The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  The Polarians took up a defensive formation around Calvin and drew their weapons. Even though he knew none of them personally, and normally found them mysterious and somewhat intimidating, having their much taller, more thickly muscled frames by his side, weapons drawn, did make him feel significantly safer.

  “Let it alone,” said Tristan with menace in his voice.

  The other Remorii bared his teeth, his eyes glowed bright red, and his muscles began to be inflamed. He crouched, as if to leap for the kill. Calvin drew his rifle and thought of how vicious Tristan had been back on Aleator—when the type three Remorii had savagely torn apart several CERKO soldiers. Calvin doubted he was any kind of match.

  Tristan’s reflexes were not rusty. He blocked the other Remorii before he could pounce, staying firmly in his way, and, as he spoke, his own muscles became inflamed and it was clear he was the more ferocious of the two Remorii. “Be gone. Cross already paid the price for what he did. Do not let the sins of the father fall upon the head of the son. You know that is not our way.”

  Cross already paid the price? Calvin was stunned. He hadn’t seen his father in years. Hadn’t been close to him since he was a boy. He’d even convinced himself that he hated the man, wherever he was. But it was still a shock to hear he might be dead. He felt a wave of spite and remorse, and reminded himself that, to him, the old man was dead already.

  For a moment it looked as though a fight was inevitable, that the two Remorii would tear each other apart in a fierce, lightning battle the others couldn’t hope to keep pace with. But, after a few seconds, the aggressor backed down. His muscles relaxed, the glow in his eyes faded, and he bowed his head in submission.

  “Forgive me.”

  “I forgive you,” said Tristan. “Now leave.”

  And, just like that, the other Remorii departed. Never looking back.

  “Sorry about that,” said Tristan. “But you resemble a very unpopular man here.”

  “You mean my father,” said Calvin as they resumed walking towards the center of the facility.

  “Yes. You’re the spitting image of him. And your scent is similar, though not exactly the same. Having you here brings up old memories in some of the others.”

  “My father doesn’t exactly bring up the best memories for me either,” said Calvin. “What did he do to you?”

  “Ever since the first of us began on Remus Nine, we have always desired a home. Deep within us we crave the freedom of open fields, the greenness of rich life, and the chance to live and be left alone.”

  Calvin could see the evidence of those desires in the strange, yet impressive, facility here.

  “Your father helped us find a place once,” continued Tristan. “He called himself our friend. But like the strigoi we helped to escape Remus Nine, monsters we called brothers, he betrayed us for his own selfish interest. We lost the planet. It was taken from us by those bloodthirsty strigoi. And they in turn gave it to the Rotham for certain favors. Those who survived were forced to become wanderers. We have since made this place our home. But many of us still wander. And some always will.”

  Calvin tried to imagine what such a battle would have looked like. Had it taken place on the planet surface? Or in space, ship to ship? There was so much he didn’t know about the Remorii, and though he still viewed them as unnatural monsters, he was willing to admit it was the strigoi who bore the brunt of his hate. They’d been the ones who slaughtered the crew of the Trinity. And most damning of all, they were the bastards who’d taken Christine from him, and deprived the galaxy of the most wonderful soul within it.

  “I can see it on your face that you are not proud of your father for what he did to us,” said Tristan, clearly noticing the anguish Calvin felt as he thought of Christine and the Trinity.

  “I am not proud of my father at all,” said Calvin honestly, though he didn’t know if Tristan’s story was even true. It didn’t have to be. Samil Cross had done some terrible things. Not the least of which was abandoning his wife and son.

  “That is wise.”

  “Tell me,” said Calvin, hesitating for a moment. He found it surprisingly difficult to get out the next words. “How did he ‘pay the price’? Is he dead?”

  Tristan didn’t answer.

  “I deserve to know.”

  “It is believed he’s dead.”

  “Believed he’s dead? Or he is dead?”

  “A ship he was supposedly on was destroyed. It’s not like there was a body left to identify. My people have chosen to believe he was on that ship and have since moved on with their lives. Though they will never know for sure.”

  “I see,” said Calvin. He knew that the Roscos, who’d had more dealings with his father than probably anyone, also believed he was dead. Which was why they periodically harassed Calvin, wanting to honor of some kind of debt they owed his father. Calvin wanted as little to do with them as possible. They’d been more important to Samil than Calvin and his mother had been, and for that he could never forgive them.

  “We did not destroy the ship,” said Tristan, “in case you are wondering. Though he owed us his blood, that deed was not performed by us.”

  Calvin pretended not to care. But he had been wondering.

  “It was done by the Strigoi,” continued Tristan. “They can only deceive and betray, it is in their veins, it flows through them more thickly than blood. They can never be trusted. No matter what.”

  “That is something we can both agree on.”

  ***

  They reached the center of the facility.

  Calvin wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find—something elegant? At the very least, a building. Something that stood out and above the rest, denoting authority. But they found only more of the same. The tent they stopped at seemed no different than any of the others.

  “Afton lives here,” said Tristan. There were no guards, or even attendants, just a small burning fire tended to by a female and a few animals grazing within a small fenced yard.

  Tristan approached the tent. “Chieftain, I have returned.”

  “I know you have. Enter.”

  Tristan pulled back the flaps of the entrance, revealing a cramped inside with scant décor. An older looking Remorii male sat cross-legged on the floor. His face had minor creases and the temples of his hair had turned silver.

  “I’ll go with Tristan, the rest of you wait here,” said Calvin. Pellew nodded. Alex and the Polarians voiced no objection. They all realized that space in the tent was limited.

  Once they were inside, Tristan closed the flaps behind them. A solitary candle was their only source of light and the older Remorii’s eyes glowed in the semi-darkness.

  “Hello, Afton,”said Tristan. He sat down cross-legged and faced the other Remorii. Calvin felt awkward looming over them so he too sat down.

  “So you have finally returned,” said Afton. “There are many who thought you’d never walk among us again.”

  “What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” replied Tristan.

  “Tell me why you are here.”

  “I need to know everything you know about the Arcane Storm. It docked with Echo Three and then left. Never to be heard from again.”

  “This is not news,” said Afton. “Your friend’s ship docked here months ago. Why did you wait until now to follow up on that?”

  Tristan looked uncomfortable. “Irrelevant.”

  “No, not irrelevant,” said the older Remorii.

  “There were other, more pressing things to worry about,” again Tristan tried to dodge.

  Curiously, Afton wouldn’t let him. “Like what?” Calvin wanted to know too. Why had the Organization waited until now to mount some kind of useful pursuit of their lost ship?

  Tristan bit his lip. “Alright, at the time, the ship’s disappearance was... serendipitous. Now, however, I realize I was mistaken.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “We know more about the isotome your men found on the ship while loading cargo.
We now know that it can be weaponized into something severely dangerous.”

  Calvin knew this wasn’t the answer—at least not the complete answer. Raidan had made it clear to Calvin that he wanted him to go after the Arcane Storm well in advance of Calvin’s team finding that the isotome could be used to destroy a star.

  Afton raised a curious eyebrow. “How did you learn of this?”

  “Enough,” said Tristan, losing patience. “I came here to get answers, not give them.”

  “Patience,” said Afton, his voice was supremely calm. He closed his eyes, as if meditating.

  After a few seconds of silence, Tristan interrupted. “Will you help me or not?”

  “What have you brought as tribute?” asked Afton.

  “I have brought no tribute. Please forgive me. I could not afford the delay.”

  “Ahh, Tristan... always in a hurry, but never knowing where he is going, and never finding what he is looking for.”

  “Why should we take interest in the problems of others?” asked Afton. “Others who would eradicate us if they could.” As he spoke that last part he opened his eyes and looked directly at Calvin.

  “Because if such a weapon does exist, and it spreads, every civilization is in danger. Including yours,” said Calvin. He needed to paint for Afton the picture that all civilized life hung on this issue together—and for any kind of lasting peace and order to be sustained, a weapon of this magnitude had to be eliminated before it could be used.

  “The weapon can destroy entire star systems,” said Tristan. “Imagine if it fell into the hands of the strigoi.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

  “The hated ones,” said Afton. His aura of calm dissipated and he flashed his teeth. “Very well, I will tell you what I know.”

  “Thank you, wise one,” said Tristan.

  “The ship is being sold on the black market. It currently sits in the Vulture Nebula, awaiting the buyer.”

  “Who’s the buyer? And who is selling it? Surely not Zander…”

  “I do not know who is in possession of the ship now, or how they took it from Zander—if it is not Zander himself—but I know the buyer.”

  “Who?” Calvin asked, unable to contain himself.

  “The Rotham Republic.”

  This was the answer he’d expected to hear. It correlated perfectly with his prior findings—that isotome had been carried by Rotham ships inside the Empire. Such a weapon in their hands would shift the balance of power, and probably result in the deaths of tens of billions of people. Perhaps even the total genocide of the human race.

  “Thank you,” said Tristan. “We will go now. And next time, I shall bring tribute tenfold.” He stood up. Calvin didn’t.

  “Wait a second,” he said. Then, looking into Afton’s eyes, “how do you know this?”

  Afton didn’t reply. Perhaps because Calvin had overstepped some kind of cultural boundary, or perhaps because he didn’t know.

  “I said, how do you know this?” Calvin’s tone was more forceful this time. He didn’t want to be rude or ungrateful, but he couldn’t just take the intelligence at face value without determining if it was even reliable.

  “I hear rumors at times,” said Afton. His eyes glowed for a moment but then dimmed and his face remained calm. “I am the chieftain of this people, and master of this place. Traders, smugglers, merchants, pirates, those who know of us and come here must do so with my blessing. To gain my trust they tell me things.”

  “And who told you that the Arcane Storm is in the Vulture Nebula?”

  “The one who told me, told me in confidence. I cannot tell you, nor will I.”

  Calvin found that to be an odd, suspicious response. He looked at Tristan, as if expecting his lycan counterpart to agree. But saw only disapproval.

  “You may not speak to our chieftain in such a manner,” said Tristan.

  “And... you don’t feel like we should know more about this information?”

  Tristan didn’t miss the implication. “Afton is a Remorii type three, like I am. Our word is our bond. We cannot deceive. It isn’t in us. All of those genes went to the strigoi.”

  “It is alright,” said Afton. “Your friend does not understand us or our ways. I forgive him his distrust. He comes from a distrustful people. He is as much a product of what he is as we are of our kind.”

  Calvin decided to let that insult slide. And, sensing that he wouldn’t get an answer to his question, decided it was better for them to leave without wearing out their welcome further. After all, Afton had no obvious motive to deceive them and Tristan seemed to sincerely trust him. It was the best he could do, and at least he had a lead to follow.

  “Thank you, Afton. You’ve been most helpful.”

  ***

  “Anyone else think it’s strange the chieftain didn’t seem to care that the son of Samil Cross was sitting right in front of him?” Calvin couldn’t stop thinking about the incident with the deranged Remorii on their way in. He’d told Alex and Pellew the summarized version of their meeting with Afton.

  “I was thinking about that too,” said Pellew. “You apparently look like him, and smell like him, how could the chieftain overlook the obvious connection?”

  “Because he chose to overlook it,” said Tristan.

  They continued walking and Calvin replayed the encounter in his mind. Trying to remember the chieftain’s facial expressions, and the tone in his voice. “It was more than that,” he said thoughtfully. “Not only was he not upset to see me, he didn’t even seem surprised. Like he expected me.”

  “No doubt others sent word ahead that we were coming,” said Tristan. “But do not be shocked by his understanding and forgiving nature. We lycanthropes aren’t nearly the monsters you make us out to be. We are an honorable and agreeable people, and Afton is the best among us—that is why he is our leader.”

  “Hold on, what’s this?” asked Pellew. He pointed out a hooded figure walking toward them at a brisk pace.

  By this point they’d nearly reached the pressurization chamber leading to their docked ship. Calvin looked around, checking to see if a group of Remorii was sneaking up on them—thinking perhaps this runner was a diversion. He didn’t see anyone else.

  The Polarian guards and Pellew drew their weapons, but didn’t raise them yet. They took up a defensive posture around Calvin, clearly prepared for the worst.

  “Do you know him?” asked Calvin to Tristan.

  “Yes, I think that is Calum.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Not usually. Though he can be unpredictable.”

  “Let’s see what he wants,” said Calvin.

  The hooded Remorii slowed when he reached them, but did not stop. A few locks of blond hair were visible hanging down the sides of his face and his brown eyes were probing, though he only looked at Calvin for a brief moment.

  “The ship you’re looking for,” he said in a hushed tone as he passed, “is in the possession of the Enclave on Tybur.”

  “Wait,” said Calvin, but Calum didn’t acknowledge him. Instead he continued walking until he was gone. Calvin considered going after him, but clearly Calum had said all he was willing to. And trying to extort more information from him might create an unwanted conflict.

  “What was that about?” asked Pellew.

  They all instinctively looked to Tristan for an explanation.

  ***

  “So there you have it; we have two leads,” said Calvin after briefing the others on the latest intelligence. He stood at the front of the bridge facing Tristan, Alex, Pellew, and the White Shift bridge crew. “The chieftain of the Remorii’s lead that the Arcane Storm is in the Vulture Nebula. And then Calum’s lead that ‘the ship we are looking for is in the possession of the Enclave on Tybur’—I didn’t even know about the Enclave before today.”

  “What is it?” asked Sarah.

  Calvin gestured for Tristan to explain it once more.

  “There is a civilization of strigoi that lives sec
retly among the humans of Tybur. They are called the Enclave.”

  The thought of those vile creatures living among humans, probably slaughtering them discretely, gave Calvin the worst feeling in the pit of his stomach. The whole Tybur civilization, it turned out, was just the Trinity in slow motion.

  “Those two leads aren’t necessarily exclusive,” Shen pointed out. “It could be that the Enclave is in possession of the ship, and they have hidden it in the Vulture Nebula where it sits pending sale. Did the Remorii chieftain say who the buyer was?”

  “Yes.” Calvin had omitted that part earlier for fear of unleashing a firestorm from Alex. But the intelligence was what it was. “Yes. He implicated the Rotham Republic.”

  “Preposterous,” said Alex. “My people would never be a party to the acquisition of such weapons.”

  “You were Advent—think about it,” said Calvin. “Your government might not be involved, but that doesn’t mean someone claiming to represent them isn’t. Perhaps invoking their name to imply a sense of authority, wealth, and validation.”

  Alex seemed to consider this. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a lie.”

  “I hope it’s a lie,” admitted Calvin, genuinely believing the Rotham Republic would be likeliest of all the major powers to utilize such an extreme weapon—despite Alex’s assertions to the contrary. Calvin got the feeling Alex was a very unusual Rotham.

  “The Enclave is not known to have operations outside of Tybur,” said Tristan. “If they are involved and they do control the Arcane Storm, it is unclear how they took the ship and why. Could they somehow have known about the isotome weapons?”

  “All of those are questions we can ask them when we capture them and pound their faces in,” said Miles. “We should leave immediately.”

  “I’m not satisfied that we’ve reconciled our two leads,” said Calvin. “If Afton knew the ship was being sold by the Enclave he would have said so, instead he claimed not to know the seller. So does Calum know something Afton doesn’t? Or is one of them trying to deceive us?”