The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  The DMZ was just beyond The Corridor, so it very easily could be the Nighthawk’s destination. If so, then the rogue ship just might be on its way to QH-212 like the mole had said. A quick survey of the database revealed that QH-212 was a star with satellites and no habitable planetary bodies. But that didn’t make it worthless. On the contrary, Nimoux’s many excursions into the DMZ had taught him about the significance of QH-212. It was home to a large group of type three Remorii. Or so he’d heard. An interesting twist if the Nighthawk was working with them.

  “Set course for QH-212,” he’d ordered his officers. “Engage stealth and initiate a jump of ninety-nine percent potential. Once we cross into the DMZ, change to eighty-five percent potential, we don’t want to be seen. You know the drill.”

  Now they were well on their way. And Nimoux had spent the past few hours assessing what kind of resources he had access to in the vicinity of QH-212 and trying to coordinate a plan with Intel Wing. The mole had also told him that the Nighthawk was searching for a ship called the Arcane Storm. There were limited records on it, but from what Nimoux could gather, it was a relatively worthless civilian ship. Apparently it had a cargo that Calvin was very interested in, though the mole had claimed not to know what it was. Very intriguing indeed.

  Unfortunately, there was no Intel Wing ship close enough to intercept the Nighthawk—which was projected to arrive at QH-212 soon—and all of the civilian contacts he had out there would be hopelessly outmatched by the Nighthawk in a straight fight. So there was no use offering to pay a bounty for disabling the ship. It was unclear how long the Nighthawk intended to stay at QH-212, the mole hadn’t known, but Nimoux doubted Calvin would keep his ship in any one place for long. So a forceful capture of the Nighthawk at QH-212 by the Imperial military seemed out of the question.

  He did have one card to play, however.

  “Mister Cortez, good to see you again,” said Nimoux. A middle-aged man with tawny skin and thick stubble on his face looked at him suspiciously from the other end of the display. Nimoux made this call from the privacy of his office, and had left orders not to be disturbed.

  “Why you slick son-of-a-bitch,” said Cortez. “I thought you folks agreed not to bother me again.”

  Nimoux smiled. “Now, Cortez, you know very well that’s not the arrangement. Your operations get a blind eye only if certain conditions are satisfied.”

  “I’m not sure that I’m in a cooperative mood. Though a few q or some guns might change my attitude.”

  “I have a better proposal. You do exactly what I tell you to do and Intel Wing allows you to keep running your illegal operations on some of the border planets and inside the DMZ. You don’t, and I’ll personally hunt you down, my soldiers will board your ship, and you’ll be thrown in a dungeon so deep you’ll never see space again.”

  “Alright, alright, I get the picture,” said Cortez. Obviously unhappy about being extorted. He was a smuggler who ran relatively harmless operations on the border systems and inside the DMZ, mostly trafficking controlled narcotics. Intel Wing had pages on him, and had taken him into custody more than once, but he’d proven a willingness to share information. And in return had been given something of a pass. Truthfully, Nimoux was surprised the crazy old man hadn’t been killed yet, he was one of very few entrepreneurial drug smugglers in a region tightly controlled by the Khans, a criminal organization that was as widespread and pervasive as the influenza virus once was.

  “You are in regular contact with the Remorii in QH-212—”

  “I know nothin’ about no QH-212—”

  “No point denying it. I have tapes of you confessing that one of your main outfits is there. And you’re one of their main suppliers of, shall we say, miscellaneous goods.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “That means you have connections there, and you know the social order.”

  “I ain’t spillin’ what I know about those fellas. They crazy.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Instead I want you to deliver a message. I’ll even pay you.”

  Cortez’s eyes lit up at this revelation. “What’s the message?”

  “I need to arrange something. And it has to happen soon.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  He gave Cortez very specific, very simple instructions, and secured his cooperation with a large transfer of money and the promise of more on completion. Satisfied, Nimoux disconnected and then contacted Intel Wing.

  “Did your contact agree?”

  “Yes,” said Nimoux, now looking into the face of Director Jack Edwards. The man had been his handler for years but Nimoux couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something... different about him. Perhaps the stress of his position was starting to take its toll.

  “And you’re sure he will be able to do his part before the Nighthawk arrives?”

  “I believe so. I don’t know exactly when the Nighthawk will arrive but Cortez operates very near QH-212, in fact he has a setup on Echo 3 itself. He is apparently warmly accepted among the Remorii. I think he’ll be able to do his part in time.”

  “Will the Remorii go for it?”

  “Cortez seemed to think he knew the right ones who are open to persuasion. I don’t foresee a problem. What I need from you is the assurance that I’ll have what I need.”

  “The arrangements are being made.”

  “Good. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “One more thing,” said Director Edwards, “how do you know he won’t keep all the funds we sent him and make a run for it?”

  “Someone else in his position might be tempted,” admitted Nimoux. “But not Cortez. He knows he’s not long for this universe if he’s being hunted by us and the Khans. He’s far too prudent and cautious to make an enemy as powerful as Intel Wing. Though I have no doubt he’ll skim a little off the top. But the amount should still be sufficient.”

  “It’d better be. If it was anyone but you suggesting this crazy plan, I would never approve it.”

  Chapter 12

  They arrived at the QH-212 star system and found little of value. There were no ships or bases, no habitable planets, and no obvious exploitable resources. A gas giant, an asteroid belt, and several rocky planets circled the brilliant blue star but it seemed no different than thousands of other so-called “destitute systems.”

  “Is there any indication that the Arcane Storm is or was here?” asked Calvin.

  “Not yet,” said Shen. “But I haven’t scanned the entire system.”

  “Keep scanning,” Calvin said, then he turned to Tristan. “We’re here. What are we supposed to find?”

  The Remorii smiled. “You think this system has no value. That is by design. But I assure you, my people live here.”

  “So you said earlier. But you failed to mention where.”

  “Inside the asteroid belt. There is an especially large, super dense asteroid that we call Echo Three. Our facility is there.”

  “And?”

  “And we must go aboard that facility and ask our questions in person.”

  “Why can’t we just hail them?”

  “Because Afton will never answer our questions in such a manner.”

  “And...” said Calvin, “Afton is the only one who can tell us where the Arcane Storm is?”

  “Afton is the leader of my clan. He is the one who told me the Arcane Storm took supplies here. Don’t worry, after your ship docks I will go alone and return speedily.”

  Calvin didn’t like the idea of Tristan collecting intelligence from the clan leader and then forcing Calvin and the others to take his word at face value. If there was new information to be had, he wanted to get it from the source. And not give Tristan a monopoly on it. “I’m going too.”

  Tristan gave Calvin a strange look. “It is probably better for you to remain here.”

  “Why?” demanded Calvin. He understood the inherent dangers in surrounding himself with a bunch of Remorii—but he thought Tristan’s presence would most like
ly keep him safe.Tristan didn’t respond right away. “Very well, you may come. But bring soldiers if you do.”

  “I intend to.” Entering a colony of potentially blood-thirsty Remorii without an armed escort... Calvin wouldn’t dream of it. He’d have to keep the shore party small, however, so as not to intimidate Afton—assuming Tristan hadn’t made him up.

  “You must follow the coordinates I give you exactly, and you must allow me to broadcast a message into the asteroid belt,” said Tristan. “That’s the only way for us to proceed safely.”

  “Sarah, standby to transmit whatever message Tristan—”

  “—no I must send the message. It must be my voice. Otherwise we will never arrive at Echo Three. There are thousands of weapons batteries mounted on asteroids, they will automatically target us and open fire. Unless I temporarily disable the automated system.”

  Calvin folded his arms. “Sarah, give Tristan your headset and allow him to make his broadcast.”

  Sarah handed the headset to Tristan, looking uncomfortable as she did, and Tristan put it on.

  “You’re broadcasting now,” said Sarah.

  “The one who returns is one of the few,” said Tristan. He listened for a moment, hearing something over his headset—perhaps an automated response—and then said, “is there no rest for a wanderer?” He took off the headset and handed it back to Sarah, announcing, “we may now approach safely. Follow the coordinates I give you, pilot.”

  “Sarah,” said Calvin. “Do as he says. But only if the course he gives you is safe to navigate.”

  “The asteroid field is not very dense,” said Sarah. “By the looks of it, all the large asteroids that could puncture our armor are quite spread out. A ship our size, properly piloted, should have no trouble.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re the one at the helm,” said Calvin. He motioned for Tristan to proceed.

  Tristan walked over around to the front of Sarah’s station and began entering coordinates to act as waypoints that she would manually navigate between.

  Calvin returned to his seat at the command position. “ETA?”

  “We’ll be entering the asteroid belt in just under two minutes,” said Sarah. “At that point we’ll have to reduce speed.”

  “I’m picking up something,” said Shen.

  “What is it? A ship?”

  “No, not a ship. More like an alteredspace jump signature. It’s very fresh but its proximity to the star makes it almost undetectable.”

  “Why would someone jump so close to a star?” asked Miles. “That’s stupid. They could have been killed, gravity from the star could easily have trashed their alteredspace equilibrium.”

  Obviously, Calvin thought, the ship had something to hide. Perhaps it didn’t want to be followed. “Could that jump signature belong to the Arcane Storm?”

  “It’s probably one of the traders we do business with from time to time,” said Tristan. “They will jump near the star if they think there’s a chance someone is following them, such as a raider, a competitor, a military vessel, a loan shark, or just their imagination. It’s a pretty common maneuver.”

  “I don’t think this signature was made by the Arcane Storm,” said Shen. “It seems too small. About the right size to have been made by a common trading skiff, like Tristan suggested. If the Arcane Storm was here, it left so long ago there’s no trace of it. Either that or it jumped even closer to the star, which would have been extremely reckless.”

  “Is there another jump signature, one that might corroborate the idea that the trading vessel was being chased?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any way we could ID that jump signature more conclusively?”

  “Negative. It’s too distorted by the star. Honestly we’re lucky we saw it at all.”

  “I see,” said Calvin, getting a very dark feeling. He didn’t like that the ship would have gone to such efforts to conceal the fact that it was here in the system so recently. A move Calvin would only expect someone to do if they believed another ship would be arriving soon. And, as far as they could tell, the next ship to arrive had been the Nighthawk. But surely the fleeing ship hadn’t known they were coming…

  “We’ve arrived at the asteroid belt,” said Sarah. “Adjusting to variable course and speed now.” Out the window, Calvin caught glimpses of some of the space rocks; there was a tremendous amount of dust. The ship pitched, steering clear of one of the larger hazards, and proceeded on course. Their flightpath was easier to see on the 3d projector which showed the Nighthawk and all the rock and ice debris around it for kilometers.

  “Stay the course,” said Calvin, more to himself than to Sarah. “We’re going to dock with Echo Three and get whatever information we can. But, as soon as we have our next lead, we’re getting the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

  “Come now, Captain, I assure you my people are not that unpleasant,” said Tristan.

  Calvin decided not to reply. “Miles, set condition one and keep our weapons armed. Sarah, at the first sign of trouble, detach the ship and raise the shields—even if I’m not back aboard. If necessary, you have my permission to flee the system.”

  “We could never leave you behind,” said Sarah.

  “That’s an order. Do whatever it takes to protect the ship.”

  “In that case I’m sure as hell going with you,” said Miles. His eyes drifted from Calvin to Tristan. “And... for good measure we should bring along all of special forces.”

  Calvin smirked. “None of that will be necessary. I’ll take Pellew, Tristan, Alex, and a small Polarian detachment.” He didn’t like the idea of taking only human soldiers and potentially leaving a strong Polarian force behind on the ship unopposed. “Probably no more than four. Sarah, when you’re able, please inform the others to meet me at airlock six. Summers, you have the deck.”

  ***

  The Echo Three facility was an impressive structure. It had been mined inside the asteroid, had a shuttle platform, was able to have two ships dock with it simultaneously, and could probably house over ten thousand people. Despite all of that, it had been so cleverly blended into its environment that, had they not known what they were looking for, Calvin doubted they would have ever detected it.

  Tristan had assured them all that they wouldn’t need climate suits. “You will find Echo Three not only habitable but perfectly ideal.”

  In truth, as Calvin walked through the station—which was nothing like any other station he’d been to—he found it a little warmer and more humid than he was accustomed to. The scrubbed air tasted surprisingly fresh for an artificial habitat, and there was a startling amount of life to be found. Masses of people gathering in patches throughout the enormous room, and even livestock grazed in pastures flowing with actual grass. Plant-life thrived in the controlled environment, and the greenness—aided by special lights—contrasted starkly with the metal and synthetic materials that formed the walls, supports, and foundation of the mighty structure. It was one of strangest places Calvin had ever ventured.

  Unsurprisingly, their group drew a great deal of attention as they walked. Two humans, four Polarians, and a Rotham was certainly an unusual sight. Though the Remorii they passed, like Tristan, seemed in perfect human form—no glowing red eyes or inflamed, bulging muscles—Calvin was sure they could sense he and Pellew were not Remorii.

  “Not much farther,” said Tristan, as they wandered past camps and small fields. Calvin was amazed by the agrarian utopia these space dwellers maintained. If not for a lack of sun and blue sky, he would have sworn he was on a planetary surface. There were even streams of water that coursed and flowed, filling wells and irrigating crops.

  No one seemed interested in coming within twenty feet of them. They were dressed in simple clothes that they undoubtedly made themselves, and used a variety of basic tools to attend to their duties, which sustained life in this peculiar place. The ratio of females to males was about one to one, and there were absolutely no chi
ldren to be seen. This made sense, since Remorii could not reproduce sexually.

  Calvin and Pellew walked in the center of the group, with Alex just a little ahead of them—Calvin trusted Alex enough to give him quarters on the Nighthawk, but not enough to expose his back to the Rotham. Tristan led the group from the very front, and the four Polarians walked together at the rear. Their weapons were holstered or strapped to their backs—but in such a way that they could easily be drawn. Tristan had advised them not to look menacing. Pellew too had a carbine on his back and a handgun holstered on his side, Calvin was armed the same.

  A Remorii male, about ten years older than Calvin, approached them at a brisk pace. “You?” he snarled. “Don’t move!”

  Calvin and the others stopped, wondering what he wanted.

  “I was afraid of this,” said Tristan. He darted into the approaching Remorii’s way, forcing him to stop. The newcomer tried to get around Tristan, but Tristan wouldn’t let him past.

  “Out of my way fool,” he said, glaring at Tristan with red glowing eyes.

  “No,” Tristan replied forcefully.

  “Do you not see who that is? Can you not smell him?” The newcomer’s eyes moved from Tristan to Calvin. “That is the spawn of the betrayer!”

  The betrayer? Calvin recalled something Tristan had once told him. That Calvin was lucky Tristan didn’t care about petty blood feuds. And he’d seemed to know a little about Calvin’s father. Had Samil been here? He was certainly the type to have underhanded dealings with groups like this—or any group, really—but even he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to double-cross these deadly Remorii, would he?