The Phoenix Conspiracy

by Richard Sanders

  ***

  Calvin couldn’t see it from his cramped cell, but he knew the sound of gunfire when he heard it.

  Automatic weapons with suppressors, shouted orders in Rotham, the distinct whine of alien rifles, and, of course, the thud of bodies smacking the deck.

  He got on his knees and tried to catch a glimpse of something, anything. He saw black boots and the bottom of camouflage trousers moving his way, stepping over fallen Rotham corpses.

  Farther away he heard Summers’s distinct voice say, “There we go.” She was out of sight, but Calvin heard the snap-hiss of dozens of cells unlocking. Calvin tested his, but it wouldn’t budge.

  As if in answer, Summers said, “I can’t unlock the priority cells from this switch.”

  “Use this.”

  It was Pellew’s voice. Calvin wished he could see more.

  “Good timing,” Calvin shouted through the bars, thinking his back couldn’t take much more of this contorted position. “Is it clear out there?”

  “For now,” said Pellew. “Where’s the major?”

  “They took him. No idea where.” He could hear several people moving around and cell doors opening. Having them roam free and knowing he was still trapped in this claustrophobia-inducing cell was unbearable.

  Summers came into view and bent down to unlock his cell with a key from one of the dead guards. He tried to read her expression, but her face was mostly obscured. What he did see, though, seemed cold and neutral.

  “Summers Presley …” said Calvin. “I can’t believe it, but I’m actually glad to see you.” His door unlocked, and she opened the cell.

  “Pfft, I’m not,” said Miles from the other side. “And I never will be.”

  “I don’t have to let you out, you know,” she said.

  Miles made a face. “If you don’t, Calvin will.”

  Despite Miles’s taunt, Summers opened his cell.

  Calvin crawled out and stood to his full height. Even though he hadn’t been in the cell for long, it felt truly liberating to be freed from it. It was too small for an adult human, and a prolonged stay would probably drive a grown man insane.

  Miles came fully into sight and stood beside him.

  Calvin scanned over their surroundings; the detention block was effectively a long corridor with cells on both sides, able to hold up to a hundred prisoners, much more than the Nighthawk’s crew. And fortunately everyone, except the major, was here.

  “Pellew, what have we got?” asked Calvin, moving to the raised platform in the center.

  “Twenty-two soldiers, forty-six crew. Everyone is accounted for, except the major.”

  “At least they were kind enough to put us all in one place,” said Calvin. He looked over their faces and saw a lot of angry, healthy, mostly youthful people. They were tired. They were confused. But they were ready and willing to fight. Only one looked unfit for a lot of action. “How are you holding up, Monte?”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” the old doctor said, pointing a crooked finger.

  Calvin knew better; he sensed Monte was in pain and wouldn’t be able to keep up well. But he also understood that Monte would not let himself be seen as a liability.

  To Calvin’s surprise, there was only one prisoner in this detention block who wasn’t from his ship. It was a Rotham in gray prison garb with long black hairs on his chin that seemed out of place on his scalylike skin.

  “Let me out too,” the Rotham said desperately.

  Miles looked like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “You wish, lizard.”

  “I’m telling you, I know things that can help you.”

  Calvin was intrigued. “What do you know?”

  “Anything you need to escape. Just get me out of here.”

  “Why is the Rotham squadron here?” Calvin pressed him.

  “I’ll tell you once we’re safely away from here,” said the Rotham.

  “Tell me now.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Pellew.

  Calvin knew he was right. “Very well.” He turned briefly to look at Pellew. “How many weapons do we have?”

  “Eight,” said Pellew. “My carbine, two pistols, the XO’s submachine gun, also two Rotham rifles and two Rotham pistols off the guards here.”

  “Distribute them to Special Forces,” said Calvin. He wanted a firearm for himself but knew his best chance, everyone’s best chance, was to put their resources into the most capable hands.

  Summers relinquished her weapon without complaint. “Ready, sir.”

  “Everyone conscious and able to move?”

  Pellew did a quick check. “Affirmative.”

  “What about the Rotham?” asked Shen. “He could be useful.”

  “He’s a waste of space,” said Miles. “Drop him. Or give me one of those guns, and I’ll do it myself.”

  “Bring him along,” said Calvin, making a snap decision. He reasoned the Rotham didn’t represent much risk and could prove useful.

  “Whatever you say,” said Miles.

  Summers unlocked the Rotham’s cell.

  “You won’t regret this,” the Rotham said.

  “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” said Miles.

  “What’s your name, Rotham?” asked Calvin.

  His reply was impossible to understand, though it sounded vaguely like Alex. “I’m going to call you Alex,” said Calvin.

  The Rotham, now Alex, didn’t seem offended.

  “Good. Fall in line with the others. We’ll let you come with us so long as you don’t do anything stupid and you don’t slow us down.” He turned to Pellew. “We need to take a defensive position.”

  “I agree completely. We won’t be able to escape on the Nighthawk. Even if we could take it and blast a hole in the hangar doors, we’d just get shot down. We have to defend somewhere and wait for the fleet.”

  “Why don’t we hold here?” asked Rose.

  “It’s a death trap,” said Pellew, citing several of its weaknesses. “It didn’t work for them”—he gestured toward the fallen guards—”and it won’t work for us. We need to move, now.”

  “Where to?” asked Calvin. “Did you see anything on your way in? Somewhere we could hold out?”

  “Not for this many people,” said Pellew.

  “Does anyone know anything about Rotham ships?” asked Calvin. “You, Rotham—I mean, Alex—any bright ideas where a good holding spot would be?”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Miles.

  “Have any better ideas?” Calvin whirled to face Miles, though Calvin didn’t trust Alex either.

  Shen spoke up. “Maybe. The blueprints of alien ships are well-kept secrets, but our agents learn things from time to time. Unfortunately you can never be sure what you have is up-to-date. I had to study designs of a ship like this back at the academy. But that was several years ago.”

  “Give me the short version.”

  “The most defensive positions are main engineering and the bridge,” said Shen. “But those are also the hardest to take for the same reason. Especially on a ship designed to repel full-on marine invasions involving hundreds of soldiers.”

  “So …?”

  “The auxiliary bridge,” Miles blurted out. “Every Rotham ship, C-class and above, has a secondary bridge in case their main bridge gets blown away. I don’t know where it is, but, since the real bridge is on the other side of the ship, my guess is the secondary bridge is far away from that. Like, say, around here. If we can find it, that would be an awesome place to hold out.”

  Calvin looked to Shen.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Shen.

  “See, Summers. I’m not useless.” Miles made another face at her.

  “Alex,” said Calvin. “Where is the auxiliary bridge?”

  “Two decks above us and a little to stern and starboard, right below main engineering.”

  “That’s good. We can use that,” said Calvin. “Hopefully they’ll think we’re going for en
gineering and will divert soldiers from the auxiliary bridge to there. What do you think, Pellew?”

  He nodded. “Better than waiting around here another moment.”

  “What about the major?” asked Summers. “Are we going to just abandon him?”

  “I don’t want to,” said Calvin. He looked at Alex. “Where is the Inquisition Room?”

  Alex said nothing for a moment. Then said, “You won’t be able to save your man. Getting to the Inquisition Room involves going through most of the local garrison. You’ll all die trying to save one man who is almost certainly dead already.”

  It was a harsh statement, but Calvin had expected nothing less. “So we have to look to ourselves,” he said.

  “The major would insist we go on without him and take a good tactical position,” said Pellew. “If he knew we put ourselves at risk to help him, he’d kill us himself—if the Rotham didn’t.”

  Calvin gave the signal, and Pellew ordered the group to move out. His soldiers took up the front position and cleared the hall. The crew followed in a wide column, as fast as they could. Calvin stayed up front with Pellew.

  “Where’s the beacon?” asked Calvin.

  “Safely hidden.” Pellew nodded toward a small alcove.

  “We should get it,” said Calvin.

  “No, we shouldn’t.”

  “It’s mission critical. We have to protect it.”

  “I agree with Calvin,” said Summers, to his great surprise. “We should keep it with us. If nothing else, the signal might be better coming from the auxiliary bridge.”

  “And if we take it, they may capture the beacon and destroy it. All our eggs would be in one basket.”

  “If they capture the beacon from us,” said Calvin, “then we won’t need it. Because we’ll already be dead. They’ll have to pick it off our corpses. The whole point of it is just to alert the Andromeda and all friendly ships that we’re aboard.”

  “As you wish.” Pellew waved for one of his men to clear the nook and take the beacon. “It’s in the bottommost crate on the far side.”

  Their lead soldiers reached an intersection and went prone as blasts of energy came from the left. Pellew raised a closed fist to halt the group while his soldiers mounted a counterattack. Two men kept the enemy’s attention with sporadic but strategic fire while another army-crawled farther into the open with some kind of scoped Rotham rifle.

  “Clear,” he called back. He and the other soldiers jumped to their feet and continued forward. Pellew and the soldier with the submachine gun covered the sides while everyone else ran for the ladders. Calvin stayed with Pellew and took a long look down the adjoining hallway.

  Three Rotham soldiers were dead on the ground. “Routine patrol team, I’m guessing,” said Pellew. “They weren’t expecting us.” Calvin saw three rifles among the bodies.

  “Miles, help me grab those weapons.” He bolted for them, hearing Miles thunder behind.

  “It’s wide open. I can’t cover you out there,” Pellew called after him.

  “No risk, no reward,” Calvin replied. He reached the fallen enemies and scooped up their weapons, with Miles’s help.

  The closer look at the splattered alien brains and empty eyes was something Calvin could have done without. With some revulsion he wiped their fluids off the guns with his own shirt. At least it wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing dead humans.

  “Okay, let’s go.” He looked up, surprised to see Pellew had come along in an attempt to cover him, despite this inferior position.

  They ran, Pellew facing backward, weapon keenly aimed across the expanse, expecting to see Rotham soldiers charging them at any minute. Calvin distributed the Rotham weapons to more Special Forces soldiers—again fighting the temptation to keep one for himself. Miles too looked hesitant to relinquish his but did as ordered.

  “Look at that,” said Pellew. Calvin glanced up to where Pellew was pointing his carbine. A security camera.

  “They must have thousands of those to keep tabs on a ship this size,” said Calvin. “I wonder how long it’ll take someone to notice us.”

  “They probably already—” Pellew’s words were lost to the sound of gunfire as their sergeant’s submachine gun blasted toward a group of Rotham approaching from behind. He called for support.

  Pellew and three other soldiers, those most recently armed, moved to the rear and opened fire on the enemy, who took cover and returned fire. It was too far away for either side to be very accurate but the size of Calvin’s group made them an easier target. A fiery blast hit a young blond crew member. She was dead before she hit the ground.

  One of the unarmed soldiers, a field medic, moved to check her vitals. But there wasn’t much point.

  “Make yourselves small,” said Pellew, not looking back. He scored a hit of his own on the killer, who collapsed.

  By now, half of Calvin’s group—including the four lead soldiers—had begun climbing the ladders, which were three across. They just needed a bit more time. He didn’t know what he could do, except go prone like the others and cover his ears.

  He looked back at his fallen crew member, a young woman new to the ship, and felt a wave of both remorse and anger. He hadn’t known her well, but she was more than just a face and a name. It saddened him to see her dead, knowing she was supposed to marry in only a few months.

  The lights turned red, and a roaring klaxon filled the air.

  “Well, they’re on to us now,” said Calvin; no one could hear him though. His voice was lost to the sounds of fighting and the alarm.

  He crawled all the way to the ladders. It was almost his turn to go up.

  Both sides exchanged fire from positions of relative safety, and Calvin wondered why the Rotham side wasn’t being more aggressive, using smoke canisters or flashbangs or sniping them with superior weapons.

  Then he saw why. More forces were arriving: a surge of Rotham soldiers, Teldari, with helmets and combat vests. They charged from the side hallways like a swarm of bees. Weapons leveled and blasting, flowing like an organic tidal wave. Their fire was clumsy—hard to be accurate at a run—but they closed in fast.

  Pellew and his men, now in crouched positions to keep very steady, managed to overheat their weapons in a spray of automatic and concentrated fire meant to maximize casualties. Never before had Calvin seen such expert shooting. Twelve or more Rotham fell wounded or dead, including a lead commander; it was enough to stall their advance.

  But two Special Forces soldiers were hit, one in the chest and one in the head—Calvin saw them both recoil. As soon as their hands went limp around their weapons, other soldiers scooped up their armaments and took their places.

  He heard a scream as a narrow beam of light grazed Monte’s forearm. It torched his fair skin, blackening it, and his eyes went wide with pain. But he managed to keep on his feet and most of his composure.

  Calvin yelled at him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” Monte lied. A field medic came over and tried to treat him, but Monte shrugged him off. “Oh, leave me alone, you.” Then, like a tough old bird, he moved for the ladders—wincing as he went up.

  As the remnants of the Teldari’s first wave regrouped with what was sure to be the second wave, Pellew and his men scooped up additional weapons from the enemy’s failed offensive and passed them to the other soldiers, arming the rest of them. In this retrieval process another soldier was lost. A youthful black-haired boy. His blood soaked the ground. Calvin grimaced but couldn’t look away.

  He was about to start climbing when he heard something slide across the ground. It was a conventional handgun. He picked it up and looked back to see Pellew nod at him and then return to fighting. Now ordering his men into a tactical retreat to the ladders.

  Calvin pulled back the slide—making sure there was a bullet in the chamber—then started his ascent.

  The ladders were fixed to the walls of what was a very large, very long cylinder running through most of the ship’s
decks—which were about a hundred in total, many more than Calvin was used to. He had to be careful climbing one-handedly, while also holding a pistol. Above him, his crew was already shuffling onto the higher deck and, presumably, taking up a defensive position.

  About halfway to his destination, he craned his neck to see two Rotham on the ladders on the opposite side, several decks above. They had energy pistols and opened fire on his crew.

  Calvin aimed his handgun with one hand, keeping his other firmly glued to the ladder, and returned fire. He was a decent shot with a pistol, but one-handed while dangling made it hard to steady his aim. As brass jacket after brass jacket ejected, falling out of sight, he couldn’t hit his mark. But he did get their attention.

  A firefight ensued.

  His enemies had even more trouble being accurate than he did, since they weren’t trained soldiers; their weapons burned marks all over the place. Not even singing his hair.

  He took a moment to steady a more careful aim, certain he’d lined up the iron sights perfectly. But his shot ricocheted off the bulkhead uselessly with a spark and a ping. His enemy’s return fire was even farther off the mark. Or so he thought … until he realized they’d switched targets.

  Just as the Nighthawk crew members directly above him were reaching their destination, they came under fire again from the two Rotham. In the chaos, a beam clipped Monte’s good arm, and he lost his already weakened grip on the ladder. He slipped off the railing and plummeted, yelling all the way down.

  Calvin watched, horror-struck, as his friend fell fifty decks to his death.

  Seeing it … Calvin felt his own grip weaken for a moment as hot-white mindless wrath consumed him, raging inside him. But he forced himself to keep control, knowing that heightened emotions would only hinder him, cause him to lose concentration; and, right now, he had to be objective. Compartmentalize. Mourn tomorrow. Focus today. It wasn’t easy, but he kept his cool and stayed logical, made possible by years of training.

  He climbed a little higher and fired again. His first two shots missed, but a third hit one of the Rotham in the chest. The alien’s grip slackened, and he, like Monte, slipped off the ladders and plunged to his death. But he did not scream. Simply stared up with empty eyes until he was gone.

  The second Rotham started scrambling higher up the ladder. Calvin wasn’t about to let him escape. He took careful aim and fired—a narrow miss. “Damn!” he muttered, realizing his pistol’s slide had sprung back, signaling an empty cartridge.

  A silenced carbine whined from below. The Rotham’s head exploded, and his corpse flew off the ladder like a rag doll.

  “Move it, Calvin,” Pellew shouted from below.

  “Nice shot,” was all Calvin could say. He avoided looking down knowing that, despite his concentrated effort not to, it would be too easy to think of Monte and let Calvin’s emotions get the best of him. Those feelings burned, wanting to be set free. But he remained objective. Focused now on how everyone above him had already reached their destination deck.

  “Do you have any more rounds for this handgun?” asked Calvin.

  “Yeah, I have another clip,” said Pellew, now at his side. He passed it over, and Calvin awkwardly reloaded the gun while he ascended.

  They reached the deck together, and saw the small army of crew and soldiers in a defensive posture. They’d cleared the area and were watching the adjoining halls. Exchanging sporadic fire with hidden hostiles.

  The remnants of a firefight were clear. The ground was blood-soaked with two dead bodies, both human. One a medic and the other an engineer. Conversations Calvin had had with them in the past flashed through his mind. He couldn’t help but think of how their futures were completely erased now. Both had been young, like he was. But, like Monte’s death, Calvin forced it from his mind. They were casualties. That happened in war. He couldn’t let himself get distracted.

  “We have to keep moving,” said Calvin.

  After consulting with Alex, their Rotham friend, who’d managed to keep up and stick with them, they had a better idea of the location of the secondary bridge. Pellew split the group in two and sent them along different routes.

  “We shouldn’t split up,” said Summers.

  “In these narrow hallways, numbers are a liability.” Pellew waved his men forward. “We’re just a bigger target that’s easier to trap, and our angles of attack are more limited. We crowd each other out. We’re much better covering more angles and more ground.”

  She didn’t argue further, and they moved, quickly as they could.

  Those with weapons took the lead—a gamble that they wouldn’t be taken from behind.

  As he ran, Calvin remembered to pull back the slide of his handgun just as they reached a major intersection.

  A large firefight ensued again as the enemy, already placed around the corner, attacked. Pinning Calvin and his people here. They couldn’t cross the intersection without sustaining heavy losses, but they had to get across somehow. They all looked to Calvin and Pellew for solutions.

  “How many?”

  “Ten or more. All armed soldiers.”

  “We can’t just run past them?”

  “No. It’d be a bloodbath.”

  “We can’t wait here either. Their reinforcements could take us from the rear.”

  Calvin looked to Pellew whose only answer was to stay in cover and wait for their other group to take the enemy from behind.

  Calvin did as ordered but moved to the back of the group to keep his eyes on the path behind them. The handgun wasn’t a very effective weapon at a distance, as he’d proven, and he only had one magazine, but figured it was better than nothing. If the enemy did come from behind, he could warn the others, try to resist. And, if they were overwhelmed, it was best to die quickly.

  Several seconds passed, maybe a minute, maybe two. Calvin couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he could hear his heart pounding in his ears while nothing seemed to be happening. He dared a quick glance back to see Pellew facing opposite him, crouched against the corner, ready to blast anyone who came around.

  It was almost too much to take. The silence. The tension. Knowing that the longer they waited, the more likely it was they’d be flanked. Their enemy had already reported to the other hostile detachments via radio, Calvin was sure. It was only a matter of time. He and his crew would have to do something. Double back? Maybe try to find another way around? They couldn’t just storm forward. Pellew was right about that. They’d be mown down.

  And then he heard it. The popping of automatic fire from around the corner. A human submachine gun. Joined quickly by the whine of Rotham weapons.

  After giving it just a second, long enough for their enemies to change their focus from this group to the other, Pellew ordered his soldiers to move around the corner with him and go prone immediately.

  One was killed in the effort; Calvin winced to see him, face black, uniform on fire. The rest were able to engage the enemy.

  The firefight lasted only a few more seconds before Pellew shouted the all clear, and Calvin and the others moved forward. Calvin split from them and ran to Pellew, who stood amid a pile of corpses. Mostly Rotham. But a few humans too. Calvin’s group had only taken one additional loss in this fight. But he counted three bodies among the other human group—which had come to their rescue.

  One was a Special Forces soldier he didn’t recognize. The other two were crew. A man, face-down, and a woman who was too scorched to recognize. Gruesome enough to set off the gag reflex. But he remained strong.

  “How many?” asked Calvin, now helping Pellew scoop up and distribute the leftover weapons as quickly as possible.

  “Ten Rotham, no survivors.”

  “And us?”

  “Four more deaths, one wounded.”

  Calvin looked up to see an injured crew member being patched up by a field medic. His head was obscured by bandages, and his limbs were weak, like jelly. His uniform was torn open at the chest, revealing a deep wound
and some serious third-degree burns. He looked up and made eye contact with Calvin. It was Vincent Rose.

  Rose’s anguish was obvious, but, somehow, in his immense suffering, he seemed distant. Like his mind was no longer there. When he looked at Calvin, his eyes sharpened for an instant, as if to say something, but then they were empty. And then his body slumped like it was boneless.

  The medic confirmed he was dead. And Calvin stared at him. It seemed so surreal. Monte, Rose, probably the major, and too many others. Just like being on the Trinity all over again. Except, instead of seeing acquaintances cut down, these were people he’d known much better. Well enough to understand that Rose’s death widowed a sweet young wife and the happiest little girl Calvin had ever met. Someone so young shouldn’t have her life marred in tragedy so early. He felt himself start to tremble, but, once more, his training took over, and he forced himself to be calm. He would mourn Rose, Monte, and the others properly, he promised himself, but not now. Now he had to be a leader.

  “Let’s move!”

  They made it the rest of the way without trouble. A few Rotham technicians and crew were around, but they scattered as the humans’ footsteps thundered closer. Pellew forbade anyone from shooting anyone unarmed. Not because he was a peace-loving person, because he wasn’t, but rather because it was a waste of ammo. The Rotham weapons were especially taxed, many of the energy cells nearly exhausted. And the human weapons were all on their last magazines. Pellew and Summers hadn’t been able to smuggle too many clips into the cargo container with them.

  And then they were there. Standing before a large gray side-sliding door. It was locked, but Shen and another engineer were able to cut into the control panel and to open it with brute force while the rest watched vigilantly for Rotham soldiers.

  “Okay, we’re in,” said Shen as the door started sliding open.

  “Do you think they set up defenses in engineering instead of here?” asked Sarah.

  “I sure hope so,” Pellew replied. “Because if they did set up here, we’re all dead. But no time for worrying about that now.” He squared his shoulders, weapon at the ready, and ordered his soldiers into assault formation. And, like shock troopers, they stormed into the auxiliary bridge, followed by a slew of armed crewmen, including Calvin.

  The first ten seconds were pure chaos; weapons-fire erupted from all directions. Calvin and the others moved to any kind of cover they could find—he crouched behind a set of stairs. Those without cover went prone and tried to make themselves as small as possible, shooting at everyone and anything hostile, while trying to ascertain where all the enemies were.

  This bridge was large, much larger than the bridge of the Nighthawk—which didn’t even have an auxiliary bridge. And tucked away along the rim of the mostly round room was a platform with several controllers. The enemy had the high ground.

  Behind everything was a large window that made up the far wall, hugging the lip of the platform. Calvin looked it over thoroughly, popping his head up from cover for seconds at a time, trying to find a good shot. When he saw an enemy’s head appear, he pointed and squeezed the trigger. A direct hit. The Rotham’s mess of a face fell back behind cover. Dead as dead. Calvin felt no remorse.

  At first the humans took the greater casualties, but, in very little time, Special Forces swept in and captured the room through superior expertise. Before long they’d killed off all resistance and combed the room for hidden enemies.

  Pellew authorized deadly force against the unarmed Rotham who’d survived the firefight. Pellew said we were in no position to take prisoners and couldn’t risk sending them outside to report that the auxiliary bridge had fallen. And now that the humans had obtained more weapons, it wasn’t such a waste of ammo. Not everyone was comfortable with this kind of brutality, even in a state of war, but no one objected.

  Calvin watched them die swiftly, execution-style; their wide eyes seemed almost too stunned to be afraid. He looked at Alex, their Rotham tagalong, expecting him to object to this treatment, but he didn’t. He remained as silent as ever, as silent as Calvin was, but Alex’s crooked face seemed almost pleased at the grim business that made Calvin uneasy to watch. Apparently Alex didn’t value the lives of his own people.

  Next Pellew ordered his men to barricade the room and raise defenses: overturn desks, make chairs into obstacles; use anything and everything available. Calvin helped two other crew members drag the dead into a corner and situate the wounded into a more comfortable position against the far wall.

  In total, they’d lost three more, and an equal number were wounded. Among the injured was Shen, who couldn’t keep back a quiet howling; his shoulder was black where his uniform had been burned. One of the medics was tending to him, looking over the injury, while Shen’s good arm was trying to scratch away the burned part of his jacket. The medic was engaged in stopping him with one hand and putting a loose sterile cloth around the affected area with his other. Like those in the corridors, the med kits on the bridge had been pilfered immediately.

  The medic noticed Calvin standing over them and looked up to say, “He’ll live.” Then moved on to the next of the injured.

  Calvin studied Shen. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Shen lied through gritted teeth, eyes watering.

  “Hang in there,” said Calvin. “We’ll get out of this yet. Just keep it together. And remember, the Andromeda has its own burn ward.”

  Shen nodded, trying to force a smile.

  “And, Shen,” said Calvin, reluctant to disturb a man in pain. “Since we are on the auxiliary bridge, is there anything we can do from here to sabotage the ship? Make it less able to fight the Andromeda. Lower its shields? Drain its power? Jam its firing systems? Anything that might possibly make this ship easier to subdue?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” He struggled as if to get up, but Calvin stopped him.

  “No, no, you stay put. Just tell me and the engineers what to do.” Some of the engineers had overheard him, and Calvin waved them over.

  “Okay,” said Shen. “Go to the main panels. They’re on the platform above.” He proceeded to coach them through several tactics to compromise the ship’s systems. They had some difficulty, as the controls had few instructions—and the existing instructions were in Rotham. Alex assisted them, and Calvin was again surprised by his willingness to work against his own people.

  They shifted power levels and followed several other ideas of Shen’s, although he seemed unable to really concentrate. But, in the end, they had very little success. The main bridge locked them out of the computer systems. And, if nothing else, they had only confirmed their whereabouts.

  “It was worth a try,” said Calvin, not really sure that it was.

  While he and the others had been busy, Pellew had finished positioning everyone in the most tactically ideal places and setting up all the defenses he could.

  By scooping up the weapons from the dead, they now had enough to arm everyone who wasn’t injured. They’d also managed to short out the door so the control system on the outside wouldn’t be able to force it open, like they had. The downside was that they couldn’t open the door from the inside either.

  “The Fifth Fleet better come fast,” said Pellew. “Because this isn’t going to hold off a few hundred Teldari for long.”

  In no time they heard banging against the door. Followed by a muffled drilling.

  “Why does this seem so damn familiar?” asked Miles, standing next to Calvin.

  A hot white spark could be seen where the enemy was carving into the door with a laser drill. Calvin’s muscles tightened, and he steadied his handgun.

  “Hey, look everybody,” shouted Sarah from behind. She—like Calvin, Miles, and several other crew members—was on the raised platform. The Special Forces soldiers did not look to see what she was excited about. They kept a disciplined watch on the door, which threatened to burst at any moment. But everyone else turned.

  Calvin looked and saw nothing
. Sarah stood in front of the great wide window, which was black and empty.

  “What?”

  “Look!” She pointed, sounding annoyed.

  Calvin moved closer.

  “See them?” asked Sarah.

  And then, in the blanket of darkness, Calvin caught a glimpse of phantom gray ships. With their identifier lights turned off, they blended in almost completely with the black space.

  “It’s the Andromeda!” Sarah announced, and a cheer filled the bridge.

  Calvin too spotted the great white ship in the center, as lights from the Rotham ship bounced off of it.

  “Use the projector display,” said Shen from the ground, still hunched over.

  “Yeah, turn it on,” said Calvin to the nearest engineer, since he had no idea how. The woman complied, and before long a huge 3-D projection of the system appeared, filling the center of the auxiliary bridge where all could see. The engineer focused it on the Andromeda and all surrounding ships.

  The vessels moved fast, in an attack posture, with two destroyers in the lead, then the Andromeda, two more destroyers at its sides, and three battleships at the rear. They closed in on the alien squadron. The Rotham squadron couldn’t be entirely seen from this viewpoint, but it seemed to be four heavy warships and two smaller ones, along with a swarm of fighters barely more than specks.

  “No chance. The Rotham have no chance!” Miles’s voice boomed. “The aliens are roasted. Go Empire. Hell, yeah! Fifth Fleet!”

  The alien squadron moved to a defensive posture, ready to engage the incoming Imperial ships. Calvin was worried that the aliens would make a run for it, dragging him and his crew along to who-knows-where, but that didn’t seem to be the Rotham’s intention. Which, aside from making Calvin grateful, made him curious.

  “Wow, these guys are stupid,” said Miles, managing to laugh. “They don’t have a chance.”

  Calvin frowned. He thought the aliens’ confidence in taking the Fifth Fleet head-on was a bit bold, even for them. Did they have a kind of weapon no one expected? One that might be a match for the Imperial Fleet? Unlikely. But then again, they had managed to see through the Nighthawk’s stealth capabilities.… Perhaps this battle wasn’t as decided as Miles claimed.

  There was silence as the fleets converged on each other, and, then, before they were in range to attack each other with any kind of major firepower, the darkness lit up.

  “What the hell?” asked Miles.

  Calvin and the others watched as the Fifth Fleet’s rearguard opened fire on its lead ships.

  It was absurd; Calvin couldn’t believe it. But the display showed clearly that human ships were attacking other human ships, throwing the whole formation into disarray.

  “Oh, my god …” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

  Within seconds, two of the human destroyers disappeared. Calvin could see debris breaking up outside the window.

  The human ships were now in a panic, with the remaining destroyers completely abandoning formation—obviously unsure who was an enemy and who wasn’t. The rogue battleships now fired on the Andromeda, which turned to attack them broadside, destroying one battleship and crippling another in no time. Able to use all batteries at that range, its unparalleled firepower ripped through the warships’ armor and bypassed their advanced shields.

  The alien ships had now reached attack range and opened fire on the lead human ships. The destroyers regrouped to hold them off, taking a severe beating while providing cover for the Andromeda as it fought the remaining two traitorous battleships.

  Everyone who could see from their current defensive positions watched breathlessly as the Fifth Fleet was incinerated. The alien ships took no losses as they pulverized the human destroyers, while the Andromeda became scarred and battered, and then part of its hull broke off just as it finished wiping out the last human-gone-rogue battleship. Leaving it alone as the sole human ship in the system, against several alien ships in mostly perfect condition.

  The Andromeda changed direction and, while being pounded by alien fire, swiftly jumped away into alteredspace. The Polarian ship bolted after it, also vanishing into alteredspace. Leaving the Nighthawk’s crew alone once more. Trapped on a Rotham ship, in the middle of a Rotham squadron. Hopes blown out like candles in a storm.

  “Why …?”

  “I don’t believe it …”

  “Did our ships fire on our destroyers?”

  Perhaps no one was more shocked and heartbroken than Summers.

  She stared forlorn out the window and eventually lowered her head.

  And, for the first time, Calvin saw no fire inside her. She was crushed. Like someone who’d just witnessed everything she’d ever believed in vanish like a midday shadow. Her face was as pale as a corpse’s. She slouched, barely able to stand. He was filled with pity seeing her.

  And then inevitability sank in. They all looked to him for answers, but he had none.

  “What do we do now?” someone asked.

  He felt only barely aware that it was Sarah. And made no response.

  “What’s our next move?” someone else asked.

  The banging and drilling on the door was louder than ever now. And as Calvin looked at the door, he saw it was about to come apart. A gateway opening to oblivion.

  “Calvin?”

  “They’re almost through!”

  “How do we get out of this one, Cal?” Miles asked from directly to his left.

  “We … don’t,” Calvin whispered. Then, a bit stronger, he added, “This is our final stand.” He raised his weapon, and the others did the same.

  “I never thought I’d die on an alien ship,” said Miles. “That’s why I didn’t join the damned marines.”

  Pellew gave his final orders to his men, making doubly sure they were ready and optimally positioned. Then, just as they heard the Rotham drill breaking through, he glanced up at Calvin and nodded. As if to say, “It’s been an honor, sir.”

  Calvin returned the nod. Then took aim.