The Phoenix Crisis

by Richard L. Sanders

  Calvin tapped his fingers and looked away for a moment. He had mixed feelings about what he was about to say. But, considering how the situation had developed, and that he had a critical decision to make, and no more time to make it—and that he needed to trust somebody—and Summers had really proven herself in the Remus action, he decided it was worth it. Even though it meant going against his word.

  “Sir?” she asked, her eyes probing him. He realized he’d been unresponsive a bit too long.

  He swallowed and accepted that what he was about to do was the right thing. “Summers… I’m not allowed to tell you what I’m about to tell you…”

  She perked up.

  “I gave my word that I would not share this information.”

  She said nothing to interrupt him but he could see the hunger in her eyes, signaling him to keep talking.

  “But the situation has come to a head and I have to make an important decision. I don’t want to make that decision without having someone else check my logic. I don’t want to make this decision alone, and on this ship… there’s no one here whose insight I value more.” His eyes met hers and he could see how pleased and pleasantly surprised she was behind her cold exterior. She fought a smile.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now to get right to it,” said Calvin, “do you remember when we were pursuing Raidan and I ordered the ship off mission to—”

  “Tau System, yes I remember.”

  “Well prior to going there I was sent a message from Kalila Akira.”

  “The princess?”

  “Yes. She asked me to go there and meet with her, and so that’s what I did.”

  Summers’ eyes widened. She almost seemed skeptical. Such a claim probably sounded absurd—a member of the royal family asking a random mid-level military officer to meet her in secret, not the most common of occurrences certainly. But Calvin could tell that, despite Summers’ instinctive skepticism, she believed him. After all, he had no motive to make up such a ridiculous story.

  “What did she want?” prodded Summers gently.

  “She was very interested in our pursuit of Raidan. She wanted me to follow Raidan and collect intelligence on his organization and to not interfere with his actions.”

  “A direct violation of your orders from Intel Wing and the Fleet.”

  “Exactly,” said Calvin. “And there’s more. She kept her presence on Tau Station secret from the station’s personnel. She was in disguise—almost looked like she was in hiding—and she told me specifically to keep quiet about the fact that we met.”

  “And have you met since?”

  “No,” said Calvin. “I’ve barely heard a word from her. But now she wants to meet with me again, and she claims it’s urgent. She asked me to divert the ship to rendezvous with her as soon as possible.”

  “I see,” said Summers, “and did she give any details as to what this is about?”

  “Only that it’s urgent and the window of opportunity is closing,” said Calvin.

  Summers folded her arms. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Raidan asked me to rendezvous with him. And, like Kalila, he claims that it’s urgent I meet with him, that he has something critical to tell me that he won’t trust to kataspace.”

  “And I take it you can’t do both?”

  “Raidan wants to meet at Lyra Minor and Kalila gave me a set of coordinates that lead the other way, the timeframe I have is now about twenty-two hours for each of them. It was never possible to meet with them both.”

  “At least, not possible for you to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you could send someone on your behalf to meet with one and then you could meet with the other. The Arcane Storm could go to Raidan and the Nighthawk could go to Kalila.”

  “That’s one option,” said Calvin. In truth he hadn’t decided whether or not it would be wise to let the Arcane Storm out of his sight. He’d promised to deliver it to Raidan, but a part of him had hoped to be there when the ship was torn apart from bow to stern to uncover all of its many mysteries. Another complication that Summers seemed to be downplaying was that, given his past conversations with Kalila and Raidan, Calvin doubted either would accept him sending one of his inferiors to meet on his behalf. “I’d have to go to Kalila, she’s under the impression that I haven’t told anyone about our meeting. And, until a few seconds ago, I hadn’t.”

  “I could go to Raidan,” a fire showed in her eyes when she said the name. Clearly she still had strong feelings for him—mostly negative. “Vargas can remain here and I can take command of the Arcane Storm. Whatever Raidan has to say to you he can say to me.”

  Calvin saw some logic in that plan, but he didn’t want Raidan and Summers’ history to become an issue. Calvin also didn’t want Summers to leave the Nighthawk. It was a strange feeling—more gut intuition than anything else—but he knew he’d be more comfortable if Summers remained. “Actually I think I’ll continue with the crew assignments as they’ve been given. Vargas will go aboard the Arcane Storm and meet with Raidan; you’ll remain here on the Nighthawk.”

  Summers looked hurt. She masked it well but Calvin was starting to get to know her. The last thing he needed was for her to again doubt that Calvin trusted her. “And, the minute I’ve finished my meeting with Kalila I’d like to have you around to discuss the new information.”

  Summers nodded, accepting this reasoning.

  “Just… tell me one thing,” said Calvin. “Am I making the right choice? Choosing Kalila over Raidan?”

  “Raidan cannot be trusted,” said Summers with a flat simplicity to her voice as if her statement was one of the axioms that defined the universe.

  “But can Kalila?” asked Calvin. He wanted to trust the princess, she was remarkable, and had this… profound effect on him. Her words stirred him and every moment in her presence was more pleasant than he would like to admit. She affected his objectivity, and he knew it. He didn’t want his feelings for Kalila—as weak or strong as they were—to impair his judgment. “After all, she is the Empire’s most wanted fugitive.”

  “When her ship attacked Renora,” said Summers, “someone gave the order to fire, but it might not have been Kalila. Whether it was her or not, I’m sure she has a valuable perspective on the situation. Meeting with her might be an opportunity to get information you can’t get from anyone else, not even Raidan.”

  That was true, Calvin supposed. Despite everything Raidan seemed to know, he probably had no more information on Kalila than Calvin did. “It is a golden opportunity. It might also be a trap. If Kalila’s ship was taken by a hostile force, and that force wanted to eliminate us, she could have sent her message to me under duress, to lure the Nighthawk to its death.”

  “We have the stealth system.”

  “We had it in Abia as well,” said Calvin, “and a lot of good it did us there…”

  “I don’t know the right answer,” said Summers. “But I would rather take my chances with Kalila Akira than Raidan. Raidan claims to be serving the crown. The Akiras are the crown.”

  It was what Calvin had wanted to hear. He wanted to go to Kalila. Despite everything she was accused of, and everything he didn’t know about her, and everything Raidan had already done for him—including saving his life—Calvin’s innermost feelings told him to choose Kalila. He just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out from her what was going on. He made himself a promise that by choosing Kalila he wouldn’t let himself become her pawn; the next time he saw her, he would demand to be told everything.

  “Anything else, Lieutenant Commander?” asked Summers.

  “No, thank you, that will be all.” He watched Summers go, so stunningly beautiful and yet so cold. She disappeared and the door closed, leaving Calvin alone.

  There was one more variable that Calvin hadn’t brought up. The Roscos had sent him a list of stolen materials—weapon components—that were probably acquired by Raidan while his people were on Aleato
r. The use of such a weapon—one that could create irreversible damage to a planet’s ecosystem—was something Calvin hoped Raidan incapable of. He’d wanted to share this intelligence with Summers but hadn’t wanted to divulge his source was the Roscos. His relationship with the galaxy’s premiere criminal outfit and his family’s past dealings with them wasn’t a subject he was eager to discuss with Summers, or anyone else for that matter. And certainly would require a lengthy conversation that he wasn’t even remotely in the mood to have.

  Calvin wondered if this decision would ruin him as an asset to Raidan, and possibly cut him off from much needed supplies, resources, and information. The Nighthawk had taken a severe beating from its brush with the Phoenix in Remus and would need to be resupplied and repaired, it also needed replacement personnel. Calvin could think of no way to obtain these resources except through Raidan and his Organization.

  A peace offering had to be made. At the very least, some kind of fool’s apology that Raidan would accept. Since Vargas wouldn’t know that Calvin was going to meet with Kalila—and that such a meeting was urgent—Raidan was sure to think Calvin had blown him off. Perhaps if Calvin gave Raidan something valuable, it would undo some of the sting of that injury?

  He got out of his chair and abruptly marched for the door. It was time to get more answers from their captive—whether he was medically strong enough for further interrogation or not.

  ***

  The Nighthawk had come to a full stop. Officially it sat in dead space so it could transfer personnel to the grossly understaffed Arcane Storm. Alex had no reason to doubt that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was indeed the whole story. Perhaps Calvin had commanded the ships to stop because he hadn’t yet determined where their next heading was, or perhaps he was waiting for something. Whatever the plan was now, Calvin was being mum on specifics.

  Alex had spent some time on the bridge, gleaning what information he could, but none of the officers—not even the junior officers—had let slip anything about the Nighthawk’s next destination—if they even knew.

  Alex wasn’t sure whether or not to be alarmed by this. After all, the last time the ship’s destination had remained classified—when they’d gone to the lycan base on Echo Three—Alex had been in the know. But then again, so had Tristan and Pellew, and from what Alex could tell neither of them had been told any new information. Only Summers, the ship’s XO, had met with Calvin privately. And Alex had gotten a good enough read on her to know that trying to get information to slip through her vice-like human jaws wasn’t worth the effort. She was a vault. Her cold, guarded nature seemed almost Rotham in a way and Alex respected that.

  Still… if Alex hadn’t been made yet, that didn’t mean he was in the clear. At least not so long as the loose ends remained. He stood ready, waiting. Knowing that time was not on his side and he needed to act swiftly. The moment the opportunity appeared.

  Eventually Alex’s patience bore fruit. As he stood on the Nighthawk’s bridge, ostensibly gazing through the window out at the Arcane Storm—but actually paying very close attention to the goings on of the bridge—Calvin finally emerged from the CO’s office.

  “Hey Cal,” the defense officer acknowledged him; he was big even for a human. With a thick beefiness that made Alex wonder what the man would taste like after being roasted over a spit. Strictly speaking Rotham didn’t eat humans, at least not since the peace agreement was signed, but Alex was old enough to remember the experience. And, while not all humans tasted alike, the kind that tended to look like the defense officer usually resulted in good texture.

  “Miles,” said Calvin, shooting the defense officer a glance of acknowledgement. He didn’t stop or even slow his pace toward the elevator. Just as Alex hoped.

  Once Calvin had disappeared below decks Alex subtly made his way to the CO’s office and entered. His presence in the CO’s office would be noted, which meant he needed to come up with an excuse. He wandered over to the captain’s console on the desk—the same computer station Tristan was allowed to use to periodically keep in contact with Raidan. Alex had not been granted computer privileged to transmit information off the ship, nor could he peruse much of the ship’s archive.

  He made a half-hearted attempt to send a message off the ship to one of the Rotham colonies. The ship—which had a communications lockout in place—blocked his attempt and logged that it had been made. The body of his message, which had been typed, was innocent enough. It was made to look like an effort on his part to re-establish contact with his Advent unit and alert them to the existence of isotome weapons, and let them know that while some had been destroyed, it was entirely possible that more existed. When Calvin reviewed the contents of the message he would probably not find it suspicious. Satisfied, Alex set to task on the real reason he was here.

  He walked over to the air vent behind the CO’s desk and using a screwdriver he’d concealed on his person, loosen and remove the grate. He knew that Cassidy had been assigned the task of searching the top deck for listening devices—so Calvin could identify the mole that had leaked information to Intel Wing—it was Alex’s intention to make sure Cassidy found one.

  He removed the listening device from one of his pockets. He checked it over, making sure that it still included the DNA material that he’d planted on it, and then he proceeded to plant the device in the ductwork near the grate. He swiftly returned the grate to its proper place and left the office. Phase one complete.

  “You tried to send a message didn’t you?” asked Miles, the big defense officer, once Alex was back on the bridge. “The computer blocked and flagged it.”

  “Guilty,” replied Alex in a ginger tone.

  A big smile spread across the human’s face. “You know,” he wagged a finger at Alex, “you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

  “I suppose not.”

  ***

  “I’d like more information from our captive,” Calvin said almost the minute he stepped into the infirmary. Rain stood in front of the captive—who’d been taken from the surface of Remus Nine—he was strapped down to a hospital bed and kept perfectly immobile. A special forces soldier stood nearby, armed.

  “I too have some questions for our prisoner,” said Rez’nac. The tall, muscular Polarian flanked Calvin; he was the only Polarian left on the ship—the rest had been moved to the Arcane Storm already—Calvin had asked him to remain a little longer to help interrogate the prisoner. Tristan had wanted to come as well—he was itching to continue the brutal questioning he’d started already—but Calvin had intentionally left him out of it. The last thing he wanted was for their prisoner to be tortured to death.

  “Rain?” asked Calvin, noticing that the doctor hadn’t yet turned around. She was looking down at her patient.

  “Human healer,” said Rez’nac. “The prisoner has much to answer for, his actions resulted in the return of many of my brothers to the Essences. He will answer our questions.”

  At last Rain turned around and faced them. She pulled off her gloves and showed a look of puzzlement and sorrow on her face. “I’m afraid that will be difficult,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Rez’nac.

  “There has been an interesting development,” she replied and then stepped out of the way, gesturing for them to get a good look at their injured prisoner.

  The man no longer resembled the living being he’d been on the surface of Remus Nine. As an Enclave operative, Calvin had assumed the creature they’d taken—who’d looked perfectly human—had been a strigoi Remorii. If not that, then certainly he had to be human. But now, judging by the looks of him—if this even was him—he was something else entirely. A kind of warped alien life-form that Calvin had never before encountered.

  Calvin’s brain had trouble processing what he saw. “Is… he dead?” The question felt almost rhetorical. The color in the man’s skin had faded to a dull grey and his limbs and torso had shrunk a few inches and held a rigid, constricted pose. Strange
st of all was his face… if one could call it that. The eyes, nose, and mouth were gone. There was no hair, nor any discerning features. It seemed almost blank.

  “The patient died a few minutes ago,” said Rain.

  Calvin shook his head, disbelieving. “There’s no way this is the same guy we took from Remus Nine…”

  “It is. And he held his form for a remarkable amount of time. When the transformation finally did happen, it happened swiftly.”

  “And… you’re quite sure he’s dead?” asked Calvin as he leaned over the corpse and looked it over. It had a rubbery look and he resisted the urge to poke it.

  “Yes,” said Rain. “And while I’m not one-hundred percent certain what constitutes life for this kind of organism, he has no vitals as we know them. And, after performing a scan, it seems he no longer has organs either. His innards have merged into some kind of… non-functional goop. I take that as a pretty good indicator that he’s dead. But I don’t claim to understand any of this.”

  “Yeah,” Calvin said, again shaking his head. The sight before him was one that he wouldn’t get out of his mind easily—not for a long time—but for as grotesque as it was, it didn’t disgust him. It was more fascinating than revolting. And there was no foul deathly stench like one might expect. “I don’t understand it either.”

  “I do,” said Rez’nac, finally speaking. Only then did Calvin realize the Polarian had been silent since they were shown the body.

  Calvin looked up at Rez’nac—who was several inches taller—and so did Rain. They were both eager for any kind of explanation.

  “This creature before you,” said Rez’nac, “is a Qi'laqin—a Faceless One. Believe it or not, he is Polarian.”

  Calvin looked from Rez’nac’s hardened grey face to the almost goopish grey mass on the hospital bed. “I don’t believe it.”