The Phoenix Conspiracy

by Richard L. Sanders

  "How are things down there, Pellew?" Calvin yelled down.

  "All clear so far," he said. "Haven't seen another wave yet."

  "Why aren't they attacking us?" asked Miles.

  "I think," ventured Pellew, "the soldiers have been moved to prepare for an invasion."

  Shen hopped up then and wobbled up the ramp to the raised platform. The field medic moved to stop him but Shen just glared at the medic until the man moved aside.

  Unopposed, Shen went to the nearest functioning console and, after using it for a few seconds, said "it's true. The Harbinger has docked with this ship and cut and sealed several openings. They've begun a boarding operation."

  "They must have detected our beacon," said Summers.

  "It's not all good news," said Shen.

  "What?"

  "The auto-destruct just got enabled."

  "How much time do we have?"

  "Several minutes," said Shen. "It takes awhile to heat up the central core to where it can explode. They don't have enough weapons left to simply detonate them and wipe out the ship."

  "Several minutes is still not much time," said Calvin. He looked to Pellew who nodded. They couldn't stay here.

  "Self-destruct... damn the masochistic moron who invented that dumbass feature," said Miles, followed by a string of progressively stronger profanities.

  "Shen, can you find out where the closest boarding point is that the Harbinger's soldiers have breached?"

  "Yeah," he typed away. "Two decks above us, about mid-starboard."

  While Pellew and his men cleared the outside, Calvin and Summers argued.

  "Let's go help out the Harbinger's men," said Calvin.

  "No," said Summers. "The Nighthawk is closer."

  "They're almost equally close," said Shen. "But she's right. Maybe we can save the ship..."

  "Maybe…” said Calvin. He wanted to save his ship, more than almost anything, but he was worried the launch bay would be sealed off and the Nighthawk couldn't blow its way out fast enough to fly away. Not to mention, if the tractor beam system were somehow still online, they might not be able to escape at all.

  "We've got to decide now!" said Shen.

  He was right, Calvin knew he was right. "All right, let's go for the Nighthawk," he said. Hating that the situation wasn't clearer. "It damn well better be flyable still." He imagined the Rotham data-mining the hard drives and tearing out systems to find every secret the Nighthawk had to offer. Hopefully they hadn't had enough time to do lasting damage.

  They left, carrying their wounded. Leaving their dead. As fast as they possibly could.

  And though they couldn't feel it, they could hear the ship shaking. Booming sounds echoing along the halls, with the screeching of warping, twisting metal. Some of the bulkheads were burning hot, deeply saturated with fiery red. "What are they doing to their poor ship?” asked Sarah.

  They hadn't gone far when a squad of heavily armed Rotham soldiers spotted them and opened fire. They had little choice but to drop and shoot back, trying to keep moving on their hands and knees in the other direction.

  Pellew ordered everyone to stay low while he talked to Alex—who still seemed cooperative—about a separate path, and Calvin wondered if it wouldn't be best to just storm the enemy and keep moving forward. Time was a serious issue. Their losses would be heavy, and regrettable, but better that some survived than none.

  A rocket-propelled-grenade soared through the air and exploded into a bulkhead nearby, sending shrapnel shooting everywhere. A thin piece grazed Calvin's arm, cutting him lightly. And his ears rang from the report. Everyone broke into a panic and began standing up. The first who did was cut down by energy fire.

  "Covering fire!" Pellew yelled, while waving for everyone to run down a side hallway. He and his soldiers rose to their knees and unleashed a barrage of thundering gunfire back at the enemy, trying to force them into a more limited position.

  Calvin scrambled to his feet and heard the faint words "help, help," barely coherent, and almost completely lost under the noise of weapons fire. He spun to see a soldier, one of the field medics, sprawled on the ground, writhing in agony, struggling to get to his feet. Several large pieces of shrapnel were stabbed into his shoulder, stomach, and leg.

  While others scurried all around, Calvin double-backed and ran to the wounded soldier. As gently as possible, but hastily, he helped him to his feet and put his arm around his shoulder. And together, like an awkward three-legged animal, they ambled forward. Trying to escape the raging firefight, which was quickly ending as Pellew and his men retreated.

  The ship creaked and rumbled and Calvin looked up to see several cracks and burn marks in the ceiling and bulkheads. He and the wounded man were falling behind, and their backs would soon be exposed to the enemy, who would certainly come around the corner soon.

  "Wait up!" Calvin yelled ahead. Pellew turned and, catching sight of Calvin, sprinted back to help. But, before he could close the distance, they heard an explosion and saw a brilliant flash.

  The artificial gravity gave out for an instant and Calvin felt himself fly free, blown to the side as a small explosion ripped the wall next to him. Debris crashed into his side, bruising his ribs. The soldier he was helping was sent the opposite way.

  Calvin landed hard on his back a second later, the backup gravity system now online. Despite the pain, he got back to his feet resiliently. Wiping dust from his stinging eyes and face. When the haze cleared, he found himself on the wrong side of a debris pile where a major bulkhead had collapsed, revealing a mountain of metal, fireproofing insulation, and electrical wiring that had started a small fire which ate the precious oxygen. A human arm stuck out of the pile, its owner certainly crushed. Calvin dug it out just enough to confirm the man was dead.

  "Calvin!" He heard the muffled shout through a small hole in the shifted debris pile.

  "Yeah I'm here," he replied. He tried to find a way through but most of the debris was too heavy to move and there was no hole large enough for his body to get through.

  "You'll have to go around," said Pellew from the other side. "I can't get to you." Calvin could barely hear him.

  "Okay," said Calvin. "Go on without me."

  Then he heard Miles. "I'm coming."

  "No!" said Calvin. "Just go. I'll find another way. Pellew, you and Summers have command. Now go!"

  At that, Calvin about-faced and ran.

  He had no concept of the ship's layout and, knowing that between a squad of enemy soldiers and a mountain of debris, the only ways back to the lower ladders were impassible, he'd have to come up with something else. His intuition told him there would be a set of emergency ladders on the opposite side of the deck. Most ships had similar features. It was worth a try.

  His heart raced and footsteps thundered, and somehow he managed to ignore the mind-shattering pain that shot through his body.

  He didn't dare pass the corner where the Rotham squad had been. Instead, he went around, trying to cut corners wherever he could. Defenseless against whatever he ran into. Luckily, the deck seemed to have been evacuated and he saw no one.

  It turned out, there was an emergency ladder hatch like he’d thought. But, after unsealing it, he realized it was damaged. The section leading down was crushed by a collapsed bulkhead making the only passable direction upwards—away from the Nighthawk.

  So, without another thought, he scrambled up, now hoping to meet up with the Harbinger's soldiers. Trying not to assess the probability of success. At least death would be swift.

  "Two decks above us about mid-starboard," he remembered Shen's words. At two decks he stopped climbing and ran.

  It looked like a crew-quarters deck, except on fire. The bulkheads and floors wouldn't burn, but several of the cheap doors were ablaze along with bodies—mostly rotham, which littered the floors in droves. He began coughing immediately and tried to stay low as he continued forward. On the distant side of the corridor he saw muzzle and energy flashes and the rem
ains of a Rotham contingent in full retreat as camouflage-clad human marines swarmed the deck.

  He didn't have to go far before he ran into a marine master sergeant.

  "Friend," said Calvin. "Human."

  "Who are you?" The soldier lowered his weapon once he spotted Calvin's somewhat tattered black-and-silver uniform.

  "Calvin Cross," said Calvin.

  "Where's your crew?"

  "They're not coming. And this ship is about to blow. Autodestruct is active."

  The master sergeant spoke into his radio and his superiors instructed him to escort Calvin and begin a full retreat back onto the Harbinger. They began a speedy withdrawal.

  Calvin was constantly surrounded by dozens of soldiers as he ran for what he now recognized to be a gaping hole in the most distant bulkhead; an attack jetway had been crudely sealed to the breach to maintain air pressure. They practically dragged him inside and, once they'd all come aboard, the master sergeant sealed an emergency hatch and cut the jetway loose. Through a small window, Calvin watched the jetway tumble away into open space as they departed, putting some distance between them and the Rotham ship. His view was limited, but he kept searching for a glimpse of the little black Nighthawk flying away. But never saw it.

  "This is going to be close," the master sergeant said.

  Calvin held his breath, waiting for the Rotham ship to rip itself apart in a spectacular display of fireworks. But, when it finally did happen, it was over practically before it began. One moment a drifting crippled warship and the next a rotting black husk, pieces thrown thousands of kilometers apart. Many of which must have crashed against the Harbinger's hull.

  When they all realized they were still alive, Calvin and those around him let out a cheer and he felt himself relax a little. The pain in his ribs returned to full strength, as if just given permission. And only then did he fully realize...

  He was on the Harbinger.

  The master sergeant grabbed Calvin by the shoulder and looked him squarely in the eyes. "Come with me."

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the bridge. The Captain wants to see you."

  Chapter 31

  The Harbinger seemed even more massive inside than outside.

  Calvin, closely escorted by two marines—and a medic who had hastily patched Calvin’s light flesh wound—walked through a maze of endless grey corridors. They passed dozens of busy personnel along the way. Most were occupied with whatever tasks they'd been given, but very few were too busy to pause and give Calvin a curious look. He couldn't help but wonder, as he saw their wondering faces, if they knew even less about what was going on than he did.

  But then he remembered these were people who'd helped the Harbinger illegally escape with a condemned military prisoner. They had to know something. Either that or Raidan truly was a master of manipulation. It was hard to be completely sure of anything.

  Somehow the steel-grey everything of the Harbinger felt much more bleak than the Nighthawk, which was mostly black inside and out. And Calvin wasn't sure if it was because he was a stranger here, and possibly a prisoner, or if it was some other reason. The grim faces? The large number of soldiers? The vacant blankness of every wall? Maybe some combination of these factors. Perhaps it was everything. Perhaps the Harbinger was designed to look and feel grim, deadly, and ruthless. If so, it worked perfectly. Calvin couldn't suppress a chill as he walked, stomach twisting in knots, feeling cool air pour from the vents. This is it. The Harbinger. The elusive Raidan. Everything.

  A part of Calvin's mind wanted to be afraid, to be alert and on his guard. But a much louder part was glad to be there. Rescued from the Rotham ship. Believing that, once and for all, he'd finally find the answers to his questions.

  At long last the elevator came to a halt and Calvin guessed the entire journey had been more than ten minutes. The door slid open, revealing a very large, very rectangular bridge. Lights from dozens of computer screens glowed, brightening the otherwise dark room, and a view of the Liberty Sun's port side blocked out most of the black sky. The stars themselves were lost in the Liberty Sun's bright lights shining through the windows. In front of them were two silhouetted persons. Calvin guessed one was Raidan.

  "This way, Lieutenant Commander," one of Calvin's escorts said as he guided Calvin across the long stretch of path toward the silhouetted figures. As they crossed, Calvin felt in awe of the bridge's size. It felt as large as an entire deck of the Nighthawk, and it was staffed by more than twenty officers attending to many, many stations, whose functions he could only speculate at.

  For a moment he wondered what it would be like to be in command, and responsible for, such a large crew, and whether or not he would like it. And, for the second time, he wondered how in this crazy, crazy universe Raidan had managed to win the loyalty of all these people.

  They neared the two silhouetted figures and Calvin could hear them talking to each other. Most of their words were lost to the noise of the bridge's staff, and junior commanders relaying orders to minor divisions throughout the ship. When Calvin's presence was noticed, the duo hushed their conversation and turned to face him. In the dimness Calvin could more-or-less make out the features of Raidan's face.

  "Ah that must be Mister Cross," said Raidan. "Welcome to my ship. You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

  "The feeling is mutual," said Calvin, though he wasn't sure what Raidan wanted from him. Even though he couldn't guess what it was, he was certain that Raidan wasn't the type to do anything for free.

  "Do you always keep your bridge this dark?" asked Calvin.

  Raidan chuckled. "No, not always. But when I'm flying no colors I keep all decks with windows as dark as possible, anything that makes us that much harder to see is an advantage."

  Calvin wondered if it were really effective or not. Having the luxury of his advanced stealth system, he'd never had to worry about internal lights giving him away.

  "But I think we're quite alone now, wouldn't you say so, Mister Ivanov?" asked Radian.

  "There's a lot of debris on the scopes, but nothing that could hide a ship. We're safe for now."

  "All right then, bring up the main lights."

  In a snap, the bridge filled with light from all angles. One light caught Calvin directly in the eyes, forcing him to squint. When he opened them wide he saw Raidan more clearly, looking neither happy nor unhappy, and the mysterious person standing next to him, wearing a commander's uniform, was none other than Tristan.

  "You—?” asked Calvin, unsure what to think. Immediately his mind struggled to connect the dots. Tristan had been stranded in space, then he was taken aboard the Nighthawk—and he got loose, then transferred to the port authority on Aleator, then he'd shown up to help Calvin fight off his attackers on Aleator One, and now... he was here.

  "Surprised to see me?" Tristan asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  "Yes," said Calvin, he turned to Raidan, "what is he doing here?"

  Raidan made a subtle grin. "I expect you have more questions than I have time to answer," said Raidan. "And right now we need to set course for Gemini and jump as soon as possible."

  Calvin saw a piece of debris float past the window and his thoughts shifted. "Wait."

  Raidan looked curious.

  "What about the Nighthawk? Have you seen it? Did it escape the Rotham ship?" Calvin almost didn't want to know the answer. Any number of things could have prevented the Nighthawk from escaping in time. And, unlike the mighty Harbinger, it couldn't withstand a powerful shockwave or impacts with debris. "Did my ship survive?" he asked, keeping his voice calm even though his heart thundered.

  "See for yourself," said Raidan, pointing at the window. "Fifty degrees starboard." And, much more lithely than Calvin would have expected, the Harbinger rotated until a small glossy black ship was in view. Only visible because of its white and blue identifier lights. Of course Summers would turn those on, it's the law.

  Seeing the ship, in one piece, filled him with relief. And h
is breathing became easier. "I'm glad to see they're all right..." he said, almost laughing with relief, then he paused. "They must think I'm dead. Contact my ship and inform them I'm alive and aboard." He realized the last part sounded like a command so he added, "please."

  "We've already contacted your ship," said Raidan. "That's why they're holding position. But it might mean a lot to hear your voice. If you'd like we can patch you through a direct channel."

  "I would like that."

  "But, Calvin," Raidan paused, "when we go to Gemini, we all go together."

  Calvin wasn't sure what to think of that.

  "It is not safe here, trust me," added Raidan.

  "What’s at Gemini?" Calvin had nowhere else to go. He was a criminal now, and Raidan was his best chance at getting to the bottom of everything. But, on the other hand... Gemini was across the border into Polarian space.

  "You'll have to just trust me on this, it's not safe here," said Raidan again, cautiously side-stepping the question.

  "I see," said Calvin. "In that case, who is at Gemini?" he pressed him.

  "I promise I will tell you what I can," said Raidan. "But we don't have time for that before we go. We have to leave, and we have to leave right now." He was deadly serious.

  "All right," said Calvin, not sure what other good options he had—if any. "I'll tell my ship to follow your flotilla to Gemini."

  "Excellent," said Raidan.

  "But I want immediate access to your medical facilities, and the transfer of all my injured personnel."

  "Agreed," said Raidan and he ordered his officers to assist Calvin.

  They ushered him over to one of the comm stations and he put on the headset while the comms officer hailed the ship. Calvin heard a beep and the comms officer gave him a thumbs up; the Nighthawk had accepted the connection.

  "Hello," said Calvin, not really sure what was technically the proper thing to say.

  "Calvin?" It was Sarah's voice and, despite her usual calmness, she shrieked excitedly and yelled in the background to the rest of the bridge. Calvin thought he heard Miles' deep voice in the ambience, but wasn't sure over the headset.