The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  They moved quickly but quietly, speaking only in hushed tones. Calvin hoped they were not under surveillance. He couldn’t spot any lookouts or cameras, but for all he knew they’d been under surveillance since they’d arrived.

  The door was unlocked and led them through a long, narrow corridor that connected to another building. The passage was just over a meter wide and its walls were made of thick glass—like massive windows that showcased the stormy outside. Calvin was still thoroughly drenched, but, as he peered through the glass out into the storming darkness—which looked alien and beautiful in infrared green—he was grateful to be indoors.

  “Are you ready for this, Alex?” asked Calvin. They reached the end of the corridor and entered the next building.

  “I am,” said the Rotham, looking resilient.

  “We’ll be as close as we can,” said Calvin, “listening to every word. But—”

  “For all intents and purposes I’m on my own,” said Alex, interrupting him. “I’m not worried. I have Advent training. I’ll be fine.”

  Calvin nodded. He wanted to emphasize how important the Rotham’s mission was—it was up to him to find out where the isotome weapons were—but he knew Alex understood the consequences. There was a fierceness on his face and deliberateness shone in his eyes. He was ready. The plan would work. It had to.

  “The closest position we can set up in,” said Tristan, “is going to be about a hundred feet away. So when you call for help—if you call for help—it will take us a few seconds to get there.”

  “I can handle myself, werewolf,” said Alex. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “For your sake, Rotham, you’d better be right.” Tristan flashed his teeth for a moment. “This way,” he led them on. Through a maze-like path of corridors that wound their way through what was once a lab. As they moved deeper into the complex, it became clear that it had partial power. Some of the computer consoles, automatic doors, and mechanized elevators hummed with life and some of the lights were on. Calvin guessed these systems were restored recently.

  “This is as far as we go,” announced Tristan. “The meeting is through the door down the hall and around the corner. It’s up to you now,” he clapped Alex on the back. The Rotham staggered from the force, nearly losing his balance.

  “I know,” said Alex. He handed his rifle and tactical gear over to Pellew—including his IR goggles—because the instructions had insisted the Rotham representative arrive at the meeting place unarmed. Alex then switched the listening device back on—taking a moment to make sure it was properly concealed. “Mic check.”

  Alex’s voice came through Calvin’s earpiece, as well as everyone else’s. “It’s working,” Calvin confirmed.

  “Time?” asked Alex.

  “1451,” said Pellew.

  “About forty minutes before the scheduled meeting, hopefully that’s not a problem,” said Alex.

  “We don’t have a choice,” said Calvin. “That Rotham fleet could arrive any time.”

  “Understood,” said Alex. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my public awaits.” He pushed his way through the group and headed around the corner.

  “Godspeed,” said Calvin under his breath.

  Pellew gave the Polarian soldiers instructions and everyone made sure that, should Alex give them the signal, they would be ready to storm the next room. Hopefully they wouldn’t be charging straight into the teeth of an overwhelming force. Calvin checked his weapon, making sure it was chambered and ready to fire, then he pressed a finger against his earpiece. And listened.

  The microphone was so sensitive they could hear Alex’s footsteps. Eventually there was a muffled voice—it sounded like it was coming over a low-bit speaker—and then the sound of a door sliding open.

  Calvin tried to imagine the scene but all he knew, from the map they’d downloaded, was that it was a medium-sized square room with two doors and windows along one wall only. What was waiting for Alex inside that room was anyone’s guess.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked.

  “Envoy Riy’terim,” said Alex, borrowing the identity of a low-level Rotham official he knew of. “I’m here to finalize negotiations.”

  “You’re early,” the voice said.

  “We make it a policy to be early. That keeps the other party on its toes. Now, tell me where my isotome weapons are,” said Alex, smoothly changing the subject. “I don’t see them here.”

  “They aren’t yours yet...” said the voice.

  “I am authorized to pay you more than the agreed amount.”

  “How much?” the voice asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Fifteen percent more. But only if I can inspect the weapons,” said Alex. Calvin was impressed as he listened; Alex was very graceful under pressure. He’d certainly done this kind of work before.

  “How much money does that amount to exactly?” the voice asked carefully. Of course Calvin and his crew had no intelligence on what the specific amount was. They didn’t even have a guess at the order of magnitude, or even unit of payment. Which left Alex completely in the dark. He could make a guess, but odds were he’d be wrong and they’d see through his cover immediately.

  “Wait a minute,” said Alex, no doubt trying to think of some way to dodge the trap before him. “You’re stalling, aren’t you? You didn’t expect me to come early. And now here you are, with no isotome weapons, trying to delay me. You don’t have them here, do you? When the fleet hears about this they’ll—”

  “I assure you the weapons are here. You see out the window there?”

  “I see a lot of rain and fog,” said Alex.

  “Across the courtyard there is a silo. Half the weapons are there.”

  “And the other half?”

  “Still aboard the ship that delivered them.”

  Damn! They’d come all this way and it wasn’t the end of their hunt. They still had to capture the Arcane Storm.

  “That wasn’t the deal,” said Alex, his voice reflecting some outrage. “You were to turn all the weapons over to us!”

  “The deal has changed,” the voice said, textured by a hint of smugness. “The other half will be delivered to you at a later date. Pending how things go today.”

  “I see,” said Alex. “You want payment before delivering all the weapons to us?”

  “Payment plus fifteen percent,” said the voice. “As you so generously offered.”

  “And the weapons that are here on the surface. You say they’re in a silo out there. And I’m supposed to just take your word?” asked Alex.

  “Come look at this. There are cameras in the silo that broadcast to this terminal. As you can see, these images are in real time. And show that the missiles have been manufactured according to specifications and are ready for use.”

  “Yes, I see that,” said Alex. Calvin knew that statement was more for the benefit of his team than it was for the Enclave’s agent he was talking to. It was confirmation that the weapons were there as described.

  “Good. Now, do you see this?”

  “What is that you’re holding?”

  “Insurance,” said the voice ominously. “Now, you’ll have to answer a few questions for me before we can discuss terms.”

  Calvin felt his stomach twist into a knot—it sounded like the contact was going to try to make Alex prove his identity. If so then things could get ugly fast. He signaled for the others to get ready to move in. He would save Alex if he could, but no matter what, they had to get to that silo and destroy those weapons.

  ***

  “Sir, the squadron reports that containment position has been achieved,” said the pilot.

  “I confirm that all ships are in position,” said the ops officer. “No ship leaving the minefield or the planet will be able to jump away.”

  “Is it possible that the Nighthawk jumped before our ships were in position?” asked Nimoux.

  “No, sir. There is no new alteredspace signature. My scans can’t conclusively find it, but the Nighth
awk is most definitely still out there.”

  “And not going anywhere anytime soon, I take it,” said Nimoux.

  “Yes, sir,” confirmed the ops officer.

  “Good. Continue sweeping the mines.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Pilot, broadcast the following message into the minefield on all channels.”

  “Broadcasting.”

  “Attention, Calvin Cross of the Nighthawk. You are currently surrounded and unable to leave the system. We are sweeping the minefield and will find you eventually. When we do, we will use every means available to disable or destroy your ship. Surrender now and you will not be fired upon. Refuse, and risk destruction. Think of your crew. Their lives are in your hands. This is my final warning.”

  ***

  The mood on the Nighthawk’s bridge was grim and anxious as they heard Captain Nimoux’s warning repeat itself.

  “Shut that off,” said Summers.

  “What are we going to do, Commander?” asked Patrick.

  “Ignore him,” she said. “It’s probably an empty threat.” She doubted the Desert Eagle would destroy the Nighthawk without first making some kind of effort to capture it.

  “I confirm that their ships are deployed in a pattern that would prevent us from escaping,” said Cassidy. She used the ops console to project the opposing squadron on the 3d display.

  “We should surrender,” said Patrick. “And save the ship.”

  “No,” said Summers. “Midshipman O’Conner, you make sure our stealth system keeps stable. Midshipman Dupont, keep an eye on any ships that are sweeping the minefield. Feed their coordinates to the helm.”

  “Aye, Commander,” said Cassidy.

  “Lieutenant Winters, continue covert maneuvers. Keep this ship inside the safety of the mine’s cloaking field, and as far away from the sweeping ships as possible.”

  “Will do,” said Sarah, biting her lip in concentration.

  Summers spun the command chair back to face forward and began massaging her temples. She couldn’t delay Nimoux forever. Calvin needed to return quickly. If he didn’t... she’d have to leave him behind.

  “Every minute we’re putting the ship in greater danger,” said Patrick.

  “I understand that, midshipman,” Summers snapped at him. “There is something more important going on here.”

  Patrick’s face turned red and he looked either irritated or embarrassed. Serves him right.

  Summers stood up and walked over to the helm. Even if Calvin did return, there was still a squadron of ships holding them prisoner. “Lieutenant Winters, what is our best chance of escape if we try to run the Imperial blockade?”

  “We’d have to find the biggest gap between the ships and shoot through the middle,” said Sarah.

  “All the gaps are uniform,” said Cassidy. “The ships are evenly spread apart. I recommend we identify the ships with the weakest firepower and try to maneuver between them. Maybe we can get through before being disabled… or destroyed.”

  Summers looked at Sarah, wanting her thoughts.

  “It’s as good a plan as any, I suppose,” said Sarah. “But I wouldn’t bet on it working.”

  “It may be our only shot,” said Summers. “Perhaps when the Rotham fleet arrives—if the Desert Eagle hasn’t found us yet—that will create enough confusion for us to escape.”

  Sarah shrugged. “We can hope so, sir.”

  “Midshipman Dupont, pull up everything you can on those ships. Winters and O’Conner, do a tactical analysis of the squadron. I’ll contribute what I know about the Phoenix.” She was still surprised to see it in the squadron and its ghostly image on the 3d display gave her a flurry of mixed emotions—mostly negative.

  “The Desert Eagle is effectively identical to this ship,” said Cassidy. “I’ll pull up what I can on the others. The military ships should be in the database but the other IWS ship, the Rhea, may be classified.”

  “This is a waste of time,” said Patrick. “We should just surrender.”

  “One more remark like that and you’re relieved,” said Summers, glaring at him. Being a former defense officer herself, she didn’t really need his expertise. She just needed him to monitor his post and let her know immediately if there was a problem with their stealth system or defenses.

  “The Rhea has next to nothing available on it, but I think it’s a safe bet that it’s one of the slower ships,” said Cassidy. “Based on its design and the position of its engines.”

  “The Phoenix is probably the slowest in the whole squadron,” said Summers. Not that the Phoenix was truly slow by any standard. “That will be the easiest ship to outmaneuver.”

  “I can confirm that,” said Cassidy. “With the possible exception of the Rhea. The downside to the Phoenix is that it’s heavily armed.”

  “So if we decide to do a flyby near the Phoenix, it’s all or nothing,” said Sarah.

  “What about the ships next to the Phoenix?” asked Summers, pointing to one of the smaller ones on the display. “If one of them is poorly armed, our best chance might be to go between that ship and the Phoenix. Taking heat from the smaller ship—but hopefully not enough to be overpowered—while outmaneuvering the Phoenix. Jumping before it can bring its weapons to bear.”

  “It’s possible,” Cassidy nodded. “The ISS Spirit is positioned adjacent to the Phoenix and it does have the fewest armaments of all the ships here. It’s conceivable that we could survive a beating from the Spirit, outmaneuver the Phoenix, and outrun the rest of the squadron before they converge on us and get into firing range, allowing us to execute a jump before being destroyed.”

  “That may be our best—”

  “Sir!” said Sarah, interrupting Summers. “We’re visible!”

  “What?” asked Summers, feeling a rush of panic.

  “I confirm,” said Cassidy. “The stealth system has been disengaged.”

  All eyes turned to Patrick who spun his chair to face them, arms folded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to resort to this but you refused to be reasonable.”

  “What are you talking about, Midshipman?” asked Summers.

  He frowned at her. “Trust me. This is for the greater good.”

  “I’ll move the ship deeper into the mines,” said Sarah. “But that won’t buy us much time.”

  Summers didn’t take her eyes off of Patrick. “Engage the stealth system. That’s an order.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Really, I’m surprised at you, Commander. I would’ve expected you, of all people, to understand. I don’t know what happened to you...”

  “Listen to my order.” There was a time, not too long ago, when Summers would have found herself doing the very thing Patrick was doing. Part of her sympathized. They had clear orders from the Fleet and were in possession of their ship unlawfully, therefore they had to surrender. But now that the images of the Fifth Fleet’s self-destruction haunted her dreams, and she knew that the Fleet had become corrupted, she couldn’t afford to turn herself in. Not yet. For all she knew, this ship was the only ship in the whole Empire dedicated to restoring the Fleet to its proper order. If only she could make him see that.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Patrick.

  “In that case, midshipman, you are relieved,” said Summers, walking swiftly toward the defense post. “Get off my bridge.”

  Patrick got out of the chair and stared down at her. “Make me.”

  “Lieutenant Winters, call for special forces.”

  ***

  It didn’t make sense. Why had the Nighthawk revealed itself? If they were heeding Nimoux’s warning and surrendering—which would be extremely convenient—then why did the ship refuse to communicate? And why was it moving farther away? Was this some sort of trick? It was almost like a mutiny was playing out on the Nighthawk’s bridge, or a disagreement between the defense officer and the pilot.

  “Intercept course, fastest safe speed,” said Nimoux. “Ops, track that ship’s position. Helm, o
rder the Rhea to help us bring in the Nighthawk.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell the rest of the squadron to hold position.” In case this was a trick, he wasn’t about to move his ships out of containment formation and give the Nighthawk a chance to outrun them and escape. That and he didn’t want his larger ships to stray too close to the mines.“The Nighthawk is continuing to reposition itself deeper inside the minefield,” said the ops officer.

  “The Rhea acknowledges pursuit order,” said the pilot.

  “Can we fire on the Nighthawk without setting off the mines?” asked Nimoux.

  “Yes, sir, if we move in closely and avoid using explosive ordnance.”

  “Order the Rhea not to fire any missiles.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the pilot. Adding a moment later, “the Rhea acknowledges.”

  “Time to weapons range?” asked Nimoux.

  “Just over two minutes.”

  “Defense, lock all guns onto the Nighthawk’s engines and propulsion. Let’s disable her. Helm, tell the Rhea to have her troops standing by. We’ll take the ship intact if we can.”

  ***

  “They’re locking weapons. Expect incoming fire in about ninety seconds,” said Sarah.

  Summers stood face to face with Patrick—only inches away. He was taller than her, and broader, but she didn’t let herself feel intimidated.

  “Stand down, midshipman,” she said.

  “No,” he replied icily.

  Summers moved past him, reaching for the defense console. She’d re-enable the stealth system herself if she had to. Patrick deflected her arm. She recoiled, then made another attempt, ramming him with her shoulder to get by, but he kept his balance and, in retaliation, shoved her hard.

  Cassidy gasped as Summers crumpled to the floor. Pain shot along Summers’ side and up her left wrist. She ignored it and sprang back to her feet.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Commander,” said Patrick. “Because I will.”

  “You do not treat her like that,” said Cassidy. She jumped up from her console and approached Patrick. Her hands balled into fists.