The Phoenix Crisis

by Richard L. Sanders

  “I understand,” said the false master, finally accepting that Blackmoth could not be persuaded to send Calvin Cross to his maker. At least not while the One True God forbade it. “In that case I have another request for you.”

  The false master gave Blackmoth more names. He conferred with the One True God and found that this request was in harmony with the Will of the Divine.

  “I will do as God demands.”

  Chapter 20

  “It’s about time I heard from you,” said Raidan. He sat in his office on the Harbinger and stared at the very tired looking face of Lieutenant Masterson. Masterson stood at attention while Raidan thumbed through a pile of documents that’d been placed on his desk.

  “I apologize, sir,” said Masterson. “We did our analysis as thoroughly as we could—we didn’t want to miss anything—and as such it took longer than my original estimate.”

  “No matter,” said Raidan. At least he’d finally be getting some answers regarding the Arcane Storm. It was still a mystery how the ship had been lost in the first place. Raidan’s personal theory was that Zander—the previous captain of the ship and the Group Leader before Raidan—had fallen victim to mutiny and his rebellious officers had defected to the Phoenix Ring. Certainly it was a lot more pleasant to imagine that than the very real possibility that Zander himself had been a traitor.

  “Is there anything else, sir?” asked Masterson. He looked eager to leave. Raidan wasn’t finished with him yet, though.

  “Walk me through the basics,” said Raidan as he flipped through the pages. The complete report was the size of a small almanac and he didn’t have time to waste reading all of it.

  “What do you want to know, sir?”

  “The end of the story. What was the Arcane Storm doing adrift in open space with all of its systems operating but no crew aboard? And no isotome weapons.”

  “Our best theory is that the ship was already understaffed when it jumped to the deadspace coordinates where it was discovered. There the entire remaining crew, which was only a handful of people, escaped in the one missing shuttle. Any cargo it was carrying, including any isotome weapons, was flushed out into open space for safe keeping. Probably for later retrieval. The missiles themselves, based on the description of their dimensions provided by the Nighthawk’s people, would be small enough to avoid notice by most sensors. Especially if they were designed to be stealth weapons.”

  “Which means the weapons might have been there and gone unseen,” said Raidan. “In which case they might still be there.”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  Raidan nodded. He’d have to dispatch ships to the deadspace zone immediately. If there were isotome weapons sitting there, waiting to be picked up by whomever was passing through, that was priority one. More important even than Renora. As loath as he was to admit it. “Why would they dump the cargo rather than leave it on the ship?”

  “It’s likely the crew believed they would be followed and that the ship would eventually be taken, no doubt they were preempting the inevitable and making certain that whatever hostile force captured the ship wasn’t also getting the isotome weapons as a bonus.”

  “Why abandon the ship there?” asked Raidan, almost more to himself than to his officer as he considered the possibilities.

  “As a deadspace zone it’s an unlikely place for anyone to pass through and notice the weapons. Our theory, sir, is that the understaffed crew was having difficulty piloting the ship and believed they would eventually be overtaken. So they dumped the weapons, which would prove almost impossible to detect in open space, and then it didn’t really matter if they lost the ship. The precious cargo could still be reclaimed by someone who knew where it was.”

  Raidan nodded. Based on Tristan’s report, it was likely that the crew of the Arcane Storm expected to be followed by the Rotham fleet that had gone to Remus System. That force might already have tracked the Arcane Storm to the deadspace zone and claimed the isotome weapons, or perhaps the Arcane Storm’s people were depositing the weapons there for the Rotham fleet to find. If Masterson’s theory was true, however, and the crew of the Arcane Storm was trying to protect the isotome weapons from the Rotham fleet, that would be a very interesting development indeed. Perhaps the human and Rotham pieces of the Phoenix Ring were already more fragmented than Raidan guessed.

  There were other possibilities for why the human part of the Phoenix Ring would want to keep the portion of the weapons the Arcane Storm was probably carrying. For instance leverage, or a bargaining tactic, or perhaps it was insurance against misuse of the other isotome weapons by the Rotham. Like a countermeasure.

  “Was that all, sir?” asked Masterson.

  Raidan dismissed him and then used his comm panel to hail the Arcane Storm. Tristan answered the call, now wearing a full captain’s uniform.

  “I see you gave yourself a promotion,” said Raidan.

  Tristan nodded. “It’s only fitting. Now that I finally have command of the Arcane Storm.”

  “And now I’m giving you your first mission as Captain Tristan,” said Raidan.

  “Go and resupply the Nighthawk, yes I know,” said Tristan.

  “Actually the plan has changed. I need you to jump as swiftly as possible and go to the deadspace coordinates where you found the Arcane Storm adrift. New intelligence suggests that the isotome weapons might be there after all, afloat in open space. Trawl every cubic meter of the region. If they’re there, I want them found.”

  “Aye, sir. And, if I may ask, what about the Nighthawk? It’s in bad need of repair and resupply, and the arrangements have already been made.”

  Raidan let out a sigh. He wanted to dispatch the Mary Gale to deal with it, so the Harbinger could continue its protective watch over Renora, but the Mary Gale lacked the capability of a deep space repair. That meant the Harbinger would have to do it. “I’ll take care of it,” said Raidan. He’d have to adjust the arrangements so that the Nighthawk would rendezvous with the Harbinger closer to Renora, ideally within striking range in case things went poorly. Though it would have to be far enough that the Nighthawk was not seen.

  “I’ll leave immediately,” said Tristan, and the call terminated.

  Raidan drew up new plans for resupplying the Nighthawk, and returning its original crew along with some fresh replacements, and he selected the ideal coordinates for them to meet up. When he tried to transmit the message to the Nighthawk over secure channels, he found he was unable. He went to the bridge and discussed the issue with his operations department and found that the problem was on the Nighthawk’s end and not theirs. That meant the Nighthawk would still be heading to the original rendezvous coordinates.

  “Oh well, they can sit and wait there for a while,” said Raidan, folding his arms.

  “I’m not sure they can,” said Commander Mason, the 2O. Raidan went to his position to see what he was talking about. “New report from some of our Polarian allies. One of their listening posts detected the ISS Phoenix entering Polarian space.”

  “And?” asked Raidan.

  “I think it’s got a fix on the Nighthawk’s position. The Phoenix is heading straight for Titan Three.”

  Raidan remembered hearing Tristan’s report about how the Phoenix had gone berserk on the Nighthawk—it was responsible for most of the damage to the ship—and how the deranged commanding officer had obsessively tried to destroy Calvin and his crew, despite orders from Nimoux, his squadron commander, not to.

  If the Phoenix overtook the Nighthawk at Titan Three, and somehow could detect the ship, perhaps the Nighthawk’s injuries were causing its stealth systems to fail, then the Harbinger would never get there in time. “What is their ETA to Titan Three?” asked Raidan.

  “Over two hours. The Nighthawk will have already left by then, but the Phoenix could conceivably catch up to the Nighthawk and ambush it at the rendezvous point. At best estimation… it would get there about the same time we would.”

  Damn you Calvin, if o
nly you’d met up with me like we’d planned. Your ship would be fixed and this problem would never have arisen. And I could have told you…

  “Set course for the rendezvous point and jump immediately,” barked Raidan. “One-hundred percent potential.”

  “Aye, sir,” his crew acknowledged.

  “Relay instructions to the Mary Gale to maintain protective posture around Renora. It is to intercept any convoy and defend the planet at all costs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He knew he shouldn’t be leaving the Mary Gale alone to protect Renora. It wasn’t strong enough. But, with any luck, he’d be back before his enemies noticed his absence. A part of him reasoned that the loss of the Nighthawk was an acceptable casualty when compared to what was likely to happen at Renora, but Raidan still felt compelled to rush to the Nighthawk’s aid. True, perhaps a little bit of his driving motivation was knowing that Summers Presley was on that ship. But that wasn’t all. He still had important plans for the Nighthawk…

  “Sir, is it wise to abandon Renora?” asked Commander Mason, giving him a concerned look.

  Raidan frowned and stared out the window. “No it isn’t wise,” he admitted. “So let us hope to god that our enemies don’t notice our absence.”

  ***

  “The Harbinger has withdrawn,” said Ryker. “Mister Martel just told me it jumped into alteredspace a few minutes ago. His people have been watching it.”

  “How long before it comes back?” asked Vulture.

  “Don’t know,” said Ryker. “Which means--”

  “Phase Two,” said Micah with hungry eyes.

  “That’s right,” said Ryker. He took a moment to stare up at the blood-red sky. The light of a thousand fires bounced off the ashes that choked what had once been clear and blue. The planet was already in turmoil. But it hadn’t yet learned the meaning of the word suffer.

  Micah rubbed his palms together. “When?” he asked eagerly.

  “Soon,” said Ryker. “Raidan left behind a lone ship to protect the planet, the Mary Gale. It will have to be dealt with first. But don’t worry, without the Harbinger’s help it won’t be a match for the convoy.”

  Micah grinned.

  “And what are our orders when this happens?” asked Vulture.

  “Same as always, fan the flames.” His men knew what that meant. Continue enraging the populace against the King; keep destroying and harassing Imperial military equipment, weapons stockpiles, and supply-lines; and perhaps most importantly, distribute relief supplies to the populace under the label of the Rotham government.

  Vulture nodded. “I’ll get word out to the other cells.”

  “Tell them all hell will rise on Renora soon.”

  ***

  “Final pass complete,” said Jay from the helm. He looked very tired. They all did. Even Summers felt her eyelids getting heavy, and she wasn’t able to think on her feet as quickly as she was accustomed. With few options for relief, Summers had had to keep the on-duty officers on continuous watch while they surveyed Titan Three. A process that had taken over twenty-hours. The only person missing was Miles Brown who’d spent the entire time sulking in his quarters. No loss there.

  “Very good,” said Summers, stifling a yawn. “Midshipman Dupont, can you confirm that our survey mission is complete?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Cassidy. “It will take some time to analyze, but we’ve mapped the entire planet and all of the relevant space. We’ve also collected all the information we possibly could on the local ships.” While they’d been in the system, the local convoy ships and the Rotham ship had hung around, working together to help dismantle more of the industrial facilities on the planet’s surface. Summers was glad they’d gotten what images they could and not chosen to arrive later.

  “In that case set course for the rendezvous point. Deepest safe jump,” said Summers.

  “Thank god,” whispered Midshipman Ford from the defense post.

  “Aye, sir,” said Jay. “In our current condition, I’d say seventy-percent is the deepest we can go.”

  “Execute jump as soon as we’re clear,” said Summers. “And once we’re in alteredspace notify Mister Vargas and the crew of the Arcane Storm that we are en route and looking forward to resupply and relief.” The ship’s systems were acting up more and more, its armor was all but gone on the port side, its ammunition reserves were effectively empty, and a host of new technical difficulties had arisen. It didn’t help that the engineering staff, as well as every other department on the ship, was so understaffed that everyone was worn to the bone.

  “Unable sir,” said Jay.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there seems to be a problem with our kataspace connector.”

  “Cassidy?” Summers looked to the ops chief.

  “I confirm that,” said Cassidy. “We can neither send nor receive kataspace messages. I’ll contact Mister Cowen and begin coordinating a repair right away.”

  Summers nodded. “Let me know as soon as the communication system is restored. In the meantime, Mister Cox, continue on course for the original rendezvous. The Arcane Storm and a convoy of supply ships should be there waiting for us whether we hear from them or not. Once we’re stable and clear, I’ll order a shift change. That way we can get a little bit of rest before we get there.”

  ***

  Calvin stared out the window. He watched the buildings seem to pass by, gliding along. Swarms of pedestrians too, thousands of citizens in the hurried hustle and bustle of Capital World.

  He stared at them, thinking how removed they were from all of the many dangers of the galaxy. Safe and secure, worried more about the price of food and rent than Rotham fleets, or hordes of Remorii, or a conspiracy within the government itself. Calvin envied them. And yet he knew he could never be one of them. Not truly. He had to be involved and in the know, as much as possible. If things were bleak and hopeless, he had to be there on the front line, giving all he had, struggling and fighting to the bitter end. It was his calling. It was who he was. But it also filled his life with anxiety and concern. And as he’d tried to do all he could to spearhead the investigation into the Phoenix Ring, it was thoughts of his mother that kept him up at night. He’d been burning the candle at both ends, and in the interim, when he did try to catch a few hours of sleep, he awoke often, seemingly every half hour. He tossed and turned. Feeling either too hot or too cold. And, in the blackness, realized how alone he actually was.

  He missed his crew. Lighthearted Miles who always put a smile on his face; graceful and unshakable Sarah who was clutch whenever he needed her; Shen whose brilliance and cleverness were the true story behind the Nighthawk’s many successes; and even good-old uptight Summers. He missed Rain too, with crazy untamable red hair. He hadn’t known her for long, yet her stubborn optimism and penchant for philosophy had swiftly grown on him. What he wouldn’t give to have her next to him, encouraging and supporting him, all while questioning the ethical implications of everything they did. He smiled as he thought of her and imagined the things she’d say. He even missed their daily visits they’d shared when she gave him his treatment dose of equarius. Those trips to the infirmary had always embarrassed and annoyed him, or so he thought, until they were gone. Rain would be proud of him though, he’d been good and followed her schedule exactly. He intended to be rid of equarius forever. Even though the relief it provided was as tempting now as it had ever been, and Calvin felt a need for its soothing calmness—this investigation was making him pull out his hair—but even more importantly he wanted to be free. And wanted Rain to be proud of him.

  Most of all he missed Christine. Yes, she was gone. He knew that. And he accepted that—at least as best he knew how—but he pined for her all the same. When she’d been with him he understood how sincerely beautiful and wonderful and worth-the-investment life was. He felt like the luckiest man in the galaxy and knew that, whatever would come, he had been given the most precious gift that could ever be given—a compa
nion to face the tempests with him. To help him weather the storms. And to multiply the joys of the good times. And then, as sudden as waking, she’d been ripped from him. And he was alone again. Just himself. True he’d been given the chance to play a major role in saving the Empire. A chance he would not squander. But even as he toiled and worked to fulfill his duty to the maximum degree, he wondered what he was doing it for.

  Not for myself, he thought. If his entire life experience was simply an enterprise of collecting all the wealth, comforts, power, and resources that he could, he’d just as soon end it now. We all die, he thought. If we live a hundred years collecting treasure or are stillborn from the beginning, what’s the difference? In the end it’s the same outcome. We decompose into nothing. And if we are destined to be forgotten and the whole universe is destined to keep expanding until everything is so far apart it freezes and all life ends, then why is anything important whatsoever?

  He could hear Rain’s voice in his head as he imagined what she would say. Something about the value of life being in the journey and not the destination, it wasn’t the final outcome that mattered, it was the story of how it got there. The beauty of a song was not confined to its final note, it was the composition of all the many notes that contributed to the end that made it worthwhile. That gave it its value. Just like life. But Calvin still couldn’t help but wonder what was the point of any of it if there was no one to share it with? And the only person he wanted to share it all with was gone forever…

  He stared out the window at the pedestrians again. The hordes of people. And, as he continued to ponder, he no longer saw nameless masses and instead saw the individuals. And the families. A husband and wife with an infant son here, an old man and his children there, a young child being led by the hand by his grandma, a pair of young teenage sweethearts kissing on the walkway…these were all stories, so many, many stories, his life would scarcely brush them. Perhaps he would never know any, but that didn’t matter. His choices would greatly affect their lives and influence their stories. He sacrificed and struggled and gave everything, possibly even his own life if that’s what it cost, to restore the Empire for these people. It seemed counter intuitive to him to find purpose in something that didn’t directly benefit him—how did that promote his own survival?—and yet it worked. And he felt a measure of peace.