Chapter 31
The Harbinger seemed like a massive, never-ending labyrinth of corridors and elevators.
Calvin, closely escorted by two marines—and a medic who had hastily patched Calvin’s flesh wounds—walked through the endless maze of gray. They passed dozens of busy personnel as they went. Most were occupied with whatever tasks they’d been given, but few were too busy to pause and give Calvin a curious look. He couldn’t help but wonder, as he saw their curious faces, if they knew even less about the situation than he did.
And what had become of his own crew?
But then he remembered these were people who’d helped the Harbinger illegally escape with a condemned military prisoner. They had to know something. Either that or Raidan was truly a master of manipulation. It was hard to be completely sure of anything.
Somehow the steel-gray everything of the Harbinger felt so much more lifeless than the Nighthawk, which was mostly black inside and out. And Calvin wasn’t sure if the bleakness was because he was a stranger here, and possibly a prisoner, or if it was for some other reason. The grim faces? The large number of soldiers? The vacant blankness on every wall? Maybe some combination of these factors. Perhaps the Harbinger was designed to look and feel grim, deadly, and ruthless. If so, it worked perfectly. Calvin couldn’t suppress a chill as he walked, stomach twisting in knots, feeling cool air pour from the vents. This is it. The Harbinger. The elusive Raidan. Everything.
As his entourage stepped into an elevator, a part of Calvin’s mind wanted to be afraid, to be alert, and to be on his guard. Kept wondering about his ship and crew. But a much louder part was glad to be here. Rescued from the Rotham ship. Believing that, once and for all, he’d finally find the answers to his questions.
At long last the elevator came to a halt and Calvin guessed the entire journey had taken the better part of fifteen minutes. The door slid open, revealing a very large, very rectangular bridge. Lights from dozens of computer screens glowed, brightening the otherwise dark room, and a view of the Liberty Sun’s port side blocked out most of the black sky. The stars themselves were lost in the Liberty Sun’s bright lights shining through the windows. In front of them were two silhouetted persons. Calvin guessed one was Raidan.
“This way, Lieutenant Commander,” one of Calvin’s escorts said as he guided Calvin across the long stretch of path toward the pair. As they crossed the space in between, Calvin felt in awe of the bridge’s size. It was as large as an entire deck of the Nighthawk and staffed by more than twenty officers attending to seemingly countless stations, whose functions he could only guess at.
For a moment he imagined what it would be like to be in command, and responsible for, such a large crew, and whether or not he would like it. And, for the second time, he considered how in this crazy, crazy universe Raidan had managed to win the loyalty of all these people.
And if Calvin’s crew had made it out in time …
They neared the two silhouetted figures, and Calvin could hear them talking to each other. Most of their words were lost to the noise of the bridge’s staff, with junior commanders relaying orders to minor divisions throughout the ship. When Calvin’s presence was noticed, the duo hushed their conversation and turned to face him. In the dimness, Calvin could more-or-less make out the features of Raidan’s face.
“Ah, that must be Mr. Cross,” said Raidan. “Welcome to my ship. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” said Calvin. He wasn’t sure what Raidan hoped to get out of him but guessed the rogue captain wasn’t the type to do something for free.
“Do you always keep your bridge this dark?” asked Calvin.
Raidan chuckled. “No, not always. But when I’m flying no colors, I keep all decks with windows as dark as possible. Anything that makes us that much harder to see is an advantage.”
Calvin wondered if it was actually more effective. Having the luxury of Raidan’s advanced stealth system, Calvin would never have to worry about internal lights giving him away.
“But I think we’re quite alone now, wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Ivanov?” asked Raidan.
“There’s a lot of debris on the scopes, but nothing that could hide a ship. We’re safe for now.”
“All right then, bring up the main lights.”
In a snap the bridge filled with light from all angles. One light caught Calvin directly in the eyes, forcing him to squint. When he opened his eyes fully again, he saw Raidan more clearly, looking neither happy nor unhappy, and the mysterious person standing next to him, wearing a commander’s uniform, was none other than Tristan.
“You—?” asked Calvin, unsure what to think. Immediately his mind struggled to connect the dots. Tristan had been stranded in space, then he was taken aboard the Nighthawk—got free from his cell but was recaptured on the ship, only to be transferred to the port authority on Aleator, where he’d shown up to help Calvin fight off his attackers on Aleator One, and now … he was here.
“Surprised to see me?” Tristan asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Calvin. He turned to Raidan. “What is he doing here?”
Raidan made a subtle grin. “I expect you have many questions,” said Raidan. “But first we need to set course for Gemini and jump as soon as possible.”
Calvin saw a piece of debris float past the window, and his thoughts shifted. “Wait.”
Raidan looked curious.
“What about the Nighthawk? Have you seen it? Did it escape the Rotham ship?” Calvin almost didn’t want to know the answer. Any number of things could have prevented the Nighthawk from escaping in time. And, unlike the mighty Harbinger, it couldn’t withstand a powerful shock wave or impacts with debris. “Did my ship, my crew, survive?” he asked, keeping his voice calm even though his heart thundered.
“See for yourself,” said Raidan, pointing at the window. “Fifty degrees starboard.”
And, much more gracefully than Calvin would have expected, the Harbinger rotated until a small glossy black ship was in view. Only visible because of its white-and-blue identifier lights. Of course Summers would turn those on; it’s the law.
Seeing the ship, in one piece, filled him with relief. And his breathing became easier. “I’m glad to see they’re all right …” he said, almost laughing with joy, then he paused. “They must think I’m dead. Contact my ship, and inform them I’m alive and aboard.” He realized the last part sounded like a command so he added, “Please.”
“We’ve already contacted your ship,” said Raidan. “That’s why they’re holding position. But it might mean a lot to hear your voice. If you’d like, we can patch you through a direct channel.”
“I would like that.”
“But, Calvin”—Raidan paused—”when we go to Gemini, we all go together.”
Calvin wasn’t sure what to think of that.
“It is not safe here, trust me,” added Raidan.
“What’s at Gemini?” Calvin asked, even though he had nowhere else to go. He was a criminal now, and Raidan was his best chance at getting to the bottom of everything. But, on the other hand … Gemini was across the border into Polarian space.
“You’ll just have to trust me. It’s not safe here,” said Raidan again, cautiously sidestepping the question.
“I see,” said Calvin. “In that case, who is at Gemini?” he pressed him.
“I promise I will tell you what I can,” said Raidan. “But we don’t have time for that before we go. We have to leave at once.” He was deadly serious.
“All right,” said Calvin, not sure what other good options he had—if any. “I’ll tell my ship to follow your flotilla to Gemini.”
“Excellent,” said Raidan.
“But I want immediate access to your medical facilities and the transfer of all my injured personnel.”
“Agreed,” said Raidan, and he ordered his officers to assist Calvin.
They ushered him over to one of the comm stations, and he put on the headset while the com
ms officer hailed the ship. Calvin heard a beep, and the comms officer gave him a thumbs-up; the Nighthawk had accepted the connection.
“Hello,” said Calvin, not really sure what was technically the proper thing to say.
“Calvin?” It was Sarah’s voice, and, despite her usual calmness, she shrieked excitedly and yelled in the background to the rest of the bridge.
Calvin thought he heard Miles’s deep voice in the ambience but wasn’t sure over the headset. “Yeah, it’s me,” said Calvin. “I’m all right. I escaped the blast by coming aboard the Harbinger.”
“I can’t believe it …” said Sarah.
“What’s your status?” asked Calvin. “Did everyone make it?”
Sarah’s voice became sober. “Not everyone.”
“I see.” He wasn’t ready to ask who didn’t survive. “Do you have enough primary crew to operate the ship?”
“Affirmative. We can crew the ship. What are your orders?”
“Dock with the Harbinger to receive medical supplies and transfer our wounded. Their medical officers are permitted aboard. Once that is complete, set course for Gemini, exact heading will be sent from the Harbinger. You’re to consider it the flagship for the time being.”
“Uh … yes, sir,” said Sarah.
She didn’t hide her confusion well. And Calvin knew his crew was wondering if Calvin was giving these orders under duress; all he could do was hope Summers wouldn’t countermand his orders and have the ship do something else. He tried to think of something to say but knew nothing would convince her. Still … he had to try.
“And tell Commander Summers …” said Calvin. He was going to try to pressure her but midsentence changed tactics, knowing a firm hand didn’t work on her if she thought she outranked him, which she did. “Tell her … that I appreciate her efforts. And that all will be explained to her satisfaction once we arrive.”
“Okay …” said Sarah, sounding even more confused, but she passed along the message exactly.
“Did she get it?”
“Message received,” said Sarah.
“Good …” He paused. “Cross out.”
The comms officer terminated the call.
“Summers Presley is on your ship?” Raidan asked as Calvin stood up.
“Yes,” said Calvin, surprised at the incredulous look on Raidan’s face. Somehow he’d always assumed Raidan knew this. After all he seemed to know everything else.
“What a small Empire this really is …” He shook his head. “She’s not still mad at me, is she?”
“I think she is.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He sighed. “But I guess it can’t be helped. She’s fantastic. I’m sure you found her to be an exceptional officer.”
Calvin hesitated. “Something like that.”
Raidan chuckled then looked to his helmsman. “Mr. Watson, once our docking operation is complete, get us underway.”
“Yes, sir. Jump to 85 percent potential?”
“That’ll do nicely,” said Raidan, then he turned to another officer. “Mr. Mason, you have the deck.” He looked back at Calvin. “Well then, shall we take this conversation to the privacy of my office?”
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 79
