The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  She didn’t know what to say, so she forced a weak smile. She looked into Shen’s puppy-dog eyes which were staring back at her, vulnerable and desperate, hanging desperately on her next words. She saw him as the sweet and wonderful man that he was. A great man that would certainly make the right woman extremely happy someday. But Sarah was not that woman. She’d never seen anything in Shen other than dear friendship. And now she found herself struggling to come up with the appropriate response. Something that would preserve the friendship they’d built and avoid crushing him, but wouldn’t lead him on or give him the wrong idea.

  “Listen, Shen,” she said, “I appreciate your honesty, and everything you’ve done here—”

  Before she could even finish the sentence she saw his expression change. From hopefully desperate to wounded and depressed. Shen tried to mask his reaction behind a forced, fake smile, but Sarah could see it in his eyes. He was crying inside. And that broke her heart.

  In a way, things would be much easier, and wonderful, if she were interested in Shen. But she wasn’t. And never had been. Shen was a great man, a lovely friend. Someone she cherished spending time with. But... when it came to other things... she didn’t feel anything for him. That wasn’t something she’d chosen, it simply was.

  “You’re a good friend,” said Sarah. “Probably my best friend on the ship.”

  “So then what’s the problem?” asked Shen.

  “I—” Sarah couldn’t make herself say she wasn’t attracted to Shen. She didn’t want to further cripple the man’s already weak confidence. And he would see more in that statement than she would mean. He would take it to mean he was hopelessly ugly, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t ugly. He simply wasn’t what Sarah was drawn too. It was nothing against his character...

  “No, you don’t have to say it,” said Shen. “I understand.” He got up and started piling up his dishes, even though most of his entrée had gone uneaten.

  “I’m sorry, Shen,” said Sarah. “You’re a great guy...” she looked at him with the kindest expression she knew. But her attempt at sympathy bounced off Shen like unwanted charity. His pride was injured. His feelings were hurt. And he’d put himself in a position he probably had never been in before. Made himself vulnerable. It had been a wonderful, very human, very meaningful gesture. But Shen no doubt was already regretting it.

  Sarah hoped this wouldn’t make things strange or awkward between them in the future. She searched her heart for the right thing to say—and for a moment wondered if it would have been kinder to lie to him and pretend to have some interest—but ultimately knew that that was not in her. There were a few men on the ship who excited her in that way, like Captain Pellew, who made her heart skip a beat, but Shen wasn’t one of them. He was more like a brother.

  “Aren’t you going to finish your dinner?” asked Sarah.

  Shen shook his head, and continued clearing away his mess. “I’d better go, I... it’s... I’ve got to be on shift soon.”

  Sarah nodded. She pushed her food away and stood up. “Well then, I’ll go so you can change into uniform and get ready.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’d better get going myself,” said Sarah. “Thank you very much for the lovely dinner.” She gave him a smile, which he did not return. He looked so embarrassed, it crushed her. She reached out and gave him a thank-you hug, and his arms curled around her, holding her much tighter than she’d expected. She gave him a few seconds and then pulled out of his grasp.

  “See you in fifteen minutes or so, then,” she said.

  He nodded once, avoiding her gaze. She left. A little disturbed by the whole experience. Wondering how she could give Shen back his pride without pretending to have feelings she simply did not have.

  ***

  “Detach from the freighter and move the ship to a safe distance,” said Calvin the moment he stepped back onto the bridge. The leftover anxiety from his experiences on Tybur was still with him, but now that he was home he felt much better. “As soon as you can, Sarah, set course for Remus Nine and initiate a jump. Eighty percent potential. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said and set to task.

  Calvin walked past Summers and took his seat at the command position. Letting out a deep sigh.

  “What happened to you?” asked Summers, clearly referring to his dirtied and torn civilian clothing. He wanted to get the ship underway before changing clothes.

  “Don’t ask,” said Calvin.

  Summers looked annoyed.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he added, to avoid angering her. He knew she didn’t want to have information kept from her, and he didn’t blame her. But he also didn’t want to discuss it right now. He was still rattled by the violent incident with the Khans, and the loss of a crew member, but mostly he didn’t want to launch into a conversation that would ultimately lead to questions about his father.

  Calvin’s luck had come through for him when he’d needed it. He and the rest of the surviving shore party had been able to get through customs without any problems. They’d left the canton and shuttled to the station where they reclaimed their stolen freighter. There had been a brief unnerving moment as they waited for clearance—and it seemed to be taking unnecessarily long; Calvin and the others had thought maybe they would be detained. But things worked out and they were eventually cleared. Security proved more lax for those leaving Tybur than entering. And the dead Khans probably hadn’t been discovered yet.

  The freighter’s captain had proved more than cooperative—fearing for his family’s lives. He allowed them back on his ship, which he’d kept prepped and ready to depart, and then he piloted them back out into open space where the Nighthawk performed another discrete docking maneuver. As a reward for his cooperation, Calvin allowed the man to go in peace. Surprisingly, Pellew did not object. He’d seemed distracted by the loss of one of his men and more interested in getting away from Tybur than anything else. Calvin didn’t blame him.

  “Why are we going to Remus Nine?” asked Miles. “Isn’t that—”

  “The birthplace of the Remorii?” said Calvin. “Yes, it is.”

  “Oh, I do not want to go there!”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice.”

  “What did you find out?” asked Alex. He’d arrived on the bridge, no doubt, to glean whatever intelligence he could. Summers had objected to his unauthorized presence but Calvin allowed the Rotham to stay. Some of this information would be important for him to hear.

  “You’re not going to like it,” said Calvin.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “The isotome weapons are on the planet’s surface awaiting sale to... the Rotham Republic.”

  Alex hissed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It might not be a government representative, but it is a Rotham agent that is supposed to arrive on the planet’s surface and finish the negotiations. We are going to get there first and you—if you’re up for it—are going to pose as the buyer.” Calvin looked at Alex—he seemed in every way the typical Rotham. Hopefully the seller wasn’t expecting a specific individual.

  “And when we find out where the weapons are from him, we will destroy them?” asked Alex.

  “Yes. They have to be eliminated.”

  “Very well, I will do it.”

  Calvin was glad to hear it. He hoped that Alex’s Advent training had prepared him for such a mission, especially in the face of so many unknowns.

  “What about the mine field?” asked Miles. “The whole planet is surrounded by semi-cloaked mines.”

  “That’s a good question,” said Calvin. “Shen?”

  Shen didn’t say anything. He kept his back to Calvin and stared down at his console unmoving. He wasn’t the most animated of people, but this level of unresponsiveness seemed unusual. Calvin worried that maybe he’d worked Shen too hard, especially since the man was still recovering from burn injuries.

  “Shen,” said Calvin, “you a
sleep over there?”

  Shen turned his chair and faced Calvin. He had a broken expression on his face. “I’m sorry Calvin, I just—I guess I wasn’t really listening.”

  “Wasn’t listening?” asked Summers, bearing down on him. “Unacceptable, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s alright,” said Calvin, swiftly intervening. “I’m sure Shen won’t let it happen again. Now, what I need to know is if the Nighthawk can detect the kind of mines that are distributed throughout Remus Nine? Or will our approach risk setting them off?”

  “What kind of mines?”

  Calvin looked at Miles. “You looked into this, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Miles. He spun his chair to face them. “They’re type VII proximity mines. Kind of outdated but still plenty dangerous. They don’t have fully-developed cloaking technology, but they do have stealth capabilities that create a field that renders them largely invisible.”

  “Yeah the Nighthawk should be able to see them when we get close enough,” said Shen. “They won’t be a problem.”

  “Good.”

  “We’re clear to jump now,” said Sarah.

  Shen gave her a forlorn look then turned his back to her. She, perhaps deliberately, did not look at him. Calvin wondered if the two had had some kind of argument. Or if they were both simply overworked and fatigued. Hopefully he could give them all a break soon.

  The ship rotated a little then came to a stop. “Jump calculated,” said Sarah.

  “Execute jump.”

  A moment later all the stars vanished, and blackness filled the windows.

  “Accelerating to jump depth of eighty percent. ETA forty-four hours.”

  “Good,” said Calvin. “That puts us there an hour early. Hopefully that’s enough time.”

  “When is the meeting?” asked Alex.

  “1530 standard time.”

  “I’m concerned about what we will find on the planet,” said Alex. “My intelligence indicates that there are a lot of... modified humans there. Dangerous ones,” he looked at Tristan. “No offense.”

  “None taken. They are deadly. More than you could know.”

  “Are there any strigoi or lycans left on Remus Nine?” asked Calvin.

  “No, I don’t think so. We all left the planet. Escaped together, actually. If we didn’t, the type one Remorii would’ve killed us all.”

  “Why didn’t they escape?” asked Calvin.

  “They’re not intelligent enough to, and they didn’t need to. They are creatures of pure instinct—mostly violence—they’re not thinking beings.”

  “I suggest we not land on the surface,” said Alex. “Instead, our ship should ambush the vessel carrying the weapons off the surface. Board or destroy it before it can jump away. The operation could be similar to what we did to the freighter in Tybur.”

  “We can’t do that,” said Calvin. “The buyer is being escorted by a large fleet of Rotham warships. Too many for the Nighthawk to contend with.”

  “How many?” asked Miles.

  Calvin almost didn’t want to say. “Thirty or so warships.”

  Miles’ face went pale. “Oh good lord... We’re dead. We’re freakin’ dead.”

  “We’ll be fine,” said Calvin. “We’ll get there first, find the weapons, destroy them, and leave before the fleet ever arrives. Then the galaxy will be rid of its most deadly threat. We can do this, guys! We have to.” Calvin didn’t mention that his greater concern was not the massive Rotham fleet but rather interdiction by the Desert Eagle. He only hoped Nimoux wouldn’t discover where they were going until it was too late. Assuming he didn’t know already…

  “Why don’t we try to get help from the Fleet?” asked Miles.

  “Because the Fleet can’t be trusted,” said Summers. Other than her outburst at Shen, she’d kept quiet until now. Guarding her thoughts and feelings inside the privacy of her mind. Her increasingly detached nature made Calvin worry about her.

  “That and there wouldn’t be enough time to get enough ships into position,” said Calvin. He looked at Tristan. “Is there any chance the Organization could marshal its resources and get a fleet together fast enough to contain the threat?” He doubted it, but the Organization had saved him from a Rotham squadron in Abia so he figured it was worth a shot.

  Tristan chuckled darkly. “Thirty warships? If only we had the resources you seem to think we have. Even if we marshaled every ship in our possession and somehow got them to Remus Nine first—which is impossible by the way—we would still be easily defeated.”

  Calvin wasn’t surprised. “So then it really is up to us.”

  “We’ll just have to make it work,” said Pellew.

  “What about the Arcane Storm?” asked Summers. “What if the ship is there and tries to engage us?”

  “We’ll kick its ass,” said Miles. “No contest.”

  Calvin ignored him and looked directly at Summers. “There is a good chance the ship is there, but the weapons aren’t on the ship anymore, they’re on the planet’s surface. So that’s the priority. If we’re lucky, we can disable and capture the Arcane Storm while we’re there—but our main objective is to destroy the isotome weapons on the planet’s surface. That’s even more important than survival. Is that clear to everyone?”

  Summers nodded.

  The others on the bridge voiced their assent.

  Calvin looked at each of them. They were tried and true, able officers who’d chosen to stick by him. Even Tristan and Alex were proving useful to have around... if only he knew who the mole was that’d betrayed them earlier...

  “Sarah and Shen,” said Calvin, “maintain the communications lockout.” The last thing he needed was for someone to tip off Nimoux again. Especially since their mission was probably the galaxy’s best shot at destroying the isotome weapons before they disappeared inside the Rotham Republic and forever changed the balance of power. “In forty-four hours we end this threat once and for all. Until then, we have preparations to make.”

  Chapter 20

  An hour and a half went by; Calvin spent the time in his office.

  He studied the personnel manifest and began choosing which members of the crew, and soldiers, would be essential for the mission. He would leave the Nighthawk under-staffed if he had to. Even if it cost him the ship, he would destroy those weapons. He’d done some very important work in the past—which had led to two silver stars and several other awards—but nothing even remotely compared to this op. If he failed on Remus Nine, that could mean the deaths of billions of people, the likely rise of Rotham dominance in the galaxy, and perhaps even the extinction of the human race.

  It blew his mind that such colossally destructive weapons could even exist. And made him wonder for a moment if other, perhaps even greater civilizations had once arisen in the galaxy only to destroy themselves—and all traces of their achievements and culture—in fiery supernovas. Was intelligence really a blessing for survival if it gave a species the means to destroy itself? Bacteria cultures seemed to live for countless billions of years without it...

  The comm beeped. He tapped it. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you but apparently there’s been an incident,” said Sarah.

  “What now...?” he held his breath, begging God—or gods—if any were out there—that the next words out of Sarah’s mouth wouldn’t be that someone got past the communications lockout.

  “Mister Pellew is taking care of it but wanted you to know. Apparently the tension between the Polarian soldiers and the Human soldiers is at an all-time high.”

  “What did they do?” Calvin imagined another melee in the mess hall. Perhaps he’d been a fool to think the two species could integrate successfully. By all reports, the distrust and tension between the two groups was an eternal constant, not something a few speeches and demerits could quickly remedy.

  “Two special forces soldiers interfered with the Polarian religious rite. They got in an argument with them, made a mess of things, and in
terrupted some kind of Polarian spiritual ritual.”

  “And the humans were the unquestionable aggressors this time?”

  “According to reports, sir.”

  Calvin shook his head with teeth clenched. Of all the stupid things... “Unacceptable.” He didn’t blame anyone for not finding any meaning or purpose in the Polarians’ ritualistic ways—he himself thought them superstitious—but such ways were their customs and traditions and needed to be respected. Interfering with them, especially when the Polarians had explicit permission from the CO to perform their rites, was only asking for trouble and conflict.

  “Where are the perpetrators now?”

  “In SFHQ with Captain Pellew. He told me to inform you that he has this under control, but you’re welcome to come down if you want.”

  Calvin clenched and unclenched his right fist. A lot of frustration and anger poured through him; it was one thing to deal with genuine problems that arose but... his own men manufacturing unnecessary conflict simply because of intolerance and suspicion? That was the last thing he needed to be dealing with as they raced toward Remus Nine—while Nimoux was possibly right on his heels. Calvin managed to keep his voice calm, despite his anger. “Thank you, Sarah. Please inform Pellew that I am going down there at once.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He doubted there was anything he could really do, but he wanted to make an example out of these men. The infighting would stop now. These particular men were not under his direct authority so their discipline would be managed by Pellew, but Calvin would insist that their punishment be public and severe. He had no time for further bigoted nonsense. From either side.

  ***

  The Desert Eagle slipped into Tyburian space unnoticed. Its advanced stealth system was more than a match for the Alliance’s detection technology, but Nimoux insisted they keep a safe distance anyway, just in case.