“And do you have any idea what the relative strength is of the Organization’s fleets?”
“Raidan told me that it was divided into Groups which are led by Group Leaders, all of whom are then subordinate to White Rook. Raidan claims to be a Group Leader and the ships that met with us at the rendezvous coordinates Raidan provided are probably all of the ships in Raidan’s Group—assuming he told me the truth. He wouldn’t tell me how many Groups there were but it seemed more like a handful than a swarm. Other than the Harbinger, I wouldn’t expect the Organization to offer much by way of military strength. That said, it has tremendous value as a network of connections and information. Raidan made it sound like they have people everywhere, and eyes watching a lot of secret, hidden places.”
“I have eyes too,” said Kalila. “What about funds? Do you have any idea what kind of financial power the Organization wields?”
“Sadly, no,” said Calvin. “It seems large enough to be influential and they are probably paying a lot of people for information but I’d guess they have a mere fraction of what you have at your fingertips. Though I’m just speculating at this point.”
Kalila nodded. “Thank you, Calvin. Truly. Your information is most helpful. And I am grateful to count you among my most loyal friends.” Her eyes probed him, as if testing.
He gave her nothing, keeping his face unreadable and his tone neutral. “As ever, it is an honor to serve, Your Majesty.”
She nodded and dismissed him. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back. “Queen Kalila,” he said. “There is something else.”
“Yes? What is it?”
He was hesitant to bring it up; he knew there was probably nothing she could do. And that she had much bigger worries to contend with right now: her claim to the throne, the civil war that was brewing, alien threats just beyond…
But this wasn’t a matter that Calvin could set aside lightly, rather it was one that had been weighing on him heavily. And, even if it mattered to no one else in the galaxy, it meant almost everything to him. “It’s about my missing mother,” he said. “Has there been any word? Any new leads?”
Kalila gave him a pitying look. “I’m sorry to say that I have heard nothing more,” she said. Her voice dripped with sympathy. Calvin nodded. He’d expected this. And felt half a fool for asking, she was the princess—no, the queen—of course she hadn’t had time or resources to spend on trying to find his missing mother.
“Is there anything that can be done?” he asked. Half-wishing that she would dismiss him from the Black Swan and send him away with his own ship, or even a shuttle, to spearhead his own investigation. It was true that the political crisis within the Empire, and the inevitable civil war, and the threats of alien invasion, were all of more importance to the galaxy than one missing person, but to Calvin he was not so sure he could get himself to keep caring more about the greater good. Especially now that things seemed so hopelessly grim. He felt a great deal like how he imagined a terminally-ill patient would during the final months of his life; a part of him wanted nothing more than to live out what few days remained with family and loved ones. Now that he’d come face-to-face with his lowlife father again, Calvin felt even more strongly that his mother was his only family.
“There is nothing I can do,” said Kalila honestly, though she seemed sorry to say it. “But I promise you that once this is over, and I am no longer ruling the Empire from exile, I will see to it that anything and everything that can be done to find her is done. You have my word.”
Calvin nodded. Not quite sure what he’d expected but feeling somehow disappointed. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that this was the best he should have hoped for. Kalila had no time to help him find his mother, nor did she have the resources to spare to pursue the mystery.
It’s all right, he told himself on the way out. The war will end, Kalila will take the throne—somehow—and then we’ll scour the Empire looking for Olivia Cross. I’ll find you, Mother. I swear it.
Calvin departed the Black Swan’s command deck and headed to his quarters. He wasn’t tired but he wasn’t sure where else to go and he felt like being alone. He exited the elevator and quickened his pace. As he rounded the corner, however, and caught sight of his quarters, he noticed a man leaning against the door with his arms folded, waiting. He wore a black eye-patch over his left eye.
“Well look who it is,” said Calvin as he approached. “At least now I know you’re still on the ship, and not on the wrong side of an airlock.”
“Yes, I’m still here,” said Rafael. “For all the good it’s doing…”
“What are they having you do?” asked Calvin, remembering that Rafael didn’t seem to get summoned to the bridge the way Calvin did—which he suspected meant Kalila didn’t fully trust the man, not yet at least.
“I’m doing kataspace analysis with six junior officers, I assume they’re the Black Swan’s nearest equivalent to Green Shift lab analysts.”
“Any interesting comm traffic?” asked Calvin as he opened the door to his quarters and invited Rafael inside.
“Yes and no,” said Rafael. He followed Calvin in and the door whisked shut. “Imperial frequencies are all lit up, of course. Lots of chatter. There are thousands of panicked and confused starships, especially in and around the major systems. Most of what we’re picking up is of really limited use—civilians, traders, that sort of thing, but there’s some military chatter in there too. Of the Imperial navy that hasn’t declared for a side, we’re trying to get a sense of which ships and fleets are likely to remain neutral, and which might be open to persuasion after one or two decisive victories.”
“Sounds useful,” said Calvin, trying to be optimistic, even though he and Rafael both knew this assignment was a brush off, a way of keeping him on a short leash. He gave his left eye and two fingers out of loyal service to me, thought Calvin as he tried not to stare at the stubs on Rafael’s left hand. And yet it’s not enough for Kalila to trust him? Perhaps that means she doesn’t completely trust me either…
“It’s useful enough,” Rafael admitted. “But if you ask me, we’re listening to the wrong chatter.”
“What do you mean?” asked Calvin.
“What Imperial ships are doing and thinking is important,” said Rafael. “But only to a point. Mostly we have a pretty good idea about what is going to happen in Imperial space, it’s just a matter of placing which ships where. But out in Rotham space… that’s where the real mystery is. What’s being spoken over the Republic’s kataspace channels right now is what’s going to determine our fate, not what’s being said in the Empire, I’d stake my remaining eye on it.”
Rafael thought like a proper Intel Wing analyst. That was something Calvin really liked about him. He tried to look at the facts as they were, not how he wanted them to be—or how others tried to skew them to appear, and he remained rational, collected, and calm while doing it. No matter how grisly the implications.
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Calvin. “But even Intel Wing doesn’t have the necessary ciphers to break the encryptions you’re talking about.”
“Not all of them,” admitted Rafael. “Not even most of them. But we should be trying. We should be doing everything we possibly can to learn anything and everything going on in Rotham space right now. For all we know their fleets are already assembled. Perhaps the order to invade Imperial space is being given as we speak.”
For what it was worth, Calvin agreed with Rafael’s main point. They needed to be more aware of what the Rotham were doing, and that they represented a far greater threat than anyone was giving them credit for. But he decided to play devil’s advocate, as he often did. “They say the Rotham fleets can’t be on the move against us, not yet,” said Calvin. “Because they have no way to mobilize such a force without risking conflict with the Alliance or the Confederated States.”
“Yes, I have considered that,” said Rafael. “And it is true that, at least superficially, that does present a problem fo
r them. But can you honestly tell me that a single, logistical hiccup like that will stop them?” He shot Calvin a skeptical look.
Calvin wanted to say yes, because he wanted to believe yes was the answer, but he just couldn’t find the cockeyed optimism within himself to do so. “No,” he admitted. “The peach is far too juicy.” The Rotham had envied the Empire’s rich swathe of systems for decades. Now that they had the opportunity, and the means, to make claim to it… they wouldn’t let the fear of bumping noses with the Confederated States—which they’d ravaged rather effectively during the Great War—stop them, and even less so the tiny, albeit the paranoid and highly-militarized Alliance.
Rafael nodded. “Exactly. And when have you ever known a Rotham to give up?”
“Never,” said Calvin. It was a stereotype, but one that illustrated an important point. The Rotham were generally known to be tenacious, persistent, stubborn, patient—when they needed to be, and above all cunning.
“My guess is, they’ve already figured out their way past this little obstacle of how to maneuver their ships here,” said Rafael. “Whether they’ve cut a deal with the Polarians or are willing to suffer all-out-war with the Alliance for the chance to seize The Corridor, they know exactly how they’re getting here. And they’re coming. Whether it’s today or a year from now, they’re coming. You can take that to the bank.”
Calvin hoped Rafael was wrong, but he knew in his gut that he was right. Once the human fleets had sufficiently decimated each other through civil war, the Rotham would pour over the borders. Striking without mercy…
***
Humanity may have given up on me, thought Samil, but I haven’t given up on them.
He watched the two Rotham strangers cautiously, as best he could. Even though his eyes had become rather accustomed to the darkness these past years, it was still hard for human eyes to make things out in the black catacombs of the Enclave lair, especially nearsighted human eyes. Which was one reason why he preferred the isolation and soft white lights of the small apartment they gave him. The tiny oasis in this long-stretching lair of blood, darkness, and death. Perhaps it is only fitting that I ended up here, trapped in this place…
Most of the strigoi who lived here, which Samil was given to understand was most of the strigoi in existence, seemed to be away. It wasn’t unusual for the Enclave to send its members in groups to perform certain missions. To subtly retrieve captives, or steal supplies, or send and receive messages from outside the Waeju Canton—the floating city where the Enclave’s sanctuary was buried and hidden. But as a rule, the Enclave leaders never sent more than a few strigoi topside or off planet at any given time. Larger groups attracted more attention, and were harder to control. But recently things seemed to have changed. And now nearly all of the strigoi seemed constantly busy or away.
Once the great many of them had spent most of their hours asleep or in meditation. Content. Perhaps even patiently waiting. Now though they are scrambling. Putting wheels into motion. Something is happening… if only I knew what.
The presence of two Rotham inside the Enclave’s secret sanctuary only added to Samil’s suspicions. The Enclave had had dealings with the Rotham Republic and various smaller Rotham groups for years, but their dealings had always been done elsewhere, or over kataspace, never had the Rotham been allowed to know the location of the Enclave sanctuary, less yet been invited to visit. Samil could only imagine what it had taken for two Rotham to be smuggled into Alliance space and brought onto the floating cantons of Tybur itself. If the Alliance government knew that Rotham agents had infiltrated its most important world… ships would be readying for war.
The Alliance was led by a vastly paranoid regime which had successfully educated its populace to hate and fear all other nations, especially the Empire and the Rotham Republic, the two major powers which sat on either side of Alliance space.
But for all their paranoia, and xenophobia, and caution, and control, and military obsession, the Alliance’s many layers of defenses had failed to stop at least two Rotham agents from reaching the delicate insides of the Waeju Canton. Which begged the question, how deeply and how far has the Republic penetrated the Alliance?
“What are you doing, Savetnik?” hissed a voice from just behind. Samil felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him, not expecting that someone had snuck up behind him. Even though it wasn’t the first time, and he was well aware that the strigoi could move more fluidly and stealthily than any human, he still never got used to it.
“I am resting,” said Samil calmly. His voice betrayed none of the sudden rush of fear that had washed over him.
“Well rest elsewhere,” ordered the strigoi. “The First would not want you listening.” By the pitch of his voice, Samil guessed it was Reshka. Reshka was only the Tenth, still a relatively high rank among the members of the Enclave, but there once had been a time—not too long ago—when only the First would have dared give an order directly to the Savetnik. Now even a Tenth seemed to have no qualms doing so. Sure, Samil had never been a part of the Enclave’s hierarchy, he held no authority here and wasn’t foolish enough to believe that they weren’t in command of his life, but they’d once shown him respect. They’d even valued him beyond simply the information he could offer them, or at least made a pretense of it. Now though things had changed… it had all happened rather suddenly, when the Second had murdered the First and declared himself the First. Ever since then, nothing had been the same.
“Very well,” said Samil, knowing it would be unwise to provoke the strigoi by disobeying him. Not just because the strigoi could rip him to pieces more easily than scissors through paper, but also because he still depended on the Enclave chemically. Without the dose they gave him each day, his heart would stop. If I should anger them, they might stop giving it to me, he thought. Especially now that they seem to value me less and less by the hour…
He wandered back to his apartment. Deciding to be alone with his thoughts and try to make sense of everything that was happening. As he sat down on the small sofa, he took in the simple fixtures of his apartment and immediately thought of that one brief, glorious day when his son Calvin had paid him an unexpected visit. The boy hadn’t seemed grateful to see him, and Samil didn’t blame him. He’d never been the kind of father Calvin had wanted, or deserved. That was a fact Samil had come to accept long ago. But still… to see him, a man grown, and looking so much like his father—yet with his mother’s soft eyes… Oh Olivia, if only I could see you again too.
It had meant everything to see that his son was still alive. And, if the universe was kind, Calvin had escaped the hellish surface of Remus Nine—where he’d been bent on going—and still breathed.
I don’t know how you’re wrapped up in all of this, thought Samil as he considered what was going on across the galaxy. But dark things are in motion. And that meant bad fortune for the Empire, and for anyone involved in trying to protect it. That meant Calvin was in imminent danger himself. And if he was, then so was Olivia. No doubt Calvin’s enemies had linked her to him by now…
Before he processed what he was doing, Samil found himself leaving his apartment and stalking through the halls of the strigoi lair toward the surface exit, as fast as he dared move. Past the eerie tapestries of blood. Past the cruel sculptures made of human bones. What am I doing? he thought, feeling a jolt of fear shoot through him. I should go back. I should turn around…
But he didn’t. He kept walking. Most of the strigoi, the few who remained at the sanctuary, took note of him as he passed, but it wasn’t until he reached the exit that anyone interfered with him.
“Where are you going?” asked Myorna.
“To the surface,” he said, not missing a beat. His heart was pounding but he knew how to appear calm and collected when he needed to.
“What for?”
“Fresh air,” he replied. It wasn’t too uncommon for him to leave the sanctuary and go to the surface; that was how he sent and received messages from his many
informants—old friends and deep connections—and the Enclave always knew he’d return, there was nowhere for him to go and if he didn’t come back for his chemical dose he would die. But lately, despite those considerations, the Enclave had seemed more hesitant to allow him to the surface. And he almost didn’t dare try to go there anymore.
The strigoi looked at him with deep, haunting, suspicious eyes. And then replied, “go,” and nodded him through. “But be swift and be silent.”
“I will, I promise,” said Samil.
Before long he was crawling through the long, narrow crawlspace, realizing once more that he wasn’t the young man he used to be. His joints ached as he made his way forward, and his heart drummed anxiously inside him. But he ignored it all, knowing what he had to do.
Things were happening on Tybur. And happening swiftly. Monumental things. The Alliance was in peril, and when it was gone there would be nothing standing between the Empire and the bloodthirsty ambitions of the Rahajiim. The Rahajiim had just taken control of the Rotham Senate, the Senate controlled the military. And the military, by every account, was prepping its fleets…
If the Empire only knew that the Alliance was in trouble; if Calvin just knew, perhaps there would be time, perhaps they could mobilize a defense if they had sufficient warning. But by the time they find out on their own, it will be too late… Samil wasn’t surely exactly what was going to go down, or when, but he knew it would be soon. And if the Alliance was about to fall, Samil knew they would go out with a whimper not with a bang. And that whimper might be too small for the Empire to hear…
I have to get a message out, Samil told himself. I have to! He thought of his contacts—those that remained to him; it seemed that fewer and fewer of his once many connections were still willing to even talk to him. Especially now that word seemed to have gotten out that he’d lost favor with the Enclave…
Only the Najamnik may be trusted with this, Samil realized. It was unfortunate. The Najamnik was crafty and self-serving, but at least he could be depended upon to heed Samil’s warning. No one else would do. Not anyone with whom Samil still had contact. He wished he had some way to reach Calvin directly.
The Phoenix War Page 12
