It does matter, he supposed, still staring off into the void. If I am anything at all, I am this. He looked down at the palms of his hands and then back into the endless darkness. Whether he’d been fated to become what he was, or whether he was alive and not quite perfectly human anymore, was the result of a lot of luck, chance, and freedom of will. There was no changing the past. He couldn’t go back and undo his decision to go to Remus Nine any more than he could go back and undo the gene encoding that happened before he was born, which didn’t quite make him tall enough, or predisposed him toward weight gain, or whatever else other thing about him he would change.
I cannot change it. Any of it. And yet I live…
Chapter 5
“Are they here?” whispered Miles, there was so much anxiety in his voice the words were practically a squeal.
“Shhh,” whispered Calvin, as gently and quietly as he could, wanting very much for none of them to be heard. He elbowed Miles as he shushed him. Not hard enough to provoke an outcry, but hard enough to let him know the time to shut up had not yet expired.
They waited there in silence after that, just as they had for several minutes before. Calvin was closest to the door and so he pressed his left ear against it, trying to get any information he could. He heard footsteps and, at one point thought he heard voices, more like a mumble than anything, certainly not the hiss-like sounds of the Rotham tongue he expected. But then again, he couldn’t be too sure.
On his left, Rafael listened also. He too had one ear against the door, but, unlike Calvin, if they did hear any voices, Rafael would have a fair chance at understanding the speech. Calvin had virtually no knowledge of the Rotham language.
On his right, just a little ways back, was Miles. When Calvin had come up with his plan, and ordered everyone, except for Alex, to hide silently in the tertiary cargo bay, Miles had been one of the first ones in. At first, Calvin had thought it was because Miles was feeling cowardly. And perhaps that was not untrue. But once Calvin had gotten a glimpse of how everyone was arranged in the hiding space, he understood Miles had wanted to claim the spot next to Rain. And, sure enough, his slightly trembling, large body was squished, perhaps overly so, against her thin, tall frame.
For Rain’s part, if she was afraid, she did not show it. She simply looked to Calvin, largely ignoring Miles’s efforts to essentially cuddle with an attractive woman one last time, and Rain neither trembled nor made any noise. Just as Calvin had asked Rain, along with Rafael and Rez’nac, whose large Polarian body was squeezed in uncomfortably on Rafael’s left, they made no sounds at all. They quietly held their weapons, except for Rain who had preferred to remain unarmed, and waited for any orders from Calvin. For now, Calvin wanted nothing more than for their presence to go unheard and unnoticed.
It wasn’t the most elegant of plans, nor was it the best one Calvin had ever devised. But given the options available to him, fight and die, surrender and probably die, flee and die, or attempt to hide, he decided the lattermost option was the best. And so he’d had Rafael adjust the Wanderer’s computers and displays accordingly and instructed Alex to tell the Rotham boarding party about a radiation leak from his engines, which Alex was to claim he’d managed to seal off by locking the tertiary cargo bay. From the ship’s design, it wasn’t a ludicrous claim. The alteredspace drive and local-space engine coils were positioned just below the tertiary cargo bay, and it was more than conceivable that a ship of this size and value would run into such problems every now and again on long-haul cargo missions.
Once Alex knew the story, Calvin had ordered his people to grab hold of all their possessions, anything that would indicate someone besides Alex was aboard the ship—and stash them inside the tertiary cargo bay along with themselves. This contributed largely to the cramped conditions they were currently experiencing. But Calvin knew, one sidewise glance at a human medkit, or something hastily forgotten in one of the other, larger cargo bays and the jig would be up. The Rotham boarding party would force open the sealed hatch to the third bay and take them by storm. Whether they were captured or slaughtered on the spot was an open question, as was which fate would be gentler. Calvin preferred a different option.
Hurry up and go back to your ship, he thought, still hearing boots marching around and sounds he now felt certain must have been very muffled conversation. As soon as the Rotham patrol ship bought into Alex’s story, which by all rights they ought to believe, as far as Calvin could tell, then they’d return to their destroyer, continue their patrol, and then Alex would jump the Wanderer to somewhere safe and let them out of their cramped little prison. At which point they could try to make heads or tails of the intel they’d captured, and also safely transmit what they'd discovered to the queen. If done correctly, their kataspace message would go unnoticed and the Rotham fleet would have no idea the humans awaiting them had any information regarding their formations, fleet composition, and likely strategy. All things the Rotham could alter before their attack, should they realize intelligence about their force had been transmitted elsewhere.
But all of that hinged on these particular Rotham believing Alex’s story and not wanting to dig further beneath the surface.
Come on, thought Calvin. Get going. Why are you still here?
Although Calvin neither liked nor disliked Alex, he nonetheless had full confidence in the Rotham’s ability to sell such a story to a standard patrol ship. Alex had been a member of Advent, which was the Rotham equivalent to Intel Wing. And, depending on who you asked, it could be argued the Advent had better programs in place to train their individual operatives. And so Alex had the training and the knowledge of how to sell Calvin’s concocted lie, Calvin had to have faith in that, just as he had to have faith in the fact that a destroyer would be ill equipped to help try to fix such a radiation problem. Which was generally true, a patrolling destroyer would want to resume its patrol and a light warship such as that wouldn’t be carrying around a lot of extra engineers and spare parts.
There was always the chance the destroyer would escort the Wanderer toward the Rotham fleet, which would be able to deal with any radiation issues, or that the destroyer would ask the Rotham fleet to send help, or call for help from elsewhere. But Calvin doubted each of those possibilities. Thinking that, more than likely, a Rotham patrol ship is not going to take a personal interest in the relatively minor mechanical difficulties of a relatively minor and innocent-looking cargo ship, one of thousands which make cargo runs back and forth. More importantly, the Rotham fleet would not want to risk exposing information about itself, even to one of their own civilians, especially if that civilian is a trader who is likely to make a return trip to Imperial space, possibly before the Rotham fleet had time to attack.
Oh no, he had very little to worry about, Calvin assumed. Provided Alex sold the story the way he was trained to do, the damned Rotham destroyer crew did as any good Rotham destroyer crew should and, after a quick investigation, returned back to their patrol.
This should work, Calvin reminded himself, as if to silence that small part of him that was doubtful, that thought this was too easy and too convenient to work. Everything fits. Everything adds up, he continued reasoning. We’ve considered everything…
But then why is the Rotham crew still here? The soldiers and officers and whoever else they’d sent aboard to inspect Alex’s ship, interview him, and get his story, were obviously still here. Calvin could hear them walking around, now and again. And it wasn’t just Alex walking around, up to no good and refusing to let them know they were in the clear, oh no, Calvin could hear the footsteps of multiple people. Multiple Rotham. The boarding party was still here. But why?
As if in answer to the question he didn’t ask, he heard a snap-hiss as a seal unsealed and then a click as a lock was disabled. Then it dawned on him; they were opening the tertiary cargo bay! They hadn’t bought the story! He and the others were doomed!
Calvin looked at the others, as if relaying a command with his eyes, wait fo
r my signal, then looked back at the door as it cracked open, slowly sliding aside to let the light in. Calvin squinted, trying to get a sense of their numbers. If we overwhelm them, maybe we can take the destroyer by storm, he thought, although he knew such a plan was hopeless, since a Rotham destroyer was typically outfitted with a minimum of sixty Teldari soldiers.
“Drop your weapons,” hissed a Rotham, his use of the human language was poorly practiced and almost incomprehensible.
Calvin counted thirteen Rotham soldiers, all outfitted with combat gear and armed with Rotham war rifles. Instinctively, Calvin raised his own carbine and pointed it at the leader. As he did, Miles, Rafael, and Rez’nac each raised their weapons, awaiting Calvin’s cue to fire. They showed tremendous restraint not to open fire on their own, and Calvin supposed that, with the possible exception of Rez’nac, the others probably would rather take their chances surrendering than fighting. But they ultimately deferred to Calvin, even if it meant their deaths…
“Now, now, Lieutenant Commander,” said a familiar voice from ahead and to the right. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”
Calvin looked over and saw Alex clearly standing with the enemy. Not in chains, not in custody, but standing among them with smug, folded arms, as if he’d been working with them the whole time.
Calvin felt the urge to point his weapon at Alex and fire, throwing to the wind all his curiosity and questions about why Alex had betrayed them, how he’d fooled them, and why Alex wasn’t in Rotham custody if he had been imprisoned by the Rotham the last time he’d been with them. After all, Calvin and his people had rescued Alex from the prison cells on the Thorpian attack cruiser that had held them all captive in Abia.
Well, now at least I know why my plan failed, thought Calvin, realizing Alex must not have even pretended to go along with Calvin’s plan as soon as the humans and the Polarian were locked away.
“Last chance, human,” said the lead Teldari soldier. His human pronunciation a bit better this time.
“Now, now, Calvin, we’ve been through so much together,” said Alex. “It really would be a shame for you to die here in this way.”
“The words of a betrayer are less than wind,” said Rez’nac. He gave Calvin a look as if to say, “let us die here, by honor of battle.” Indeed there even seemed to be a sense such an end would give Rez’nac a kind of long-sought-after relief from some kind of terrible burden. But Calvin refused to die here.
He threw his carbine to the ground. Then watched as the others, including Rez’nac, laid down their arms. The mighty Polarian even set aside his ceremonial dagger, although the two parted with great remorse. It was a testament, Calvin knew, to Rez’nac’s willingness to submit to Calvin’s command as leader. For otherwise, Rez’nac would have surely preferred to die than give up the dagger which was a symbol of everything he was and valued.
“There, see, I told you he was intelligent,” said Alex to the lead Teldari. The Rotham soldiers came forward and collected Calvin’s carbine along with the other surrendered weapons. Calvin gave Alex a look of intense hate, then found himself looking backwards as the Teldari took him and restrained his arms behind his back. His eyes met Rain’s, and with only a glance, he tried to tell her, I’m sorry.
It was his fault she was here; he should never have given in to her request to come along, he knew far better than she did what the dangers were. Just as surely as it was his fault they’d been taken captive. He shouldn’t have trusted Alex or made the ship linger there for so long. And, most importantly, he should have taken Rafael’s advice and transmitted their intelligence to the queen. At least then they would have died for something.
Instead, Calvin had been a coward; he’d wanted to have it all. And because of that, he realized, he ended up with nothing.
***
The chime rang, startling her awake. She lifted her head from her desk, realizing she must have fallen asleep. She waited silently, knowing if this business were truly urgent the chime would ring again. It did.
“Come in,” said Kalila loudly from her seat, taking only a second to correct her appearance.
The door slid open and in stepped a yeoman from the Black Swan’s bridge. She had a slight greyness showing in her otherwise midnight hair, despite being no older than thirty-five. She had a common looking face, but even so, Kalila was quite certain she'd never seen the woman before. Probably because it was now the Red Shift, Kalila realized, as she blinked at the clock on her desk. Again, she’d burned the midnight oil well beyond her advisors’ recommendations, yet no matter how hard she pressed herself to personally manage everything, the marathon of tasks before her seemed to grow a mile for every step she ran.
“Pardon the interruption at this hour, Your Highness,” the yeoman bowed. In her hands was a folder of documents; she presented them for the queen to see. “I have the quarter-hourly report for you, Your Highness. Commander Dabney ordered it be delivered to you without delay.”
“Set it here,” said Kalila, beginning to regret her decision to be given regular updates every four hours. Perhaps every eight hours would have been better, she thought, knowing anything urgent would of course be brought to her immediately anyway. “Be sure to pass along my compliments to Commander Dabney for her attention to duty.” Kalila noted the yeoman had arrived with the report exactly on the hour and not a minute late.
The yeoman nervously set the report on Kalila’s desk and then quickly returned to a more appropriate, and respectful, distance. “Yes, Your Highness, I will.” The yeoman said, stifling the anxiety in her voice. “Of course, right away.” She bowed again, then looked uncertain as to what to do next. Kalila surmised this must be the yeoman’s first personal encounter with royalty.
“Thank you; you may go,” said Kalila, glancing to the door.
The yeoman bowed once more, then left. The door swished closed and Kalila was again in the company of silence. Only this time, instead of nodding off while trying to make sense of the latest strategic recommendations from the Joint-Knights-Commander, her panel of military advisors, she gave her undivided attention to the newest report, despite the fatigue pressing heavily upon her.
The first thing she checked, as always, was for any changes observed along or inside the DMZ. If the Rotham were to attack with any kind of massive force, they must pass through that region first, which, now that the Alliance apparently no longer existed to deter them, the Rotham could do with impunity. Once they did, the entirety of The Corridor would become vulnerable and any number of systems became viable targets. If an invasion-sized Rotham war fleet were on its way, it likely could not avoid detection by the Imperial listening posts.
The Imperial listening posts were a massive grid of mostly automated systems designed to detect starship traffic near any Imperial borders, but most particularly inside the DMZ. Unfortunately, the DMZ was a vast swath of space, and the listening posts could only properly monitor a certain distance in. Their information became increasingly unreliable, as larger and larger gaps opened up, the farther inside the DMZ they tried to penetrate. Nevertheless, they were the first defense against a Rotham invasion, an alarm system of sorts, and so it was with religious attention that Kalila kept checking the summary of data from the listening posts before all else whenever she received her quarter-hourly reports.
This report, like all of the others before it, carried the welcome but baffling news that all remained quiet inside the DMZ. No Rotham fleet to be seen anywhere within range of detection, leaving her again wondering, as she always did, why do they wait to attack? Surely the opportune moment for them had to have been right after the Battle of Apollo when the Imperial forces were most-bloodied and hadn’t yet had any chances to repair. Yet the Rotham had stayed their hand…despite Calvin’s warning, which had arrived about that same time. Perhaps they too are waiting for something, she thought, before they can strike, although her imagination could not fathom possibly what. Or perhaps Calvin’s warning was wrong…
&nbs
p; Some people thought it so, she knew. The lack of any fleet materializing at their doorstep had led some to question her warning as bad intelligence. Others even, as Caerwyn no doubt steered them in that direction, took it as evidence that she was paranoid. But her most prudent of advisors remained cautious and seemed to believe the warning had been accurate and the Rotham fleet were simply waiting, perhaps for the Empire to let its guard down. Perchance for the Imperial forces to clash once again, further reducing humanity’s ability to resist invasion. Or maybe for something else, something even more nefarious than she or any of her advisors could think of.
Kalila knew Calvin; she'd been able to judge his type quite readily upon studying him, and knew that, despite having a career in the intelligence field, he was not one programmed for deceit. At least not deceit toward his own allies. Calvin, at the very least, believed his own warning. And Kalila trusted that, just as surely as she trusted her own, long-formed, deeply-seeded expectation she’d held ever since The Great War: that the Rotham were the greatest danger, the greatest enemy and, treaties and de-militarized zones notwithstanding, they were coming back, sooner or later with a vengeance. And now the door was finally open. All that remained was for them to fly through it.
The rest of the report, for the most part, was fairly predictable: repairs and refits continued on her forces across a dozen star systems at almost the exact pace her Engineering Corps had estimated. Several more ships had been added to the list of those ready for action, while others, ones which had been waiting in queue for precious resources to become available, were only now starting their repairs. Fortunately, because she had prioritized repairs on the most critical and most injured ships first, that meant the majority of her squadrons were largely battle-ready and the newest round of repairs should proceed at a much faster clip.
The Phoenix Darkness Page 10
