The Phoenix War

by Richard L. Sanders

  We’ve stayed one step ahead, he thought. For now anyway. He stared at the bland walls of his quarters on the nondescript, inconspicuous, tiny civilian transport vessel Rutherford. It was the latest in a series of ships he’d transferred to and employed to gain a little more distance from Capital World and, hopefully, from the dangers fast on his heels.

  He changed ships frequently, almost at every port, as he tried to stay ahead of any potential pursuers. Never knowing for certain how close they were, but certain his death was only steps behind him. And that if he were to let up, or lose sight of his caution for even a moment, it would prove a fatal mistake. And so he’d raced across the Empire, switching from ship to ship, as he zig-zagged his way across deep space, ever distancing himself from Capital World while trying to make his ultimate destination seem unpredictable. Which was the small, very obscure colony-world of Pollux Beta Minor or Tranquility as the locals referred to it. It sounded like a good place. And if there was anything Guillermo needed right now, it was some tranquility. Some relief from his heart-pounding race against certain death. Five more flights until he got there. Until then he knew he had to remain vigilant, treading lightly and keeping a low profile.

  This strategy of evasion had been suggested to him by none other than Celeste herself. Who, from her own admission, was doing the same thing. And it was working. They were both alive. Guillermo hoped from the bottom of his heart that they both succeeded in escaping their pursuers, that they both got to live out long, full lives. However, if it came down to it, and only one of them got to escape, he would make damn sure it was him.

  I have to live, he told himself frantically. I just have to. I’m going to live. I will. I’m going to beat this. Everything is going to be okay. That was his mantra. That was what he needed to make himself believe, even if it meant repeating it a thousand times a day. He had to cling to hope. But unfortunately, dreams of death tormented him at night and constant, heart-squeezing panic tortured him during the day.

  This is hell, he thought. Hell is real and I’m living it. As the hours and days passed in alteredspace flight and he kept himself busy reading the news and infrequently contacting Celeste for short windows of time, he felt trapped in the terrifying uncertainty and couldn’t imagine anything worse. Or so he’d thought until the Rutherford suddenly and inexplicably dropped out of alteredspace…

  He glanced out his window and saw stars. I shouldn’t see stars, he thought in a panic. We aren’t there yet. We won’t be for three more hours I should see blackness!

  He bolted from his quarters and ran to the bridge. The Rutherford was a small ship with only two decks, one for people and one for cargo, and the vessel carried no more than six passengers and three crew. In mere seconds Guillermo burst through the door and found himself on the bridge. The captain, who was also the pilot, sat at the front with a co-pilot on his right.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Guillermo. “Why have we stopped?”

  The captain looked too focused to acknowledge him. He was entering commands into his computer with intensity.

  “You can’t be here,” said the co-pilot, turning his head momentarily to see Guillermo. “All passengers need to be in their quarters. Go. Now.”

  Guillermo did nothing of the sort. Instead he stepped forward, trying to read the ship’s instruments for himself. If they weren’t going to tell them what was happening, he’d make damn certain he found out for himself.

  It appeared that another ship had forced them out of alteredspace. He caught a glimpse of it on the 3d display and nearly hyperventilated. It was a Rahajiim ship, one of the rare Hunter ships, a class of stealth vessels used for deep recon missions. They were a new technology and one of the reasons, according to Zane, why space travel was not as safe as everyone thought it was. There weren’t many Hunter ships—at least not yet—but what few existed could be anywhere. Since they were completely undetectable while in alteredspace.

  “You’re still here?” asked the co-pilot, glancing over his shoulder once again.

  “Jump!” said Guillermo. “Run! You have to get us out of here!”

  “We’re going to power down our defenses and come to a full stop like they’ve instructed,” explained the captain. “I don’t want to provoke them, they have us completely out-gunned. I’m sure they’re just pirates.”

  “You fools!” yelled Guillermo, running to the controls. “They’ll kill us!” He reached the console just as the co-pilot was on him. Tackling him before he could try to force the ship back into alteredspace. “They’ll kill us all!” he screamed.

  “Get him out of here,” barked the captain, still manning his station. Guillermo wrestled with the co-pilot for a moment, knowing that if he failed to make them jump the ship. He was a dead man. They all were. The Rahajiim are here! If only he could make them understand.

  The co-pilot proved much stronger and in better health; he managed to pin Guillermo, get him to his feet, and escort him off the bridge. Guillermo fought and wriggled all the way, desperate to get free, but it was no use. Arriving at the door, he was thrown from the bridge with a hard shove. By the time he’d regained his feet, the co-pilot had sealed the door shut. Guillermo tested the switch, it was locked tight. He banged on the door for a moment but it was no use. They weren’t about to open the door and see reason. And he couldn’t breach the door with his bare hands.

  Damn it all, he thought. Using what would surely prove to be his last moments of life, he raced back to his room in conflagration of intense panic and bitter despair. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m a dead man.

  He decided to use what time he had left to warn Celeste. Fortunately the ship’s kataspace connector was still online. He connected the call, maximum priority, encrypting it with the same coded sequence he and Celeste had relied on to communicate back and forth since they’d plunged headlong into space, deciding to take their chances among the stars.

  “Hello,” said Celeste’s voice.

  “Celeste,” said Guillermo urgently. He had to pause to catch his breath, his anxiety had reached such levels he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

  “Is this about the prison? I told you I am in the process of burying the evidence,” said Celeste, sounding more annoyed than apologetic. “Our critical personnel have begun leaving and dismantling things. The rest will be swept away in—”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” said Guillermo, interrupting her the instant he had sufficient breath. “Listen, I don’t have much time. The Rahajiim… they found me! I don’t know how but they found me!”

  Guillermo expected to hear a shocked reaction from the other end, or at the very least some sympathy, but all he heard was silence. “Celeste?” he asked, wondering if she’d been disconnected.

  “So they’re there now?” she asked.

  “Yes! They’ve stopped the ship. I don’t know what they’re going to do but… it won’t be good.”

  “I’m really sorry about that. Truly, I am.” She disconnected.

  What? Thought Guillermo. And then suddenly he realized how the Rahajiim had found him, how they’d found so many of the others, and why Celeste was still alive. In an instant it all clicked together.

  That bitch! He felt a wave of rage crash through him. She sold us out! She betrayed us! At that moment a bright flash of light shined through the window.

  It was the last thing Guillermo ever saw.

  ***

  Dawn was breaking. The sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind mountains and trees, but there was a faint orange light. It would be day soon.

  Nimoux looked up from where he lay sprawled out on the ground. His body ached all over, and his head throbbed, and for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there. Then it all came back in a flood.

  I was walking, as fast as I could. Walking toward the mountain…

  He got to his feet, painful as the experience was with every muscle in his body protesting, and he took stock of his situation.

 
; Though the details were cloudy, it seemed he’d managed to get to the base of the mountain. Where he’d collapsed and lost consciousness. I’m lucky I didn’t die, he realized with a shiver. It wasn’t as cold here, the mountain did a good job of blocking the wind, but it was only warm enough by a few degrees for him not to have frozen to death. Or so it felt.

  They’ll be after me soon, if they aren’t already, he thought. He knew the dead guards would’ve been spotted by now and the prison searched. They knew he was outside the compound.

  I need to keep moving.

  It was hard. His muscles ached and his body felt stiff, some of his extremities even seemed numb. He shook them, doing what he could to get the blood pumping. He jogged in place for a minute, trying to get his heart-rate up and warm his body.

  He doubted he’d slept more than an hour. It would have been almost dawn by the time he reached the foot of the mountain, so he couldn’t have slept for long. He wished more than anything he could crawl into bed somewhere, underneath some warm covers, and sleep for days. But unfortunately there was no such option, and he knew if he didn’t get moving he wouldn’t last. Either they’d find him or he’d freeze to death, or—if he was really lucky—maybe he’d be eaten by some kind of strange alien wildlife.

  He picked up the pedestrian transmitter and, after strapping it to his back, continued onward. Although dim, it was now light enough that he could begin to ascend the mountain without risk that he’d unknowingly step off the edge of some cliff and fall to his swift demise.

  He began the hike. Finding he had more strength left than he would’ve thought possible. His heart kept pounding, sending the blood where it was needed, and he found the mental and physical strength to soldier on. Reminding himself just what was at stake, and how it was so much more than his freedom and survival. Whether or not he got off this planet alive, and managed to send warning to the Empire about their abducted and replaced leaders, might determine if billions of people lived or died. He hoped not, he wanted to believe the situation was not so dire as that, or that Calvin Cross was already handling it sufficiently, but he knew he couldn’t depend on that. And his worry helped propel his footsteps, ever forward and upward. Pausing only when he absolutely needed to.

  Though I tread the path of sorrow, I shall not wander. Nor shall I fear. Because the light of life dwells forever in here, he pointed instinctively to his heart. And comfort is always near. The road ahead is twists and turns. And fires and winds that may give me burns. But I shall not bend. Nor shall I break. To give in would be a great mistake. I shall conquer. I shall win. I shall find the strength within.

  It was a foolish, nonsense children’s rhyme that he found himself instinctively reciting. One he’d been taught in primary school, along with the other children, to help them overcome scraped knees and bee stings, not literally conquer mountains with death at their heels and the fate of the Empire in the balance.

  I must be delirious, he thought. If I am reciting children’s rhymes. And yet, oddly enough, it helped. And he kept going. Kept fighting for the peak of the mountain, which always seemed just a little bit farther.

  By midday, he was terribly thirsty. His last taste of water had been at a brook he’d chanced upon at the base of the mountain before beginning his ascent. Now, several intense hours later, his throat was parched. Sweat seemed to glue his clothing to him and he was filthy and hungry besides. But at least I’m not cold anymore.

  A few more hours passed and he reached it. It wasn’t the very topmost peak of the mountain, that seemed inaccessible from this side unless he wanted to climb a sheer face of rock and cliff with his bare hands. But he reached the highest point that he could get to. Just beyond was a narrow col leading to more mountains and cliffs farther away.

  I hope this is good enough, he thought, setting down the pedestrian transmitter and prepping it for kataspace transmission. There was no guarantee that it still worked, but he hoped desperately that it would. And believed he’d gained enough altitude, and gotten far enough away from the basecamp to minimize interference. In fact even the clouds had parted and opened up to clear blue sky. Everything seemed to be on his side. Now, if only…

  The transmitter activated and went live with its kataspace connection. Nimoux instinctively keyed the digits to connect directly to the Desert Eagle. Once I tell my crew I’m here, they’ll race to my rescue. He thought of his loyal officers. Jorgensen, Danza, Parkhurst and the others… and then he froze.

  I’m so stupid, he thought, annoyed with himself. Frustrated that his senses had become so dulled. He cancelled the transmission and deleted the code, fortunately before the transmitter had sent anything. So no one on the Desert Eagle would be alerted to any distress call.

  If all the prisoners on this world are here because they’ve been replaced with some look-alike, then surely I’ve been replaced too. Which means another Nimoux, a fake one, is on the bridge of my ship. He’ll never allow the ship to come to my rescue. If anything he’d warn his friends that such a transmission was made. Perhaps have his allies, or his employers, or whoever the hell these people are, send additional ships to block the system. Or reinforcements down to the prison. Maybe they’ll use it as a reason to give the final order and eliminate the prisoners...

  No, he couldn’t trust sending his distress call to the Desert Eagle. He had to assume it was compromised. But if he couldn’t trust them, then who?

  Instinctively he entered the command code to the Nighthawk, which he’d memorized while studying the ship during his pursuit. Back then he’d been under orders to capture or destroy the vessel at any cost. Now he was about to ask them for help. I hope you’re not mad at me, Calvin, he thought, as he typed in the command code and activated the distress signal. Unfortunately, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out how to make the transmitter send any voice messages or even text. All he could make it do, perhaps all it was still capable of doing after the long, hard march through such terrain, was send a generalized distress message. And the only tag he could add to the transmission was a location stamp. He keyed in Gamma Persei Three and then marked the priority as highest.

  Now all he could do was wait. Wait and keep moving. He needed to stay ahead of his pursuers and find better cover to hide in. And better shelter from the cold, brutal night that would set in in just a few more hours.

  I hope you’re out there, Calvin, thought Nimoux. I hope you come. He picked up the transmitter with a heave and moved on.

  Chapter 20

  It was White Shift and Sarah was on the bridge, keeping an eye on the Nighthawk’s navigation and communication systems.

  As important as the job was, it was often boring. And now was one of those times. They’d left Aleator, after dropping off Calvin and some others, including the aliens they had aboard, and now they were sitting in open space. Waiting. Lying within arm’s reach of several systems and outposts that their intelligence told them were often frequented by Zander, the man they believed to have the isotome weapons. It was an important mission, Sarah knew, but she hated sitting around. It felt like they were doing nothing. Hoping, probably against the odds, for some sign to magically appear. For something in this grim, depressing galaxy—that seemed to be getting grimmer all the time—to finally go their way. Because, considering that Zander could be anywhere by now, and there was no guarantee that he’d even make port again, or that he’d go to some spot where they had eyes, it seemed to Sarah that they were hoping for a miracle.

  And, despite the coolheaded, grace-under-pressure, optimistic face she tried to show her friends and colleagues, more often than anyone knew, Sarah found herself struggling. Found herself sad and wanting. Found herself confused and lonely.

  She wished Calvin had taken her with him on his top-secret mission. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d left her behind on the Nighthawk with him. She looked at the back of Shen’s head, he was seated at ops and looked busy doing some kind of adjustments to the ship’s systems.

  What is the matter
with me? She wondered for what seemed like the millionth time. Why do I even care at all? Shen wasn’t good enough for her. Sarah knew that. She could do better, she always had. It didn’t matter that Shen had rejected her. In fact it was for the best, Sarah had someone else far better waiting for her. Somewhere. And as for Shen… he was damaged goods. He’d always been too shy and too lacking of confidence, but in a lovable side-kick sort of way. Now though… now that he’d gotten back from Remus Nine, and barely escaped lethal infection, now he was different. He was changed. He was darker.

  And, despite everything, Sarah couldn’t help but feel reeled in by Shen’s somber expressions, his newfound confidence, the grim, hardened, more manly way that he looked at her. The hint of fire in his eyes. The way he walked now, no longer anxious, or timid, no longer with shoulders slumped, now he walked where he wanted when he wanted. He did whatever he wanted. He didn’t care. Didn’t worry. And somehow… for all his issues and problems and difficulties, Sarah couldn’t stop thinking about him. She couldn’t resist the urge inside her to rescue him, to comfort him, to fix him. Make him happy with life again.

  Yep it’s official. There is something definitely wrong with me, she thought. Forcing herself to look away from Shen and try not to think about him. It was difficult, since the ops position was at the front of the bridge, so if she looked forward at all she saw him. So she turned her chair left, to the center of the bridge, and her eyes found Summers.

  “Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Summers asked. Despite her all-business, emotionless, professional way of doing things, the part of her that was human—whether that was five percent or fifty—was getting better at reading the crew’s emotions.

  Sarah sat up and rubbed the slightest hint of a tear from her eye. “Yes, of course,” she said coolly. “Why do you ask, Commander?”

  Summers looked at her for a moment. Then said, “no reason.”