The Phoenix Darkness

by Richard L. Sanders

  When he stepped onto the Bridge, which felt like walking back inside an old home, he’d expected to see Jay Cox at the helm, Cassidy Dupont at the ops controls, Patrick O’Conner at the defense post, and even Vincent Rose in the command position. It was like a splash of ice water when he saw different faces occupying the stations, some of which he didn’t even recognize.

  Vincent Rose and Patrick O’Conner weren’t there for obvious reasons: they were both deceased. Calvin knew this, but had somehow repressed it in his mind. He mourned the loss of Mr. Rose, who had fallen nobly in Abia, but he felt considerably less grief over the loss of Mr. O’Conner, who had proven both an annoying upstart and a traitor.

  Still…in Mr. Rose’s tragic absence, it should have been Second Lieutenant Vargas who sat in the command position or, at the very least, the XO’s seat, since Summers had taken command of this shift, but neither Vargas nor Summers was anywhere to be found. Instead, Cassidy Dupont, a mere midshipman, sat in the XO’s chair. Jay Cox had the helm, like he was supposed to, but two unfamiliar officers sat at Ops and Defense. If Calvin had seem them before, he didn’t recall.

  “Captain on the Bridge,” said Cassidy, rising to her feet. The others officers also stood.

  “Now that isn’t necessary,” said Calvin, fighting a grin as he walked to the center of the Bridge. This tradition of greeting the CO so ceremoniously was something he’d long eliminated from the Nighthawk. He had no doubt in the world this recurrence of it had been the brainchild of Summers, both as a way of teasing him for his unconventional methods, and also a friendly way of welcoming him back.

  “Commander’s orders,” said Cassidy with a salute. Commander’s orders, he thought, well, that confirms my suspicions.

  “At ease,” said Calvin. The crew returned to their seats.

  He considered taking the command position and asking for a status report if for no other reason than to remember how good it had felt commanding this ship, but he supposed there was time for that later.

  “The Commander wanted us to inform her at once when you arrived,” said Cassidy, walking toward the command chair where the intercom controls were.

  Calvin stopped her. “Don’t.”

  “Sir?”

  He smiled. “Just trust me.”

  Calvin walked to the CO’s office and pressed the chime. He could have just entered, it was his office after all, but he had something better in mind. Time to see if the Commander can get as well as she can give.

  “Come in,” he heard Summers call out, through the door.

  He pressed the chime again.

  “Enter,” she said, more loudly this time.

  He pressed it a third time.

  “Either come in or stop pressing that damned chime!”

  He pressed it a fourth time, then waited. He imagined angry footsteps marching his way, even though he couldn't hear them.

  The door slid open. “What in the hell do you—” Summers stopped midsentence and her anger vanished from her face, although the pretense of anger remained in her voice. Calvin smiled at her, feeling a little underprepared for the shock of seeing her and remembering just how stunningly, illegally beautiful she actually was.

  “Calvin…I should have known you were behind these juvenile antics.”

  “Thank you,” said Calvin, feeling his smile widen. “It’s wonderful to see you too!” Then, taking her completely by surprise, he scooped her up in a massive hug and gave her a squeeze, lifting her in the air. “Oh, it’s so great to see you!”

  “Put me down, Calvin,” she said, still feigning disapproval in her tone, but clearly finding it difficult to do so. For an instant, she almost lost it as he spun her around, very nearly getting her to break into laughter. Meanwhile, she maintained her best efforts at sounding annoyed, “This isn’t appropriate…we’re officers…”

  After completing a full circle, he set her back down. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, obviously not having hated his over-the-top greeting.

  “I’m shocked,” he said, looking past her and noticing the décor of the CO’s office. “It looks like you finally got a proper decorator. The CO’s office has never looked better!” He stepped inside, amazed to see Summers had spent the energy returning the office back to the exact state it was in when he’d left it, or nearly so. The desk had been rotated back, the star charts, duty rosters, and timekeeper had been removed from the walls, stacks of poorly organized papers sat on the desk and the floor, and there was even a crate of water bottles set to the side.

  She followed him into the office and the door slid closed. “Last time you were here, I promised you that I hadn’t gotten too comfortable in that chair,” she pointed to the chair behind the desk; his chair. “This is my way of proving it to you and of saying…welcome home.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her pert face and perfect lips, seeing her happy, being back here in this place, it was all so overwhelming.

  Calvin went to the chair, almost feeling a tingle as he pulled it out from the desk and, after what he knew had been too damned long, finally took his seat. He was back. In his office. On his ship. And it felt good.

  Summers took the seat opposite him. “I guess that means you owe me one,” she said.

  “For redecorating the office back to normal?”

  “No, Calvin. For saving your ass from that sentry ship. It was lucky we arrived in time to destroy it and get you off that shuttle before you all asphyxiated.”

  So that was why the sentry ship had exploded when it had…he’d been wondering. “Thank you for that,” he said.

  “Well, all in a day’s work, I suppose,” she replied.

  “No, I mean it,” said Calvin, looking into her eyes. “Thank you. You saved my life. You saved all of our lives. That was damned amazing of you, and I appreciate it.”

  Summers’s face turned beet red. “So,” she said, looking like she wanted to change subjects and get down to business. “The queen asked me to pass along her compliments for retrieving that intelligence.”

  “Oh, good! So you did send the queen all those files we transmitted to you?”

  “I did,” said Summers. “And I most recently notified her to tell her of your safe return. She wished for me to convey to you her gratitude and, how did she put it: it is my extreme pleasure to learn of the safe return of Mr. Cross and his team. They are heroes of the Empire and I look forward to thanking them in person.”

  “You memorized what she said?” asked Calvin.

  “Well, you know,” said Summers, looking at him, then looking away. “I didn’t want to misquote our monarch or anything.”

  “No, I suppose that wouldn’t be good,” Calvin chuckled. “Did the queen understand from the intelligence we sent that there is a Rotham fleet on its way to Thetican System even as we speak?”

  “Yes, that much she made clear,” said Summers. “She'd detected the movement of the Rotham fleet, but been unable to pinpoint their target. Now, thanks to you, she can have her fleets arrive before the enemy and organize a proper defense.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  “Actually, to that point,” said Summers. “That is our current heading: Thetican System. The queen has asked us to join her in the battle to come.”

  “Well, as much as I love battles…” said Calvin, thinking he’d seen quite enough combat engagements to last him a while. “There is something far more important for us to do than go to Thetican System.”

  Summers looked intrigued.

  “Tell the Bridge to set course for The Charred Worlds. We’re headed into Polarian space. And make sure the stealth system is up to par and activated.”

  Summers didn’t budge. “You can’t just drop news like that on me and expect me to walk away without hearing the details.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it, I swear,” said Calvin. “But first go and order that course correction. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  “What about the queen’s orders?”

  “I’ll apologize to
the queen myself, right now. But trust me, she’ll understand.”

  “All right, then you’ll tell me?” Summers eyed him warily.

  “Cross my heart.”

  ***

  “You will not be joining us in Thetican System?” asked the queen.

  She was simultaneously surprised to hear of this news and stunned by Calvin’s audacity to inform her he would not be there, rather than ask humbly for her permission. Had it been anyone else, she likely would have rebuked him, but considering the value Calvin had proven himself to be lately, and all that he'd risked for the cause, she couldn't find it within herself to be harsh with him.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Calvin over the speakers. He’d contacted her using an audio channel only, which implied a greater security sensitivity, since the audio transmissions to and from her ship tended to be shorter and commoner and therefore less likely targets for the enemy’s message interception and decryption efforts.

  “I would ask of you, why?” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” he said. It was the wrong form of address, but she chose to ignore this slight also. “The intelligence we stole, from the parts we have translated, we've reason to believe this conspiracy is deeply connected with something happening inside Polarian Deep Space. Specifically Polarian Forbidden Space.”

  “And you realize the inherent dangers in going there?” asked Kalila. “Remember, no mission to penetrate Polarian Forbidden Space has ever succeeded, or returned with survivors for that matter.”

  “I know that,” said Calvin. “But it’s where the arrow points, and so it’s where we have to go.”

  “In that case, I give you my blessing. If anyone can survive a visit to Polarian Forbidden Space, it is you and your people. I wish you all the luck in the galaxy, and hope you prevail in your quest to uncover the truth for us all.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said. “And I wish you all the luck in the galaxy defending us all from the Rotham invasion. And may I say, you are noble for doing so, considering Caerwyn Martel has shown himself too cowardly to do the same.”

  Kalila felt anger at even the mention of that name. He'd cost her much and she would take from him everything in time. “No true monarch can stand idly by and watch as their people are attacked.”

  ***

  “What the hell are you thinking!” asked Brinton Martel, his face red with anger. It wasn’t a flattering look, the man’s grey hair and wrinkles showed his age in crisp detail over the viewer, and worst of all, his fatness had seemed to go all to his face. His cheeks were so puffy Caerwyn half thought his father was a squirrel saving nuts for winter.

  God, I hope I have mother’s genes, Caerwyn thought, even though he knew that, unlike his late brother Zane, Caerwyn did in fact take after his father in the department of physical appearance. I must remember to take care of myself if I am to look kingly as he allowed his father’s insult to roll off his back.

  “Hello to you too, Father,” said Caerwyn. “I must say that is a rather unconventional way to address one’s liege.”

  “A pathetic excuse for a liege if ever there was one,” said Brinton, still looking furious. “And an even more pathetic excuse for a son. Strike that; I have no son!”

  The words stung, but they'd not been unexpected. He knew it would invoke his father’s ire when he’d chosen not to send any forces to defend Thetican System against the Rotham…that was the place his father called home.

  “Everything I have done has been calculated to serve the best interests of my Empire,” said Caerwyn in an explanatory tone. He did not wish to get into a shouting match with his father. Especially since the man, despite all his immediate rage, was still useful to Caerwyn, and he knew all of this nonsense would blow over soon enough. After all, Caerwyn was Brinton’s only family and heir. And what kind of father would not be proud his son had taken the throne of the Empire and ascended to that stately and most prestigious office of king?

  “More like calculated to serve your own best interests,” said Brinton. “You know, I don’t know what I expected; you’ve always been like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A terrible, selfish son.”

  “But, Father, I am only following your example.” This didn't go over well with Brinton, who looked on the verge of shouting or screaming. For an instant, Caerwyn thought the man might punch the camera with his bare fist.

  “Some amount of self-interest is good, wise even. It promotes our survival, helps us to live the kind of lives we wish to while we have the privilege of being alive,” said Brinton. “But you have always missed the point. There is a limit to that privilege, and abandoning your father to be slaughtered by aliens crosses that line.”

  “Oh, come now, Father, you know I would never do that. Even now, the rebel queen and all her armed forces are racing to protect you from what is clearly a feint by the Rotham military. Take it from me, there will be no battle.”

  “You don’t know that, you fool,” said Brinton. “You’re not a man of war, a man of strategy. You’re a man of politics, greased wheels, and climbing the ladder of power. You know nothing of battle.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, my forces, at my command, were correctly deployed in Apollo System before the rebel queen’s fleets arrived, even though she'd used a strategy of her own to try and trick me into believing that she was after Olympia. I saw through the ruse and, in the end, defeated her in battle.”

  Brinton squinted, as if annoyed by these facts and wanting to see in his son some lie, some clue Caerwyn had no involvement in the success at Apollo, but he clearly could think of nothing.

  “So, you see, Father, I am a man of strategy after all. And I tell you, this strategy of the Rotham, they do not mean to actually attack. They are merely probing our defenses. Once they discover the rebel queen’s forces there standing guard, they shall withdraw. You have my word.” Of course, Caerwyn did not actually believe this, and he hoped such was not the case; he desperately wanted the rebel queen and the Rotham to clash violently and wipe one another out, eliminating two birds without throwing a single stone. It was perfect!

  Still, he needed his father to believe he'd not chosen to abandon him. His father remained useful and, now that Representative Tate had fled Capital World denouncing Caerwyn as a coward as she left for choosing not to defend her homeworld, Thetican System, Caerwyn would need his father to leverage her again, to force her back into the fold. She was too valuable an asset to the Assembly to lose.

  When Representative Tate left the planet in such a public way, Caerwyn’s ministers had asked if they should arrange for her elimination, but Caerwyn had instructed them to let her go because he knew, deep down, he could get his father to lean on her and make her return. Just as he’d leaned on her before for Caerwyn’s benefit. He need only wait for his father’s temper tantrum to blow over and for the Rotham fleet to either withdraw or be destroyed, proving to Brinton Caerwyn that he had been right: that there existed no credible threat to Thetican System.

  “You are a damned liar,” said Brinton.

  “Well, I must say, that accusation is rather out of the blue.”

  “You swore to me, with your word of honor, you would defend Thetican System above all,” said Brinton. And Caerwyn did vaguely remember making such a meaningless promise.

  “And so I shall,” he replied.

  “Bollocks! You have left us here to fend for ourselves and die for all you care. If Thetican System is lost and I die here, let these be my last words to you: Rot in Hell, you bastard. You’re no son of mine.”

  The call terminated.

  Chapter 22

  Captain Valentine was one of Mira Pellew’s most stalwart allies and she held a very high rank inside the woman’s clandestine network. Yet her truest allegiances had been bought by another. One far more persuasive, both in words and, more importantly in money than Mira and her cohorts had ever been. Even though Captain Valentine had begun her clandest
ine activities with full loyalty to Mira and the promises she made, once Captain Valentine had been approached with the counteroffer, it had been impossible to refuse.

  Captain Valentine did not know the identity of her new Master, and whenever they spoke, he or she masked his or her voice with some kind of software. Captain Valentine could understand the words just fine and communication had never been a problem, but it did make her wonder just who had the power to keep depositing those large sums into her accounts on such a regular basis. So far, her primary task had been to collect and share information, simple enough for someone in her position, but now, as she stood on the ground level at the imposed Forum of the Organization and heard the shouting voices and competing plans of those Group Leaders who called for action, she knew it was time to send another message to her Master and discover what his wishes were regarding all of this. The last thing Captain Valentine wanted to do was ruin a good thing and wind up on the wrong side of her Master, someone she did not doubt powerful enough to have her killed at any time.

  Captain Valentine excused herself from her delegation, making the appropriate apologies, and wormed her way through the crowded concourse and out to the docking port. The others likely believed she needed to go relieve herself in the head or take a drink, and it was better for all of them to assume such.

  She dismissed the technicians working on her shuttle as well as the guards which had stood vigilantly watching it, marines from her own ship, and went inside. The shuttle was empty, as everyone who had taken the shuttle with her, her delegation, remained inside the concourse listening to the debate raging there. A debate which included Mira Pellew, whose voice had become as loud and frequent as that of the arguing Group Leaders. Captain Valentine knew her duty was to behave as a loyal supporter of Mira Pellew, and as such she knew all the plans that had been made and what actions were to be set in motion, but she also could not help but wonder if, by so doing, she would upset the Master.