The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  “How do you do it?” he found himself asking, somehow disarmed by her closeness.

  “Be so positive?” again she’d anticipated the question.

  “Yes. I think if it were me, well, I wouldn’t be dealing with it nearly as well.” Honestly he believed he’d be a total wreck.

  “It’s not as bad as you think. The less time you know you have, the richer the experience of living becomes. And your whole perspective changes. All of the little, petty things fall away and you realize how truly wonderful it is to be alive, even if just for a moment. The way I see it—life is all the more beautiful knowing that it can't last forever, accepting that all of us eventually pass away. If I had all the time in the universe, I couldn't truly appreciate it. But knowing that my clock is ticking and that every new day brings one fewer sunrise for me to gaze upon, that makes every sight more colorful, every smell sweeter, and every song lovelier. I want to make the most of every moment. Then, when the end finally does come, I will be ready for it.”

  It was a beautiful sentiment, and Calvin was grateful to hear it. Even if he couldn’t quite see the universe in such a sunlit way.

  “Honestly,” said Rain, “now that I’ve accepted my condition, I wouldn’t change it.”

  Calvin had trouble believing that. Surely if a cure were found Rain wouldn’t reject it. Still, she seemed perfectly sincere. And he had no doubt she’d found peace. “Well,” he said, “if there is anything I can do for you or anything you need, just let me know.”

  Rain smiled. “There is something you can do for me, Captain.”

  “Name it.”

  “Be happy,” she said.

  The answer took him by surprise.

  “Be happy, okay. I’ll try to remember that,” he said.

  A ship-wide broadcast filtered over the speakers. “CO, contact the bridge right away. I repeat, CO, contact the bridge.” The voice belonged to one of the new crewmen.

  “I’d better answer that,” Calvin said and he dashed to the nearest comm panel. “This is the CO, what is it?”

  “You have a maximum priority message coming in, hailing you by name.”

  Again? Immediately he thought of Princess Kalila. Maybe she was finally giving him more details about her role in the strange events unfolding in the galaxy.

  “Send it to my quarters, I’ll be there directly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  The message turned out not to be from Princess Kalila, but Calvin was happy to receive it all the same.

  “Glad to see you made it in one piece,” said Calvin.

  The image of Rafael on the display showed him in his Intel Wing uniform in some office somewhere. Other than looking like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days, the man looked well.

  “I have to make this short,” said Rafael.

  “I understand.” No doubt every second he transmitted to Calvin represented a tremendous risk, despite the thick layer of encryption.

  “I have bad news.”

  Calvin felt his heart stop. What now?

  “The other three shuttles that left Gemini, none of them ever arrived.”

  “What?”

  “My shuttle—the one headed to Capital World—made it just fine. But the others… they never arrived at their destinations. Even the one bound for Epsilon Prime is hours overdue.”

  Epsilon Prime was the farthest destination of all four shuttles. That meant, of the sixteen former crew and solders who’d abandoned Calvin on Gemini, only four had made it. The rest were lost. Either captured or dead.

  “Has there been any kind of investigation or search?” asked Calvin, feeling alarmed. Those men and women had abandoned him but… he never wanted any harm to befall them.

  “No,” said Rafael. “No one knew the shuttles were coming, except us. When my shuttle made it to Capital World we were taken into custody and put through an intense interrogation process before being allowed to return to duty. We shared info about the other shuttles but Intel Wing has no other information about them, certainly not enough to begin a realistic search.”

  “I see,” said Calvin. Immediately he assumed the Organization had its hands in this. Perhaps Mira, who’d so openly opposed Calvin’s decision to let members of his crew part ways with him, had arranged for their elimination. It was a sick thought. Certainly she had motive, means, and opportunity. The only thing that didn’t add up was the fact that Rafael’s shuttle had been spared, even though no one else knew that Rafael was working for Calvin. “And your shuttle had no problems?”

  “None. We were never attacked. The shuttle was swept for bombs after we arrived. No attempt was made to disable or destroy us.”

  If it had been only one shuttle that had disappeared, Calvin would be tempted to think the shuttle experienced a structural or systems failure. Deep-space shuttles were notoriously less reliable than larger ships. But three shuttles simultaneously experiencing such issues wasn’t really plausible.

  “There’s more bad news,” said Rafael.

  “Go on.”

  “You are being actively hunted by Intel Wing.”

  “I assumed as much,” said Calvin. He knew Intel Wing would never stand idly by as one of their most valuable ships dropped off the radar. They would hunt him down and, if they couldn’t capture him, they’d destroy him.

  “Yes, but that’s not the frightening part. We all knew they’d send someone after you. But it’s who they picked that has me worried.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Captain Lafayette Nimoux.”

  Calvin’s eyes widened. Nimoux? Nimoux was a legend even outside Intel Wing circles. His missions had defied outlandish odds and succeeded in incredible ways to further the interests and security of the empire. His triumphs were so well known, he’d become a household name. And while Calvin had once been considered among the brightest rising stars in the company, Nimoux was the undisputed champion. No one outshined him; no one had accomplished half as much, and his record boasted no failures. Part of Calvin was flattered to know it was Nimoux pursuing him. But the rest of him panicked. Rafael was right to be concerned. Nimoux was not someone Calvin could evade for long.

  “Thank you for telling me,” said Calvin, keeping his composure. “How much of a head start do I have?”

  “Hard to say. The Desert Eagle was given a short assignment to take care of before pursuing you. But, for all I know, they’ve finished it and are at Gemini already.”

  “It’s safest to assume that’s true. I’ll be extra careful from here on out. And, should the worst happen…” said Calvin, his voice trailing off for a moment.

  “The Nighthawk will still be a match for the Desert Eagle,” said Rafael. On paper the ships were nearly identical. And Calvin considered his crew among the best in the galaxy—after all, he’d handpicked many of them. But he knew it was probably too optimistic to think the Desert Eagle would attack them solo.

  “Have you found out anything new about the Phoenix Ring?” asked Calvin.

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Rafael. “I’ve looked over the dossier you gave me and done a little digging but, if there is anything to be found, it’s buried extremely deep and I don’t want to probe too obviously.”

  “That’s wise. Do what you have to do to stay under the radar. And make sure you watch your back out there.”

  “I will. Good luck, Calvin.”

  Chapter 10

  “Keep scanning,” said Nimoux. “Show me what this brand new, thirty-million q sensor equipment is capable of.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied the ops officer.

  They’d recently arrived in the Gemini System and Nimoux’s first order had been to try to get a fix on the Nighthawk’s alteredspace jump signature. Unfortunately, their initial sweep had revealed nothing.

  “There is evidence that several jumps have been made recently from this system,” said the ops officer. “But it seems impossible to affirmatively link one of the signatures with the IWS Nighthawk itse
lf. The stealth-frigate is too small to leave a severe imprint, and any number of ships fit into the same classification group in terms of mass.”

  “Using our own ship as a point of reference,” said Nimoux, “is there any way we can isolate the Nighthawk’s signatures?”

  “Not conclusively, sir.”

  “In that case, map every plausible signature that might have been created by the Nighthawk and then feed that information to the lab. Tell them to create a probability distribution for each candidate. If we are forced to guess where the Nighthawk is, then I want to make the best guess possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Another thing, lieutenant. Are there any jump signatures that might belong to the Harbinger?” This probably seemed like a strange, off-mission inquiry. But his officers knew better than to question him.

  “There is one possibility,” said the ops officer. “Though the signature is extremely faded and I’m not even sure that my reading is correct. In fact, if it wasn’t for the advanced sensor, it would be totally invisible. But if it is an imprint, it must have been created by a massive starship.”

  “Probable heading?”

  “Determining that now...” the ops officer ordered the computer to perform a series of calculations.

  Nimoux waited patiently. He didn’t understand much beyond the basics of the different bridge posts—having been brought into the company directly from special forces, and then promoted directly to command—but he trusted his officers to perform their duties as quickly and efficiently as was humanly possible.

  “The Argonis Cluster, sir. That’s where the massive imprint seems to be pointing.”

  “Renora,” said Nimoux under his breath. The Argonis Cluster was very large and included over a dozen systems, but Renora was one of them. He knew that was where the Harbinger had ultimately arrived, so the stolen dreadnought had probably come from Gemini.

  “A second sweep of the potential Harbinger jump signature confirms that the spatial distortion is consistent with an alteredspace jump made by a ship of the Harbinger’s magnitude.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant,” said Nimoux. “Sounds like that was 30 million q well spent.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Have the lab keep me advised, I want to know the instant we’ve determined the Nighthawk’s likeliest heading.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Nimoux leaned back in his chair and took in the view. The once inhabited Gemini planet wasn’t yet visible out the window, nor was the monolithic conglomerate that orbited it, however the 3d display showed both, along with a patrol pattern of ships running defensive maneuvers, completely unaware of the Desert Eagle’s presence. It was time to announce their arrival.

  “Defense, standby to disengage the stealth system on my mark.”

  “Standing by.”

  “Helm,” said Nimoux. “Plot a direct course to the Gemini Conglomerate. Maximum safe speed, let’s not give them any extra time.”

  “Aye, sir. Course laid in.”

  Nimoux watched the blip representing the Desert Eagle approach the Gemini conglomerate on the 3d display.

  “Any closer and we run the very high risk of being detected, sir,” said the ops officer.

  “Mark,” said Nimoux.

  “Stealth system disengaged.”

  Immediately he could see the station’s patrol ships react. No doubt very surprised to see a foreign ship so deep in their space, the hull of the conglomerate already vulnerable to their weapons. The defense ships scrambled to protect their station—in case the worst was happening.

  “Four destroyers on an intercept course.”

  “Maintain course and speed,” said Nimoux.

  “We are being ordered to identify ourselves and state our intentions,” said the helmsman.

  “Patch me through to the station and all ships. Audio only.”

  ”You’re connected.”

  “Attention all Polarian Confederacy personnel, this is the Imperial Intelligence Wing Ship Desert Eagle. We are on a mission to conduct a surprise inspection of your operations as pursuant to the Lyrae Accords article two subsection B. You will clear this ship for docking immediately with the conglomerate. That is not a request. I repeat, you are ordered to clear this ship for immediate docking and allow a team of inspectors to come aboard. Failure to comply would be a violation of the Lyrae Accords and result in severe sanctions placed against the Confederacy by the Empire, including but not limited to those defined in article four subsection A. You have sixty seconds to comply.” He signaled for the transmission to end.

  “We are fast approaching the station, sir,” said the pilot.

  “Begin a standard approach and prepare to dock. They will grant us clearance any second,” said Nimoux. He was certain of this. If there was a corrosive influence on Gemini, one that would subvert the interests of the Human-Polarian friendship agreements by providing refuge to powerful fugitives and their starships, there was no way that element would risk discovery—and brutal eradication—by single-handedly terminating the Lyrae Accords. If they were smart they’d humor the human “inspectors,” who were ostensibly there to survey the safety of the facility for its continued use by human traders, and bury what the Desert Eagle’s shore party was really looking for—evidence that the Nighthawk had been sheltered here.

  “Message from Gemini Control,” said the pilot. “We are cleared to approach pylon two, docking bay seven.”

  Nimoux smiled. “Commence docking operations and comply with all their directions. I’m sure they are putting us as far away from where the Nighthawk docked as they can—assuming the Nighthawk did dock. So order our teams to focus their search on the farthest possible location that would allow a ship to dock.”

  “That would be the drydocks, sir.”

  “Spread the word. And inform Major Rask that his teams will be cleared to go aboard the station momentarily.”

  “She confirms that her teams are in position at the airlocks,” said the pilot, after communicating Nimoux’s instructions.

  “Good. Let her know the moment docking operations are complete.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Now it was a contest of Intel Wing’s best investigative skills against Gemini’s capacity for whitewashing evidence. Nimoux’s only regret was that there were strict practical limits on what his people would be able to do given their finite resources and the immense size of the Gemini conglomerate. He believed they’d get something out of it though. The Gemini database was sure to be rich with information that, once properly mined, would help Intel Wing better understand the overarching threat. If they could just paint a picture of what kind of organization was based here—and there certainly was one—that would go a long way to winning the larger battle.

  “Docking operation has begun,” said the pilot a few minutes later. The ship slowed drastically and adjusted angle to connect with the station. “And... we are now in position. Confirmed full stop. Clamps are in place. Informing shore parties that they are go.”

  The waiting game began. Nimoux quietly meditated, trying not to think too much about the dozens of people swarming off his ship, beginning a systematic search of the Polarian station. Local databases were being tapped, harddrives mined, traffic records and docking manifests requisitioned, and dozens of facility staff and civilians were being selected at random for questioning. Others swept the station for signs of human DNA.

  The next hour and a half was spent in mostly silent contemplation. He would receive regular reports from the shore parties, and he’d use the new information to shape his evolving picture of what had happened on Gemini, while his ops officer logged and sorted the new data.

  The local harddrives showed signs of a recent memory wipe. Allegedly for routine maintenance, but the timing was too convenient not to be suspicious.

  What surprised Nimoux was the worthlessness of the testimonials they took from thirty Polarians chosen at random. Station personnel, repair crews, civilians, anyone the
y could get their hands on. Each Polarian’s story, though usually vague, perfectly corroborated with each other. Revealing no inconsistencies. And all of them denied any knowledge of the Harbinger or the Nighthawk. Either the two rogue ships had never arrived, or this was a perfectly rehearsed collaborative lie. Nimoux suspected the latter, but was annoyed that he couldn’t prove it. He guessed the underground influence at Gemini, which had aided and abetted Calvin and Raidan, had predicted Intel Wing’s arrival and managed to plant their own agents disguised as staff and civilians for this very purpose.

  If true, that meant the Polarians involved were being intentionally deceitful. An atypical behavior for members of their culture—though not unheard of. Usually Polarians practiced a strong devotion to honesty and a sense of rightness. And Nimoux had always admired them for it. He felt he could relate to their culture in a way most humans couldn’t. He understood how their lives were a spiritual battle—an urgent struggle for self-improvement—and a tireless, almost obsessive pursuit of inner peace. Their every action and devotion all ultimately boiled down to their individual journeys of seeking out their innermost centers. Though Nimoux went about it a different way, he had the same goal. Ever since his regrettable actions during the Altair Mission, when he’d been forced to shoot his own people, he’d felt hopelessly lost and guilty. He wanted to find his center as badly as any Polarian.

  Nimoux’s teams concluded their investigation and he submitted all retrieved information to his Intel Wing superiors, including a recommendation to the Director to “tear this place apart if necessary because Gemini is obviously hiding something.”

  “Incoming message, sir,” said the pilot. “It’s from deep space. The kataspace frequency is not specific, it’s broadcasting on all Intel Wing channels to Gemini. Highest priority.”

  “Originating from whom?” Nimoux spun his chair to face the helm.

  “It’s from the IWS Nighthawk, sir. Audio only.”

  The Nighthawk? “Let’s hear it.”

  A voice crackled over the bridge-speakers. “To any Intel Wing ship surveying Gemini. I have information that you will find most helpful. Please respond.”