Lucky indeed. Perhaps a bit too lucky. “Why didn’t the carbon monoxide alarm go off?” asked Calvin, skeptical that this failure had been a freak accident.
“There was a power overload that fried the sensor, probably the same event that damaged the air system. “The systems were put under a lot of pressure during the action in Remus and there have been sporadic overloads and systems failures throughout the ship ever since. As far as I can tell this one is no different.”
Calvin nodded. He still wasn’t convinced but he supposed the explanation was plausible. Immediately he ran through a list of people on the ship who might want Patrick dead and who could have pulled off the engineering feat required—if it was possible to do—to simulate a natural systems failure. Shen could do it, but he was obviously not in a position to. And any of the engineering staff might be able to. It wasn’t any of the Polarians or Tristan, unless they could have done the sabotage before the Arcane Storm departed—Calvin doubted it, and Calvin supposed it could have been Alex. He wasn’t sure what sort of training an ex-Advent operative had but he couldn’t rule out that this was the sort of thing one might engineer, except that Alex had no motive to kill Patrick. No one did. Patrick hadn’t been particularly well-liked, especially when he’d single-handedly mutinied against Summers and nearly lost them the ship when he refused to operate the Nighthawk’s stealth system as the Desert Eagle’s flotilla had born down on them. But, from what Calvin could tell, no one had a personal grudge against him. Or truly benefitted from his death.
“What do you think?” Calvin turned to Pellew.
The special forces captain gave Calvin an indifferent look. “I think it’s a case of bad luck, nothing more. Good thing Patrick was in the brig when the systems failed and not someone we actually needed alive.”
Calvin wasn’t surprised by Pellew’s callous regard for life. He’d seen firsthand what the soldier was capable of when convenience demanded it. Calvin doubted he would ever forgive Pellew for flushing a civilian crew out into space—whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure Pellew had situation reasons for why he’d done what he had, and there was a kind of morbid logic to it, but it was still cruel, wrong, and not the sort of thing Calvin was capable of. Or so he hoped.
“Why did it take your soldier so long to discover something was wrong?” asked Calvin.
Pellew shrugged. “She said it wasn’t until Patrick refused to awaken for food and water rations that she got suspicious that something was wrong. Carbon monoxide is odorless and colorless and someone breathing it in doesn’t show signs of distress. “
Calvin knew that was true. “Did the soldier on duty report any visitors?”
“No, she says she was on watch the entire time and Patrick had no visitors.”
Calvin nodded. He doubted the soldier herself had the technical expertise to sabotage the system so smoothly into killing Patrick, and he had no reason to distrust the soldier’s word. After all, she had elected to remain a fugitive on the Nighthawk at her own expense, and if she’d allowed someone else to enter the deck and tamper with the systems she had no incentive to protect him or her.
“When Cassidy gets the chance I’m going to have her look over the systems thoroughly,” said Calvin. “On the off-chance that you missed something,” Calvin looked at the analyst, who nodded. Calvin next turned to Pellew. “I want you to take Patrick’s body to the infirmary. I’ll have Rain do an autopsy and see if there is anything else about this death that stands out—anything suspicious. I’m leaving you to clean this up.”
“Understood,” said Pellew.
With that Calvin left and headed for his office. Once he was there he took a seat and used the intercom to summon Cassidy.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked once she was inside and the door had closed behind her.
“Yes,” said Calvin. He didn’t know Cassidy particularly well, and he hadn’t forgotten that during his contest with Summers for control of the ship on the way to Abia, what seemed like decades ago, Cassidy had taken Summers’ side over his. But since then Calvin had learned to trust Summers so he supposed he should trust Cassidy as well, and—now that Shen’s talents and expertise weren’t available to him—Cassidy was the best-trained operations officer on the ship. “Have you completed your sweep of deck one?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “And I did find a listening device.”
Calvin leaned forward. “And?”
“It had been placed inside the vent just behind you. I sent it to the lab for analysis.”
Calvin tapped the intercom again and called the lab.
“Midshipman Hughes here.”
“Mister Hughes,” said Calvin, “is the lab currently analyzing a listening device that was sent down there?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Any results on that so far?”
“We found some skin cells and hair that the computer is analyzing for a DNA match currently. As for the device itself, it’s still being checked over to see if we missed anything.”
That sounded promising. “Has the computer come back with any results?”
“The analysis is completing now—hold on one moment, sir.”
“Very well.”
Calvin waited for over two minutes before Hughes replied.
“Sorry about that, sir—”
“It’s fine, just tell me you have some good news.”
“That I do, sir. The computer has positively ID’d the skin samples and the hair.”
“And?”
“They belong to Midshipman Patrick O’Conner.”
“Thank you,” said Calvin and he closed the line. It made sense for Patrick to be the mole, he would have known the proper Intel Wing codes that had been used. And, based on reports of his behavior at Remus, he clearly sympathized with Nimoux and Intel Wing so he had motive. Now, finally, there was a method. This new report gave Calvin some idea of how Patrick knew about Echo Three—which he’d then, apparently, leaked to Intel Wing. Hopefully establishing this meant Patrick had been operating solo as the mole and that there were no further security threats on the Nighthawk. But, just to be sure, Calvin intended to maintain his restricted communications policy.
“Is that all, sir?” asked Cassidy.
“No it isn’t. I want you to run a full diagnostic on all critical systems on every deck, especially all life support systems. If there are any problems found—and there likely will be from power surges that occurred during the battle with the Phoenix—do whatever it takes to get them resolved. I want the ship to be completely safe. Work with Andre Cowen as needed and if you or the chief engineer need anything, let me know at once.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then, once that’s finished, I want you to meticulously examine the air systems on the brig deck. There were some failures there that resulted in the death of a prisoner.”
“Patrick,” she said in a reverent tone. Patrick had belonged to Cassidy’s same shift and the two had likely been friends, at least until Patrick had decided to mutiny.
“Yes, Patrick. I want to be double sure that the systems failures that resulted in his death were purely coincidental, and not the result of deliberate sabotage.”
“I’ll check them over to the best of my ability, sir.”
“That will be all.” He dismissed Cassidy and then gave an order to the bridge to stand down from condition one to condition two. The explanations were all in place, Patrick had been the mole and he’d died of a systems failure caused by the firefight with the Phoenix, so there was no clear and present danger to the ship or his crew. But Calvin still felt uncomfortable about the whole thing, so he didn’t order the ship to stand all the way down to condition three. He wanted people on their guard.
The ship was finally on its way to meet up with Kalila—and had been for almost half an hour—they still had time to spare and Calvin hoped that there would be no new crises in that time.
Chapter 5
The plan
was coming together. Mostly.
Zane Martel received word from his second that the other members of the Phoenix Ring were concerned about the timing of the operation. “Renora should have generated more results in the Assembly by now,” they said. Zane dismissed their concerns and sent his second back to the others with a message assuring them that all was moving forward as it should. The situation on Renora was a developing chaos that Zane’s people had well under thumb, and as for the Assembly—they would fall in line eventually. Zane had assurances from Caerwyn, his brother—who was not a member of the Phoenix Ring but was nonetheless sympathetic to their goals—that the mood on the Assembly floor was one of growing anxiety. In time the moment would be ripe to challenge the Akiras for the throne, but not yet.
As a corporate magnate and acting chief executive of MXR—which his father Brinton no longer took a role in—Zane had considerable resources at his disposal. Other key members of the Phoenix Ring had wealth, power, and status that proved useful, but Zane at the helm of the mighty MXR brought the lion’s share. And that had given him the opportunity to seize the role of de facto leader—an opportunity he had not missed. Now, though, there came certain responsibilities. He had to keep peace among the different interests that’d allied themselves with him, he had to manage a very delicate alliance with alien interests—which he knew were extremely dangerous and self-serving—and he had to achieve a certain level of results. Otherwise his brother would not be able to successfully wrestle away the throne and all would’ve been for naught.
Lately they’d had some success, via bribes and extortion, identifying key members of the opposition, the so-called Organization. It was a group of blind would-be patriots who defended the status quo and acted as unknown pawns of the military-industrial complex that had grown so enormous inside the Empire. Their leader, White Rook, remained as elusive and mysterious as the Phoenix Ring itself, but Zane knew better than to underestimate him or her. Which was why it was so important that he root out the rest of the Organization’s assets on Capital World and eliminate them. The time of ascension was fast approaching and, when the Empire was finally reborn, it would be reborn here. Here at the center of everything. When that time came Zane wanted to be sure that the Organization had no more resources to tap and no more cards to play; they would be out of the game. Too distant and dispersed to intervene in time.
Success had been slow and steady, but a few variables remained that gave Zane concern. One of them was the elusive Calvin Cross, a one-time asset that had been apparently recruited by the Organization. Making him a threat. His talents and resources were formidable, despite their practical limitations, and Zane would not have a rogue further jeopardize their plans. He didn’t know what information White Rook, or Asari Raidan, or someone else in the Organization, had fed Calvin, but Calvin had been sighted in Remus System. Just as the isotome weapons deal was about to go down between the Organization’s fake Enclave agent and the Rahajiim. Zane hadn’t yet gotten a full report on what’d happened—as it had yet to be determined—but based on reports from Intel Wing operatives, communicated to Zane through Director Jack Edwards Prime, Calvin and his ship had been present in Remus. That was around the same time the Phoenix Ring’s operative, who’d been down on the surface, had stopped maintaining contact with the Phoenix Ring. The way Zane saw it, only a few things were possible. Calvin and his crew abducted, killed, or recruited the agent—all of which were potentially quite bad. Especially if the agent, who was a replicant himself, revealed how the Phoenix Ring was acquiring replicants and which people had already been replaced. Or else the Rahajiim had abducted, killed, or recruited the Phoenix Ring operative. Perhaps they had something to offer that the replicant wanted, or maybe they’d learned of the deception and knew the replicant wasn’t a true Enclave agent. Perhaps the Enclave itself had ceased to be fooled. From Zane’s perspective there was no way of knowing, but if Calvin had taken possession of the replicant, Zane wanted to know. He had to have some sense of what he was up against.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite prisoner,” said Zane as he walked into the basement dungeon. The guards escorting him stepped aside so he could get a clear view of the prisoner. A tall, somewhat lanky man was chained to the ceiling and floor, his arms raised uncomfortable above his head.
The prisoner raised his head and a look of disgust and recognition came over him as he spotted Zane. He spat and lowered his head.
“He still isn’t cooperating,” said the guard nearest the prisoner. Next to him was a table with a variety of instruments of persuasion and by the look of things, the prisoner had already been tortured significantly. His clothes were removed and bruises and cuts decorated his body. There was also a pool of dried blood at his feet.
“Come now, Rafael, it doesn’t have to be like this,” said Zane. He stepped closer and looked the prisoner in his defiant eyes. Rafael remained silent.
“You know, we have ways of making things a whole lot better for you… and a whole lot worse.”
Still no reaction from Rafael.
“He hasn’t said a damned thing all day,” said the guard. “Shall I keep starving him and limiting his water?”
“No, we don’t want him to die,” said Zane. He found the sight of Rafael in this condition oddly amusing. Almost like he was observing a puzzle that was just a few pieces away from being solved. Despite the prisoner’s mighty display of resilience and defiance, something about him looked on edge of giving way.
“Good idea sir,” said the guard. “He’ll talk sooner if he has to keep pissing and shitting himself.”
Judging by the looks of things there had already been a fair amount of that, and goose bumps on the prisoner’s skin revealed he didn’t like the cold air blasting him from the vent.
“In time you will cooperate,” said Zane, looking Rafael squarely in the eyes. “And you will ask Calvin the questions I demand you ask him.”
“And if I don’t?” said Rafael at long last.
“Then everyone and everything you love will start disappearing—starting with your fingers and toes.”
In response, Rafael spit again. This time a large mucousy glob that landed on Zane’s hand-made suit. The guard nearest him whipped out a handkerchief and started dabbing at the spit and the guard with the torture instruments withdrew an electric stun baton and jammed it hard into Rafael’s ribs, shocking him with pain.
“I’m sorry about that, Boss,” said the closest guard.
“No matter,” said Zane. He could buy every suit on Capital World if he wanted—and every company that made them—and he’d never feel the slightest difference in his wealth. “But do show our guest that we mean business. Index finger, left hand, see that it’s gone.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard next to Rafael. He picked up a pair of pruning shears and approached the prisoner, who squirmed against his chains.
“The more you take from me now, the less I’ll have to lose tomorrow. And the easier it will be to resist you,” said Rafael. He did a good job of showing no fear in his voice, even though it was clear as day on his face.
Zane smirked. In another life he would have liked to have this one working for him. “Just remember, you are the one making things hard on yourself. Don’t be your own enemy. It’s time for you to look to your own needs. Rather than protecting those who’ve abandoned you.”
“Go to hell,” said Rafael.
“Oh I intend to,” said Zane. “And the way things are going, it looks like you’ll be getting there first. Be sure to save a place for me.”
***
Three hours had passed since the Arcane Storm and the Nighthawk parted ways. Now the battered stealth ship was gliding seamlessly through alteredspace. Calvin had some time to kill, and the chance to mentally prepare himself for the rendezvous. He hadn’t forgotten how easily and completely Kalila had charmed him the last time they’d met face to face, and he didn’t want to bend to her will like hot steel in a fire. If he was going to work with her,
and trust her, she needed to earn that trust. And until she’d been properly acquitted in his mind for the attack on Renora, he knew he had to be on his guard with her. And, if it turned out that she was behind the attack that had led to mass chaos and civilian deaths in the scores of thousands… that made her an enemy, not a friend.
He lay in his bed in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to catch up on sleep—he hadn’t properly slept since the Remus mission—but his excitement, curiosity, and anxiety of the encounter to come forced him awake. He tossed and turned for the better part of twenty minutes before resigning himself to lie awake.
He remembered the princess’s beautiful face in his mind, like an echo of a warmer yesterday. And the feelings that had shot through him when she’d touched his arm, and their eyes had met, and she’d spoken his name. Pleading with him to help her. Trusting him. That someone so far above his station knew of him, and had sought him out…
No. He wouldn’t be dazzled by her rank, or her status, or her very effective manipulation tactics, he reminded himself. People were dying in Renora, even now. The political situation across the Empire was becoming unstable and unpredictable, and a very real and dark corruption had taken root inside the upper echelons of the military leadership. For all Calvin knew Kalila was a part of it—though he doubted it, and wanted not to believe it—he forced himself to consider the possibility that she was maneuvering many of these events for her own selfish interest, perhaps to wrestle away the throne from her father and older siblings, maybe she had some large grand design for the Empire, one that might align with the Phoenix Ring.
The more he considered it, the less plausible it seemed, certainly such a theory did not fit with Kalila’s behavior every time he’d interacted with her. She’d wanted him not to attack Raidan, for instance, and she seemed very aware that a threat was growing deep inside the very roots of the Empire, she’d spoken of it herself. But that was not enough to acquit her of the Renora attack—no matter how much Calvin wished it was. More evidence would be needed.
The Phoenix Crisis Page 5
