It’s not going to happen, he reminded himself. Certainly, if it came down to that, and that was the future that awaited them all, Calvin made a promise to himself to go out fighting. He would give every last breath opposing such a reality until that final moment when Rotham missiles blew his atoms across the galaxy. At which point he supposed he would find out the answer to the greatest mystery of all and then either not exist anymore, or else, hopefully, be with Christine again.
An update to the dispatch arrived a few minutes later. Stating that not only had the people of Renora driven Imperial forces off their planet, they had managed to unite well enough to form a de facto government and make a Secession Declaration, disavowing the Empire and affirming their independence. There was still chaos, and looting, and rioting, and no proper military to speak of—other than the surprisingly powerful and shockingly well-equipped rebels who’d managed to overthrow the Prefect.
They can declare their independence all they like, thought Calvin. The King will never stand for it. Though in truth he wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Perhaps it would be best to allow Renora to go its separate way and be its own problem. If the people there truly did want independence, perhaps they deserved the chance to decide their own destiny and go down in the flames of their own foolishness. The trouble was, should the King respect such an unlawful declaration, it would not only begin a slow splintering of the Empire—perhaps creating a precedent that colonies could leave the union—it would also be seen as a sign of weakness and failure in the executive leadership. Many loyalists would withdraw their support of the King. Confidence would be lost. But, should the King drop the hammer on Renora, forcing the rebellious colony back into line, such an act would require an even greater force than what had been sent before, and would undoubtedly be seen as heavy-handed and extreme. And perhaps that would cause the King to lose as much support—or more—than if he chose to do nothing. It was a no-win scenario.
Damn the Phoenix Ring…
Not ten minutes later a third dispatch arrived. Bearing the strange and alarming news that the illegitimate government of Renora, which had seized the capital, had officially queried the government of the Rotham Republic, requesting annexation. They stated they would unconditionally recognize the Republican Senate and Prime Minister as the highest authority on Renora in exchange for recognized citizenship and immediate aid.
This was not a move Calvin had anticipated. Probably no one had. It was one thing for a disgruntled populace to wish to leave the Empire and proceed to govern itself, but it was quite another for them to try to join an alien union. There had never been human citizens in an alien nation before, and the Rotham—many of whom were xenophobic toward non-Rotham—had historically been dispassionate and dangerous to humans. How could they be trusted?
Calvin shuddered to think what the implications would be if the Republic accepted the proposal of the Renoran people. It would give the Rotham a foothold in Imperial space and probably lead to the shooting-war the Empire was so desperately unprepared for. Calvin recalled the haunting images of the Fifth Fleet’s flotilla, led by the Andromeda, moving to engage the Rotham squadron in Abia. And how the human ships had fired on one-another, until almost complete annihilation, before they were even in firing range of the Rotham ships. He shivered thinking it was an apt metaphor for what an Imperial-Rotham war would look like should one happen. Which seemed a forgone conclusion now.
When the fourth dispatch arrived, Calvin was hesitant to open it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t bad news, specifically that it wasn’t the bad news he most dreaded. This won’t be the Republic’s response to the Renoran request for annexation, he thought. The Republican government was slower to act than the strongly executive Imperial government, they would need time to debate the issue. It would have to go before the Senate and resolutions would have to be made and passed. It would take weeks, maybe months. Not mere minutes or hours…
And yet, as he opened it, he found exactly what he feared. The Rotham Republic had issued a statement, responding favorably to the Renoran request. They recognized the de facto government on Renora as the legitimate local authority and declared the populace under Republic protection as a legitimate territory of the Republic. And that aid would be dispatched immediately. Which, Calvin knew, meant a war fleet. He almost couldn’t believe what he was reading. Everything was happening so swiftly, it almost seemed arranged. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it had to have been arranged. This news must not have come as a surprise to the dominant power in the Rotham Senate. How else could they have acted so quickly upon it?
Upon the release of the Republic’s pronouncement, the Network lit up like a dried-out tree put to flame. Alarm, concern, intrigue, rumors, and all sorts of speculation shot through the Empire over kataspace and all other forms of communication. The cat was out of the bag now, there was no keeping this news quiet. Calvin felt his heart in his throat and turned on the news, knowing that the King would be forced to respond to this soon. Not ten minutes later the anchor, who’d been trying to paint of picture of what was still speculation and what had been confirmed, announced that the King was about to address the Empire. The camera then jump-cut to a view from the ground at the Imperial Palace. There was a large gathering of people there, including a massive press-corps. The camera changed angle to a close up of the center podium where the King stood. He did his best to look regal and in command, but there was tiredness in his red eyes. And he hadn’t taken the time to have much makeup applied to him, so he looked somewhat sickly under the harsh lights.
“Citizens of the Empire,” the King said; his voice was deep and his words carried a full-measure of authority. “There are rumors that the colony of Renora has declared its independence from our great union and has petitioned the Rotham Republic for recognition as a Rotham territory.” He paused for a moment. “Those rumors are true.”
The crowd reacted noisily to this. And, as Calvin flipped through various channels he found that every media agency was taking this confirmation like it was the biggest news scoop in their broadcasting lifetimes. Even the state-run media seemed unsure what to make of it.
“But those people on Renora who have seized the capital and made this declaration are rebels, and not the official voice of the citizens of Renora. They do not speak for the people, nor do they have the authority to do as they’ve done. They are an illegitimate body and their claims and authority shall not be recognized by this government, or any other government in the galaxy. It is an unlawful regime. And one that shall not be given validation in any form. The Republican Senate has hastily responded to the regime’s petition, and has claimed to offer the regime and the rest of Renora citizenship in the Republic. But their words are empty and their offer is no more legitimate than the broken, seditious regime that has taken temporary control of the colony of Renora. The people of Renora have been—and always shall be—citizens of the Empire. We are only strong so long as we find strength from each other. Every citizen on every colony of this Empire is united to every other, and shall be protected. As a royal proclamation to the Empire, I—King Hisato Akira, First of My Name and Fifth Monarch of the Empire—hereby declare to all peoples on all worlds everywhere that the colony of Renora is, and always shall be, a colony of the Empire. And every measure necessary shall be taken to preserve our glorious Union.”
The King finished his speech and refused to take any questions. As he left the podium, flanked by his guards and several members of his administration, the camera changed back to the lead news anchor who was interviewing a mid-level government official. Calvin had no time to listen to their speculation so he shut off the terminal and rested his head in his hands. Trying to make sense of this latest turn of events on his own.
It wasn’t a declaration of war, not an official one, but it seemed just as good as one. If the Republic had any interest in a war with the Empire, the Rotham now had their excuse to send hordes of battleships through
the DMZ and into Imperial space. Calvin hoped the King’s bold words, and the general reputation of the Empire’s fiercely powerful military, would be enough to intimidate and dissuade the hawkish members of the Republican Senate who wanted the war. But he feared it would not be enough. All of this felt too arranged… too designed. Someone wanted this war to happen. And that someone seemed to hold the governments of the galaxy like puppets on strings.
Could this really be just the influence of the Phoenix Ring? Or was there a darker, more invisible puppet-master lurking somewhere in the blackest nether-regions of space? A terrifying thought to be sure. Calvin thought back on what Alex had told him, about the Rahajiim who were an elusive, influential, and deadly faction inside the Republic. So secretive and so powerful that even the mighty Advent—the Republic’s premiere intelligence network—was powerless against them. Calvin wondered what part in all of this they’d played—if any.
There was so much to think about now, so much to process, that Calvin’s fatigue left him and he felt wide awake. His body flooded with adrenaline. He set to work checking on his teams, giving them new orders and instructions, and doing all he could to accelerate his investigation. He was out of time. He knew it. Kalila knew it. Probably everyone knew it. If he couldn’t deliver the Phoenix Ring to the Assembly on a silver platter soon, it would be too late.
Another dispatch arrived. He felt his stomach flip over as he opened it. Praying to any gods that would listen that it wouldn’t bear news that Imperial and Rotham ships had already engaged each other. It didn’t. In fact, this dispatch carried the first truly good news he’d heard in a long, long time. He felt a smile spread across his face and couldn’t keep back a small cheer.
Rafael had been found. As Calvin’s people had raided the secret Intel Wing dungeons and safe houses, using Rosemarie’s information, they’d found a lot of interesting things, including prisoners who were now being nursed back to health and—very gingerly—squeezed for information. But there had been no sign of Rafael as each of the many prisons were stormed by Imperial troops, under orders of the Executor. Calvin had lost hope with each new report. Believing, deep inside his heart, that his friend was dead.
“He is alive and stable,” the report said. It went on to state that, while he had sustained several injuries and was being treated and given medical attention, Rafael Te Santos was not only alive but his mental faculties were in good condition. The extreme interrogation methods that had been applied to many of the prisoners, including him, hadn’t succeeded in breaking him. At least not yet. And now he was safely in custody at a secure hospital not far away. They’d found him in the very last Intel Wing safe-house they’d raided.
Calvin felt a rush of relief and excitement pour through him. He jumped up from the computer station and charged out into the hall. He put on his jacket as he walked, not stopping for any reason. His guards came to his sides immediately. And he ordered them to prep the vehicles.
When his motorcade arrived at the hospital, his guards advised him to remain in the car while they set up a secure position outside and did a perimeter sweep. Calvin, anxious to see Rafael, ignored their advice and got out of the car immediately. As he strode, half-jogging, across the walkway to the hospital’s entrance, his guards rushed to take up positions all around him. Trying to screen him from any possible attack. Calvin didn’t care if the Khans, CERKO, and every terrorist organization in the galaxy had sent every sniper in the universe to stop him. It wouldn’t work. He was going to see Rafael. No matter what.
When he arrived at Rafael’s room, he ordered his guards to remain outside and he entered alone. As he stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, he saw a familiar man sitting up in a hospital bed. He was attached to an IV and some other equipment, and a computer monitor displayed his regular heartbeats. There were no windows. For security purposes, he’d been put in one hospital’s private “safe rooms”.
“Can you believe it?” croaked Rafael, his voice hoarse. “Stuck in a hospital and they don’t even give me a view.” He cracked a smile.
Calvin walked to his side and beamed. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he said. He’d lost a lot of sleep over the past several weeks worrying that he’d sent Rafael to his death. And that his name would be added to the growing list of those who’d been tragically ripped away as they’d struggled to defend the Empire from threats within.
“The feeling is mutual, Captain,” said Rafael. He turned his head to look at Calvin directly and only then did Calvin notice that a large bandage covered Rafael’s left eye. He was also missing his pinky and ring finger from his left hand.
“Are you all right?” asked Calvin, concerned.
“I’ve been worse,” said Rafael, clearly lying.
“How’s your eye?” Calvin was almost afraid to ask.
“Oh it’s gone. So are the fingers. But a small price to pay for keeping my honor, and my word,” he said, giving Calvin a resolute, almost proud look. “I never cracked. Not for a minute. Nothing they tried got anything out of me.”
Calvin was impressed. And grateful. “I admire your courage,” he said. “And your steel.”
“It wasn’t all duty and honor,” admitted Rafael. “There was a selfish motive too. I knew that the information I had was the only thing keeping me alive, so I was loath to part with it.” He shot Calvin a crooked grin, which looked strange with just his one eye showing, along with several fresh scars on the side of his face. He wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but Rafael held himself as if every new injury and blemish was a medal of honor. And, as far as Calvin was concerned, they were.
“How long do they need to keep you here?” asked Calvin. He was eager to continue his investigation and he didn’t just want the information Rafael could give him, he wanted Rafael’s help and analytical skills too. But he didn’t want to compromise Rafael’s recovery. Certainly the man had earned a reprieve and more.
“As far as I’m concerned they don’t need to keep me here at all,” said Rafael. “I’m as healthy as a horse. Healthier, actually. Horses don’t live very long.”
Calvin wondered if that was true, or if this was just a show of strength, a tribute to Rafael’s high tolerance for pain and strong force of will. For that matter, Rafael might simply be responding to the powerful pain medications that were undoubtedly flowing through him. It made Calvin remember how anyone within reach of the Phoenix Ring might be a replicant, and how Rain had devised a method to test whether or not someone was. Calvin wanted to trust Rafael, and wanted to unequivocally believe this was his friend, and that he’d been saved. But a tiny suspicion inside him wondered if this Rafael before him was a very elaborate replicant. A ploy to get someone inside Calvin’s organization and discover what he knew, perhaps also sabotaging his efforts. He had to be sure.
“What pain medication do they have you on?” asked Calvin. He moved closer to look at the instruments, to see if it was displayed somewhere.
Rafael smirked. “I probably shouldn’t tell you,” he said.
Calvin recognized the code on the machine. It was the same code that had stared at him when he’d been in the hospital after the Trinity incident. Rafael was being doped with equarius, and he wasn’t dead or reverting back to some kind of strange original dark Polarian state. That meant he wasn’t a replicant. He was the real thing. Calvin smiled. “Get better soon,” he said.
“I’m better now,” said Rafael, chuckling slightly.
Calvin turned to leave, intending to go find a medical official and ask when Rafael could be released. As he was about to go, he heard Rafael call after him.
“Wait,” he said, with a slight cough.
Calvin turned back
“I have something for you,” he said. “Information you should know.”
Calvin looked at him. “What is it?” he returned to his friend’s side.
“Martel,” said Rafael coughing again. “Zane Martel.”
***
The ops o
fficer’s condition took a turn for the worse. Rain did all she could for him. Desperate to keep him stable. As his heart rate slowed even more, to levels that should have proven fatal, and his body-temperature continued to decline… she found herself quickly running out of ideas to try.
“I said twenty cubic centimeters, not twenty-five—twenty-five is too much,” she said frantically, ordering her medical staff about. Now that their people had returned from the Arcane Storm, along with a new medic, they were again fully staffed. Which meant Rain could have three other people assisting her. Unfortunately, there seemed little anyone could do.
She fought for the better part of an hour, trying every idea that came to her mind to stabilize him. Praying in her heart to any god anywhere, if there was a divine presence in the universe, that her mind would be quickened and her hands would be true. All the while trying not to stare into Shen’s gaunt, grey face. Or to smell the stink of rot and death that was coming over him.
He went into full cardiac arrest.
“Code blue,” she said, and her staff rushed new equipment to him. She began chest compressions while two other medics ripped open Shen’s shirt and the third attached the defib unit. It was crude but proven.
“Clear,” said Rain, once everything was set. Andrews pressed the button and a wave of electricity shot straight to Shen’s heart.
No effect.
“Again,” said Rain.
Another jolt of electricity. Still nothing.
“Again!” she said, practically screaming. She would not lose him. Andrews pushed the button once more.
The Phoenix Crisis Page 32
