulders carving a path to come and join them. To Jac’s relief, she found she could once again admire the young ranger’s dark good looks and powerful fight-skills without becoming distracted by his presence. That had been another episode she still had not fully understood and she was unsure if she could talk to Raine about it yet.

Kit stopped, breathless, leaning on the wall of the ruined hut. I think I just figured out a way to do this. It’s something Razz showed Jac––

Raine picked up his gear.

"We just got there two seconds ago. So we start over, see if it works. See if you can get through to them. Ast’ha lyr’yn p’en lieth."

2

Colonel Michael Parry walked into his new office and closed the door, his usual fifteen minutes before the morning official start time. The internal window gave oversight of the open-plan area beyond. This was where lesser mortals worked, maintaining security for the tightly-controlled Avarit regime. The last two employees scuttled hastily into their places, casting anxious glances in his direction. He took this as evidence that his early arrival habit had already provoked a few changes to the general culture of the place.

He settled himself behind the enormous desk he had inherited along with all the other trappings of seniority that came with his recent promotion to command Avarit’s security forces.

Power, prestige, increased salary. Was it worth what I had to do to achieve it?

This office had ten times the space of his previous dingy cubicle. Pearl-glass walls diffusing light to every corner. A giant wall screen, currently displaying the range of western mountains, with the location Fin had given him marked as a steep-sided valley on the northern part of the map.

Parry knew it was a false-trail. His need to satisfy the president’s demands for intel had become pressing enough that he had taken the risk of actually asking her to give him a false lead. His only option once he became convinced that she would never divulge the truth, even under torture.

His conflicted thoughts roamed restlessly, examining his new status, from the corrupt security situation he had inherited to the fake information on the screen. And then Moris’ insane demands that he should spend his increased budget on pursuing Raine and Pendrac and the rest of the Resistance instead of dealing with the death and disruption the F2 terrorists were inflicting on the city.

His previous years of active service had felt so much simpler––in spite of his resentment at the way his career advancement had been blocked. Still, he knew his refusal to comply with the harshest of government policies could have brought far worse penalties than a stalled career. Now all that had changed. His recent compromises had earned him a significant promotion––but the whole contradictory mess of it had left him with an underlying sense of unease.

If my career were all that mattered it would feel good to have made it this far. It just came to the point where the price was too high. But how far do I take this? Is there a solution? If the president discovers I’ve been collaborating with outlaws...

His mind started running through the sparse information permitted by the Avarit-owned TV outlets, searching for fresh ideas, possible solutions. There were several outposts under Avarit control on other continents but the heavily restricted information gave him no insights.

In what had once been north and south America the legacy of privately owned heavy weapons had furnished a civil war that was still rumbling on after fifty years, freeing several small enclaves of outlaws from Avarit domination. But they had paid a high price in blood––which was exactly what Parry feared the Resistance would provoke on this side of the ocean.

Southern Europe was still burning and the huge influx of home-grown refugees moving around the landmass had created an ongoing scramble for territory that was holding back reconstruction. Parry preferred not to think about the tactics Avarit had used to remove surplus refugees who had made it across the water to this side of the Channel.

The information blackout across Asia was easily overlooked in the barrage of Avarit-promoted images from the death zones in the tropics. Parry had noticed enough repeats in those newscasts to guess that nobody had dared go back there for fresh material for several years. No matter if the threats were fabricated. They kept the population compliant. Citizens in the city hated Avarit’s surveillance and the increases in work hours but they also feared losing the protection of the military.

It was no secret that Moris regarded the Resistance as the real threat to his power. Their ideals, their loyalty to each other, their efforts to help those less fortunate with their food banks and clinics, all shone like a beacon of hope in a grey prison, inspiring more people to join them every year. Parry could feel the pull of it himself––even though he felt sure the disruption they were causing could only end in disaster.

I won’t last long if I keep compromising my position trying to get these idealistic idiots out of trouble! They have no hope of succeeding. They will simply wreck what security is left in this city...

He looked across to the glass panel of the detention cell where Fin was now lodged. The elderly medic had managed to stand upright a couple of hours ago and was determinedly going through slow-motion exercises to rebuild strength in her limbs.

Parry had complied with standard directives to withhold pain meds from prisoners, even for serious post-op cases like this. He had expected her to stay huddled in the far corner, unable to move at all for the pain of four recently-repaired bullet wounds, one of which had punctured her left lung. On top of the physical pain, he knew it must be like living in a fish-tank in that tiny exposed cell––but she didn’t appear to be disturbed by it.

Or by anything he had inflicted on her so far.

How do they train them to do that?

He knew her Resistance associates would still think she had been killed while trying to escape to the Ice Islands. He wondered if their plans would be disrupted by the loss of her experience and advice.

Maybe agreeing to Joe Hilman’s cautious request had been a mistake. Appointing Joe’s wife Devi as Fin’s legal counsel was another risk it would have been safer to avoid. There had to be some connection between this lawyer and the Resistance––given Joe’s friendship with Jess before she had disappeared. Parry’s eyes strayed to the photo of his daughter, perched in the exact same spot on his desk as it always was.

What the hell, I have to appoint someone as legal counsel.

Whatever legal help Fin was given, it would make no difference if the verdict had already been decided. Which was almost certain with Moris’ re-election due soon. Another disastrous presidential term seemed inevitable, given Avarit’s ownership of both the media and the military.

Parry wondered for the tenth time whether he would have appointed Devi if that message, that unbelievable, out of the blue, beyond all hope message, had not been mysteriously slipped into his pocket sometime yesterday afternoon.

He tried to piece together the places he had visited outside the security building, but had failed to identify any point where it might have happened. He moved yet again to the only dead spot in Moris’ surveillance of his office, took out the crumpled slip of paper and stared at the note in his hand. The edges were already worn from the number of times his fingers had smoothed it flat.

He knew he had to destroy it.

But he knew he would keep postponing that moment, for one more chance to read through it again.

.

"Hey Dad. Been wanting to send this, ever since I saw you on TV talking about stopping the epidemic. I am so proud of you! Wish we could talk more but I have to keep it short. I know you’ll have to burn it anyhow.

Love you, J."

.

His eyes rested on the quirky little swirl she always put on the ‘J’. That was how he knew the cryptic note was genuine. He had spent so much time almost believing his own hoax, believing she really was dead... and the knowledge that she was alive demanded an explanation.

He had to know where she was. Maybe she wasn’t with the Resistance after all. Raine had said he’d been unable to find any trace of her. And somehow Parry still trusted Raine’s word, even now the outlawed ranger had become his primary target.

Would Jess have contacted him if she knew what he had done to Fin while she was trapped, manacled to that hospital bed? He knew only too well how his daughter would react if she knew how close he had come to injecting more of that vicious serum into a helpless prisoner.

Jess would keep her distance, refuse to communicate.

A repeat of the way she stomped out six years ago.

The sound of the door slamming behind her still haunted him. Granting Joe’s request had been a reaction, a probably futile effort to change some of