The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  “What do you mean?” asked Calvin.

  “I think we both know what I mean,” said Tristan. “But, in case you really do not know, I’m sure your Mr. Iwate can explain it to you. Because he knows, just as well as I do, that he isn’t exactly the same.”

  “It’s true,” said Shen. “I’m not.”

  “And I’m sure your man has been having the same dreams that I have—or ones very similar,” said Tristan. This seemed to spark something in Shen, as if explaining to him something that had previously been a cause of major confusion.

  Calvin did not want to believe it. He wanted to reject all of it. However, there were things about Shen he could not explain, and Shen seemed convinced that whatever rubbish Tristan was saying made some sort of sense, and Calvin did not want to compel his crew to go with him on a potentially suicidal mission if they would rather be somewhere else. But…could he really continue the mission without Shen? And didn’t going with Tristan present its own perils to Shen? But, then again, if it were true that not going with Tristan meant that Shen would die—though the details of that remained dubious to Calvin—did Calvin have a right to order Shen to refuse?

  “I am only offering him the chance to save his own life,” said Tristan. “Whether or not he takes it, I suppose, is up to you.”

  “Shen,” said Calvin, with a shrug. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to stay,” said Shen initially. “I am afraid to go. I don’t want to leave you without my help,” he then looked at Sarah, “neither do I want to go alone. I would rather die here, if that is what it takes, than go alone. Knowing the rest of you are out there, risking your lives…”

  Calvin got the distinct impression that Shen was no longer talking to him, rather, it seemed he was directing his answer toward Sarah, who, to Calvin’s surprise, looked rather conflicted herself.

  What the hell? Thought Calvin. And he concluded the only thing he could conclude, the two of them must have begun some sort of romance. Either that or they were better friends than Calvin had always believed.

  “I cannot, in good conscience, choose to go, leaving you all here,” said Shen, much to Calvin’s relief.

  Calvin nodded. “Good, well then, I suppose that settles tha—”

  Sarah interrupted him. “Tristan,” she said, to everyone’s surprise. “Is there room for me to come along?”

  “Sarah, what are you doing?” demanded Calvin.

  “Of course, my dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Tristan.

  Sarah then looked at Calvin, then to Shen, then back to Calvin. “Sir, I choose to go aboard the Arcane Storm.”

  “Preposterous,” said Summers, standing up. She gave Calvin an elbow, as if to tell him to handle this situation in all of its ridiculousness. He couldn’t seriously be considering handing over two of his best White Shift officers—arguably the two best officers on the ship. Not while they stood on the precipice of doing the unknown and venturing into Polarian Forbidden Space.

  But, then again, what if compelling Shen to stay meant that Shen did die, like Tristan warned? And could Calvin expect full cooperation from Sarah if he kept her, and Shen, from following their own choices? Calvin felt deeply conflicted.

  “If she is going, then I am going,” said Shen. “I feel it in my bones. I’ve had the dreams. I have to go.”

  Calvin could barely comprehend what was happening. Yet, some deep part of him, accepted it. Shen was not the same, not completely, and if he needed Sarah to give him the courage to go—and going was the only thing that could cure him—or, at least, save him—then who was Calvin to stand in the way? He had other officers. For that matter, Calvin could fly the ship himself, and Midshipman Dupont—a favorite of Summers—had proven time and again she could handle the Ops duties that Shen would be abandoning.

  “I leave it in your hands to make the choice,” said Calvin, sitting down, feeling surprisingly exhausted by the entire thing. Summers did not sit; instead, she looked down at Calvin, staring at him through seething eyes, then she looked at Sarah and Shen, who, after a quick embrace, were holding hands as they walked toward the elevator.

  “You two can’t be serious,” said Summers.

  “I’m afraid so,” replied Shen.

  “But you’re needed here! I order you to stay!”

  “Calvin said we could go,” replied Sarah. “Oh, and Commander, in case we never meet again, I have something for you that I’ve always wanted to give you, ever since the beginning.”

  “And what is that?” asked Summers.

  Sarah flipped Summers the bird, just as the elevator door slid shut. And Shen and Sarah were gone. Perhaps never to be seen by Calvin and the Nighthawk again.

  “Real mature…” whispered Summers with a disapproving shake of her beautiful head.

  “I’ll maneuver my ship to dock with yours,” said Tristan.

  Summers pointed at the now vacant pilot’s station, where nobody was sitting to maneuver the Nighthawk appropriately.

  “Right,” said Calvin and he leapt up and took the station. It was far from his first time flying the Nighthawk—he’d made certain to familiarize himself with this station in case his pilot ever became incapacitated, and because pilot stations generally fascinated him—“Let’s see,” he said, making the appropriate adjustments.

  CHAPTER 10

  Shen took Sarah’s hand and helped her through the hatch on the newly repaired deck four. The inside of the Arcane Storm immediately stood out against the Nighthawk. Rather than dark-colored walls, the Arcane Storm seemed to overuse the color white in the same way the Nighthawk overused the color black. There was something sterile feeling about the environment, which felt odd considering it was a ship captained—and possibly crewed—by Remorii.

  “Welcome aboard,” said Tristan, personally greeting Shen and Sarah once they had entered the ship. The hatch sealed and two of Tristan’s attendants—Shen couldn’t tell if they were crewmembers or servants or what exactly—saw to Shen’s and Sarah’s bags.

  “Thank you,” said Shen with some trepidation. What have I done? He thought as he gazed down either hall, then looked at Sarah, who, he knew had only come along for Shen’s sake. Sure, Sarah had volunteered first, but only because that was the only way she could convince Shen to go. She believes there is a genuine threat to my life, Shen realized. And that these…people, whatever they are up to, have the answer.

  “Unfortunately, there aren’t any spare quarters on this ship, it’s too over filled,” said Tristan. “So I’ll have to put you with the others.”

  “What others?” asked Shen, cautiously.

  “Right this way,” Tristan beckoned. With no choice but to trust the lycan, Shen headed in the direction indicated. His fingers instinctively found Sarah’s hand and he held it. They walked side-by-side, neither of them knowing just what they had gotten themselves into.

  After walking around the far edge of the starship, Tristan led them along an internal corridor, around a bend, and up to a very large metal door. It was open, revealing what had once been the Arcane Storm’s primary cargo bay, Shen was sure.

  Now, though, it was something else. There were people everywhere, packs on the ground, sleeping bags rolled out, a few tables set out with food. All told, there must have been over two, maybe even three hundred people, who, by all appearances, were calling the cargo bay home. Shen realized that he and Sarah were expected to join the others.

  “There’s still some space in the aft port corner,” said Tristan. “I suggest you go make yourselves comfortable there. Afton and Hrann will deliver your possessions. Since you didn’t bring sleeping bags, pads, or pillows, I’ll see that some are supplied for you.”

  “Hold on a moment,” said Shen, catching Tristan by the wrist—and surprised at his own reflexes and strength.

  “Yes?” asked the lycan curiously, one eyebrow raised. He made no effort to break free of Shen’s grip, so Shen relaxed it.

  “Who are all these people?” asked
Shen. “Surely they’re not all…”

  “Every last one of them,” said Tristan with a smile. “Type III Remorii. And this is just a drop in the bucket; there are thousands more in the convoy.”

  “You must have emptied out Echo III,” said Shen, remembering that Tristan’s kind had adopted an asteroid and transformed it into a temporary home.

  “You’re right,” said Tristan. “All of Echo III and more. When we go to the promised land, we all go together. Nobody gets left behind.”

  “The promised land?” asked Sarah.

  “You’ll see,” said Tristan, flashing another grin, his eyes even seemed to twinkle in the bright lighting.

  “What about us?” asked Shen. “We’re not Type III Remorii.”

  “You’re both here as my guests,” said Tristan. “Shen, you may not be exactly like the rest of us, but we accept you as a brother. As for you,” he looked at Sarah, “normally humans would not be welcome. But humans are helping us in this endeavor—it’s a sad fact, but a fact notwithstanding. I could transfer you to another ship, such as the Harbinger, where you would be more comfortable.”

  “I would prefer not to be separated from Shen.”

  “Of course,” said Tristan. “We’re not in the business of separating pridemates.”

  “Hold on there a second,” snapped Sarah. “I’m nobody’s pridemate.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow, looked down at Shen and Sarah holding hands—which evidently made her self-conscious because she let go of Shen’s fingers at that moment. “Well, whatever you want to call it,” said Tristan. “I’ll make sure you’re not split up any longer than you have to be.”

  “So you are going to split us up, then?” asked Sarah, perceptively.

  “Only when necessary,” said Tristan with a grin. “And, I promise you, not for longer than is necessary. In the meantime, feel free to drive each other crazy.”

  With that, Tristan left.

  “I guess we’d better go stake out our corner then,” said Shen, unsure what else to do or say. Following Tristan’s advice, they walked toward the port-stern corner of the cargo bay, where they found bedding was being unrolled for them by the same two lycans that had delivered their bags.

  “Thank you for your help,” said Shen, once the two were finished. One of them bowed his head, almost looking ashamed; the other did not bow, instead he reached out a hand, as if to shake. Shen took it, unsure what else to do. He found the other’s grip to be quite tight as they shook.

  “Yes, thank you for the help,” said Sarah, looking anxious. “What were your names, again?” she asked.

  The one with the bowed head looked up but remained silent. He looked at the other, who nodded, as if giving him instructions, and then he left, not saying a word.

  “My name is Hrann, and you’ll have to forgive Afton,” said the remaining lycan.

  “Afton…” said Shen. “Why does that name sound familiar to me?” and then he remembered. Back when the Nighthawk had approached Echo III, before Calvin and Tristan had gone aboard the asteroid, Tristan had spoken of an Afton and referred to him as his clan leader. Surely that couldn’t be the same Afton, could it?

  “Afton is one of the disgraced ones,” explained Hrann. “He was once a great leader, but he betrayed us. He made selfish deals with the outside. Tristan exposed him as a fraud and a traitor, so we had his tongue removed and then chose a new leader.”

  “Ouch,” said Sarah, grimacing.

  “Don’t worry, he no longer feels any pain,” said Hrann. “Except for his shame. But that will remain with him forever.”

  “He was a traitor and you let him walk about freely?” asked Shen.

  “We let him walk about freely,” corrected Hrann. “Yes, you are one of us now. And such is our way.”

  “And, if I may ask,” said Shen, not wanting to contradict Hrann, but also not feeling like kin to these Remorii, “how exactly did we choose our new leader?” He wondered just what sort of government the Type III Remorii tribe had evolved to use.

  “Why, we had a choosing, of course,” said Hrann, not very helpfully. He clapped Shen on the shoulder. “Zarao is a just leader, and five times wiser than Afton was. Do not fear.” He smiled.

  Shen smiled back awkwardly, wondering if he had made a mistake in coming here.

  “So, tell me,” said Hrann. “Do you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” asked Shen.

  “You know,” hinted Afton.

  “What is he talking about?” asked Sarah, touching Shen’s shoulder and looking up into his eyes.

  “I think I know,” said Shen, after some thought. “The dreams. The burning. That overwhelming feeling that comes and goes…”

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Hrann. “So, it is true. You really are one of us!”

  “I suppose so…” said Shen, still unconvinced.

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Sarah.

  “Home,” said Shen, not sure how better to describe it.

  “What does that even mean?” asked Sarah, looking confused.

  “It calls to us with the fury of a battle drum,” said Hrann. “Now more than ever.”

  “I still don’t understand,” said Sarah.

  “I don’t fully understand it myself,” said Shen, though it made a kind of sense to him. Something was compelling the Remorii. He didn’t know what mechanism could do that, or what would cause it, but because of it, he felt this calling—this pain—like a bell in his ears and a drum in his heart, both ordering him to return home. But where was home? Then he came to the only logical conclusion. “Our destination is Remus Nine, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “What?” demanded Sarah.

  “You are wise, just as Tristan promised,” said Hrann, ignoring Sarah.

  “Shen. Shen!” said Sarah, getting his attention. “You’re talking about home and Remus Nine in the same sentence. Are you nuts?”

  “I don’t know,” said Shen honestly.

  “Well, if you plan to live there,” said Sarah, “I don’t expect it will be for very long. Not with all those Type I Remorii everywhere.”

  “Oh, but there is a plan,” said Hrann excitedly.

  “Shen,” said Sarah; she seemed to be deliberately ignoring Hrann’s enthusiasm. “Shen, remember the last time you went to Remus Nine? There was a plan then too. And you almost didn’t make it back.”

  “But I did make it back,” said Shen.

  “You don’t have to live with us on Remus Nine in order for it to be a home,” said Hrann, perhaps to placate Sarah. Although Shen had to admit to himself, the prospective of calling that world home did not sound appealing.

  “Explain,” said Sarah.

  “We must do what the calling demands of us,” said Hrann. “But after that, some of us will dwell there, some will leave. You can be one of the ones who leaves. You can be a wanderer. Our society has always had wanderers. But even the wildest of wanderers always could call Echo III home. In your case, you will be able to call Remus Nine home. And visit us however often or rarely as you desire. But the calling must be fulfilled!”

  Shen’s head was spinning as he tried to make sense of everything. Obviously there was some task that needed doing on Remus Nine, and, when it was done, the lycans could call the banned planet home. Shen hoped that task, the answer to this calling, didn’t mean slaughtering all of the Type I Remorii—such a task seemed hopeless, even with the many thousands of lycans that Tristan claimed he was bringing. But, if the Type I Remorii continued to roam the surface, ravaging everything, how could anyone call such a desperate place home? Shen hadn’t forgotten how lucky he and Calvin had been to escape the surface of the planet at all, and that had been with heavy armaments, a bunch of fierce Polarians, and only a short objective. Taking the planet outright…that sounded like suicide.

  “Tell me,” said Shen, wanting clarity regarding what he had signed himself up for.

  “Forgive me; I must go,” said Hrann. “I am needed elsewhere.” And, like
that, he was gone, leaving Shen with a rather confused and miserable-looking Sarah.

  “Hey, you volunteered,” said Shen. Unfortunately, that helped the situation not at all…

  ***

  “What the hell were you thinking, Lieutenant?” asked Summers. She had asked Calvin back to the privacy of the CO’s office, his office—but what probably should have remained her office, given all that had happened.

  “I made the decisions as best I could, for the mission and the personnel under my command,” said Calvin, defensively; he sat in his chair, as if not to be intimidated, but Summers remained on her feet…looking down on him. Yes, he was comely, even sitting there looking angry, but she could push aside her unwanted feelings and cut directly through to the issue without any sort of emotional clouding. She only wished Calvin had the power to do the same—and men generally.

  “First, you commit the ship to a battle, even though we were poorly equipped to fight and the Nighthawk had extensive damage—”

  “I did it against an inferior force and so we could afford to repair the ship,” he fired back.

  Summers raised a finger…she was far from done. “You could have gotten the ship repaired, resupplied, and re-staffed at a proper Imperial outpost.”

  “And have a repeat of the mutiny you and Nimoux experienced when Raidan—”

  She interrupted him. “That isn’t the point. You endangered the ship by committing us to a battle we were ill-prepared for. You committed our ground forces to a battle they were ill-equipped for, and, as a result, two of the men died. And then you gave security clearance to a bunch of gangsters, armed them, equipped them, and as we speak they are being trained by Nimoux into a small army…on our ship.”