Книга: The Phoenix Crisis

The Phoenix Crisis

Book Three of The Phoenix Conspiracy Series

by Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold for profit, however I (the author) don’t really care if you share it with others. In fact I do not support DRM and refuse to include it on any platform that gives me the option. Just keep in mind that at the time of publication I am an indebted student and every purchase is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your support and understanding.

Note to the reader: this is Book Three in an ongoing series. If you have not read the first book The Phoenix Conspiracy it may be found on itunes, nook, kindle, and other platforms.

Chapter 1

There wasn’t much to the apartment. Its dull brown carpet was about as noticeable as a black dog in a dark room, and the cheaply assembled furniture did nothing to give life to the place. Even the monotony of the blank white walls was only broken up by the even more boring replica artwork that hung on the vacant surfaces. There was nothing special about this place, nothing that separated it from the countless other rental flats that filled so many of the massive buildings scraping the skies of Capital World. But, Blackmoth supposed, it was a fitting enough place for a man to die.

He’d tracked his prey to this location and had watched the man’s routine over the past several days. For such a wealthy man, he’d spent almost nothing on security. Other than altering his appearance and making a crass effort to blend in with the planet’s lower classes, he’d taken no measures to protect himself. No doubt he believed he’d disappeared. Fallen off the grid. Vanished into the ether.

Not that it mattered in the least. Even if he’d put all his billions of q into saving his life and built himself an impregnable fortress constantly guarded by thousands of soldiers, it would have made no difference. Yanal Kemmer’s number was up. The false masters wanted him dead. And God had agreed. Blackmoth was merely a weapon. And a weapon in the hands of the One True God never dulled, could never be blocked, and—most importantly—never failed to reach its target. So, in truth, Yanal had been doomed from the beginning. The events of this night were merely the fulfillment of an eternal contract—the consequences of which had always been inevitable. Written in the stars before any world ever came to be.

Just over six minutes, he thought. He was sure that was right, even though he had no time piece to check. Instead he relied on his well-honed internal clock. A gift from the One True God. He had no need for anything else. The mechanical tools of men, be they gears, crystals, or electronics, it made little difference; none could hope to be truer than the whispers of the One True God.

As he waited he brushed his sleeve. Thinking of the gruesome scar hidden behind the cloth. It was large and the old wound had been cut deep. It was the kind of scar that people took notice of, the kind that drew unwanted attention. Blackmoth would be a poor servant of the One True God if he couldn’t be invisible when he needed to be. His life’s work had ever been about achieving results, not about getting noticed. Or getting caught. Certainly the One True God could deliver him from such a situation, but the One True God would never accept the services and offerings of one so careless, Blackmoth was sure. So he always wore something to cover the self-inflicted scar. To hide the unworthy from the symbol of his pure devotion.

Blackmoth took up a position in the hallway, just out of sight of the door. He breathed silently and slowly, but remained ever alert. Ever vigilant. Taking note of every creak and moan, the rumble of air through the vents, even the faint scratching of something going on in the apartment directly above. None of it was the Truth. He waited, his mind filtering through the different noises like air currents shifting away the fog. And then the Truth was before him. He could hear Yanal’s footsteps approach the door.

Blackmoth tensed and readied himself.

The sound of an electronic key sliding through a lock. A beep of approval.

Blackmoth put his left hand into his pocket and felt his fingers curl around the Gift of God.

The door opened and someone entered. Blackmoth listened to the sounds, almost able to see the events in his purified mind’s eye. The newcomer closed and locked the door, put away his jacket, and activated the apartment’s dim lamp. Blackmoth could tell by the weight of the footsteps that it was Yanal. Once he heard Yanal approach, Blackmoth came out from around the corner.

He knew he was a terrifying sight, especially to one not expecting him. He was tall and his well-developed muscles, perfectly toned, were easy to make out through his tight shirt and exposed arms. Yanal’s eyes widened when he saw him and his mouth opened, ready to shriek. But not fast enough.

Like a blur, Blackmoth closed the distance and in a single motion grabbed hold of Yanal so he couldn’t flee and clamped a large, iron-like hand over the man’s mouth and nose while pressing the man’s chest firmly against the wall with his other hand. Yanal struggled as violently and desperately as he could, arms flailing, pounding against Blackmoth, legs trying to kick and break free. But it was like a fish flapping against the jaws of a bear. Its efforts fruitless, its fate sealed. The One True God had decided Yanal’s fate long ago; there was nothing he could do to escape it.

Blackmoth kept Yanal pinned to the wall with his right hand while his left withdrew the Gift of God from his pocket. He raised it so Yanal could see—the very large hypodermic needle gleamed in the faint lamplight.

Yanal tried to bite Blackmoth’s fingers but he ignored the pain and only held his victim steadier. He made a hushing noise, as if he were trying to soothe a frightened animal, while he opened Yanal’s clothes and found the appropriate artery.

“The One True God welcomes your lost soul to his bosom,” Blackmoth said peacefully just before stabbing the needle into Yanal’s artery and injecting the fluid.

Yanal lurched and made one final struggle, attempting to kick and break free, but Blackmoth held him firmly.

“As the bringer of darkness I welcome you into the arms of the One True God. In His name—a name I am unworthy to speak—I usher you into the fires and ices of His judgment. May your broken soul find peace and absolution in the darkness. And know that when this universe passes away, along with the million more that follow it, we will meet again my brother.”

He held Yanal until every last trace of fight had gone out of him. As Yanal’s body suffered the effects of a stroke and he slowly died of air embolism, Blackmoth held him. Only when Blackmoth was sure Yanal was dead did he allow the corpse to fall to the floor.

“One-thousand four-hundred and ninety-seven,” he whispered as he bent down and inspected the corpse’s vital signs, verifying that the One True God’s work had been done. Blackmoth had killed that many people over the years, and in almost as many ways. He’d killed and murdered on almost every planet in the Empire. And still he’d never been caught. He’d mastered the deadly arts beyond anyone he’d ever heard of and knew how to kill as swiftly and as cleanly as he liked. He could contaminate and destroy the evidence if he wanted to, but sometimes left evidence behind deliberately, just for the sport of it.

He reached into Yanal’s jacket and withdrew a small book of cigars. He lit one and then used its fiery end to burn the skin on Yanal’s body where he’d inserted the needle. He left the cigar there, still alight, as though Yanal had collapsed from his stroke while enjoying one of his outrageously expensive smokes.

Blackmoth’s own clothes had been selected to keep back his own flakes of hair, skin, and other DNA traces. He wore long tight sleeves and gloves as well as net over his face and head. However it was an unnecessary precaution, even if he had left traces of his DNA on the scene, as he sometimes did, the evidence would only be useful in proving to Intel Wing that someone else had been at the murder scene, not tell them who. They’d never in a thousand years connect the evidence to Blackmoth. He was off the grid. And had been for over a decade. Even he barely remembered his true name and the person he used to be.

Ten years of faithful service to the One True God had not erased the sins of his past. Not even a hundred years would. Or even a hundred million slayings in the service of that God. He was a sinner and as unworthy as the next soulless, lifeless husk of a person that inhabited this part of the galaxy—or any part, really.

He took a moment to pray for his sins, and to pray for Yanal’s soul, and then he left. It was time to report to his false masters that the deed had been done.

***

Raidan sat in his office on the ISS Harbinger and slowly tapped his fingers on the cedar desk. The nearby bottle of whiskey was as empty as the black space around the ship and, though he tried to concentrate, he found himself preoccupied. There was a lot going on, more than most people could possibly know. And managing it all was proving to be a delicate balancing act. More than ever he needed his resources in position. And as he received regular updates from The Organization’s eyes on Renora—which was becoming more violent by the day, and was about to get a whole lot bloodier—the bleakness of the situation was almost overwhelming. And not for the first time he wished he was the sort of person who could turn his back to the whole thing and drink himself into a quick and happy grave.

There was a beep on the nearby intercom. He tapped the button. “What is it?”

“Message coming in, sir,” reported Mister Mason. “Highest priority.”

“I’ll take it in here,” he replied.

“Aye, sir.”

He shot a forlorn glance at his empty whiskey bottle and thought the universe was quite an unfair place when liquor was allowed to run dry and the steady stream of bad news showed no sign of relenting.

“Raidan,” said a new voice over the speaker. “Are you alone?”

“I am,” he replied. He knew the voice transmitting to him over kataspace belonged to Mira Pellew, one of his most trusted lieutenants, and perhaps the most ruthless.

“I have news from Capital World. It’s regarding Yanal…”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” asked Raidan.

“Yes… how did you—?”

“Rebecca Hewitt, Apu Malhotra, Bradley Porter, and now Yanal Kemmer… and all within the last three days.” This was the latest and most high profile case in the ever-growing list of Organization assets found dead on Capital World. Obviously they were being identified and eliminated by the Phoenix Ring. Someone was going to great efforts to curtail the Organization’s operation there. If these slayings continued, their resources there would evaporate. As it was, the loss of Yanal would be a devastating financial blow.

“I’m sorry…” said Mira. “I know he was a friend of yours.”

Raidan took in a cold, deep breath before replying. Yanal had been something of a friend. But this was war. And Yanal wasn’t the first friend Raidan had lost to it. “How did they do it this time?” he finally asked.

“He was ambushed in his own apartment. Local authorities ruled the death was from natural causes. Apparently he had a stroke while smoking a cigar.”

“Foolish Yanal…” said Raidan. He’d warned the man to at least keep a group of personal bodyguards around at all times. It wasn’t like Yanal couldn’t have afforded it.

“Yanal is a lost cause, but I believe there are others in danger.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” said Raidan wondering who might be the Phoenix Ring’s next target. “How many other high priority assets remain on Capital World that have declined to evacuate the system?”

“Fourteen. There are other people whose lives are in danger too, plenty of low level operators and the like, but as for high value civilian assets… there are fourteen left on Capital World, though none as high value as Yanal .”

“Use any local resources we can and try to secure them, in the meantime I will talk to White Rook about the option of securing and removing them by force, for their own good.”

“They won’t like that.”

“True,” said Raidan, pressing his hands together. “But disgruntled assets are still more useful than dead ones.”

“What I’d like to know is how our people are being made. Somehow information is leaking out of the Org and into Phoenix Ring ears,” said Mira. “I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault—perhaps I should have destroyed all of the shuttles. Instead of sparing one.”

Raidan frowned. He understood what she was implying but he doubted her conclusion was correct. “You spared that one shuttle under my recommendation. You yourself showed me the surveillance footage that clearly indicated that Calvin had a secret meeting with Rafael Te Santos on board the Nighthawk when the Nighthawk was in Gemini. I am sure Calvin gave Te Santos an important assignment, if his shuttle had shared the fate of the others… that assignment would never have been completed.”

“Frankly, sir, I don’t trust Cross. And I think you should be more cautious in your trust of him as well. For all we know he instructed Rafael to leak the extent of his investigation to the Intel Wing resources, perhaps to the Phoenix Ring itself.”

“Now that’s just being paranoid.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, there were three other surviving Nighthawk deserters on that shuttle besides Rafael Te Santos, and any one of them could be leaking the Nighthawk’s findings to the Phoenix Ring. Knowingly or not.”

Raidan supposed that was true. And perhaps Mira had a point. It would have been a tidier sweep if he’d allowed her to destroy all of the shuttles. But he couldn’t get past the nagging intuition that Calvin had been up to something, and killing Te Santos would have thrown a wrench into it. “For what it’s worth, Mira, I hope you’re right. If the information leak is coming from one of the Nighthawk’s former crew then that well will dry up soon. Calvin’s investigation into the Organization had to have been both short and limited. Anyone who took that lucky shuttle to Capital World won’t know much.”

“With respect, if I’m right, we could have prevented the loss of Yanal and several others.”

Raidan was through debating the issue. Perhaps Mira was right, perhaps not. There was no way to know for sure. All Raidan knew was that Calvin had seemed to trust Rafael and that meant Raidan didn’t want to obstruct him. Hopefully his trust in Calvin wasn’t misplaced. There were very important things left for Calvin to do, beginning with the chat they would have once the Nighthawk and Harbinger met for the scheduled rendezvous. Time was running out and important decisions had to be made. Until then Raidan had work to do and discussing the sunken past with Mira wasn’t worthy of his time. “I understand your dissent, Mira, now go follow my orders. Secure our remaining assets on Capital World as best you can.”

“Understood, sir.”

Raidan cut the line. He then took out his stationary and began penning a note to White Rook—the only way he could communicate with her:

“In light of recent events I formally request that permission be granted to forcibly remove our remaining assets on Capital World and impose maximum security measures until the situation is better understood. I believe that Yanal’s death, and the others before him, are just the beginning. A. R.”

Chapter 2

Calvin’s wrist throbbed and there were sharp moments of pain if he moved his hand at an angle or tried to lift anything heavy but Rain had assured him it was only a sprain. Of the away party that had landed on Remus, he’d been one of the luckiest survivors, no broken bones and only superficial cuts, bruises, and scratches. No lasting injuries. He was grateful for that but felt a sickness in his stomach when he thought of the others and how they’d faired, especially Shen who remained unconscious and confined in the infirmary under constant watch and guard. Calvin doubted he’d ever see his friend conscious again, despite Rain’s stubborn belief that Shen could be saved. Calvin had seen Remorii toxins firsthand and if there was any one truth about them, it was that they were unstoppably lethal.

The door opened and Calvin glanced up to see Summers enter the CO’s office. He waved her in and the door slid shut behind her. They were alone.

“Good, I was hoping you’d get here soon,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He’d originally instructed her to come to his office right away but on second thought decided to allow her to finish her current duties first—mostly so he’d have enough time to organize his thoughts. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he should broach the subject at hand.

“I got here as soon as I could,” she said, giving him a curious look. He hadn’t told her what this meeting was about—just that it was important and she should come see him as soon as her duties permitted. “Figuring out how all the shifts will be covered while loaning a good portion of our crew to the Arcane Storm has proven to be a difficult challenge.”

The mysterious ship they’d found abandoned in dead space had been taken in tow. A handful of people had already boarded, just enough to fly the vessel. But Calvin had assigned Summers to select an adequate crew to leave the Nighthawk temporarily and help manage all of the Arcane Storm’s many systems. The inevitable result was that both the Nighthawk and the Arcane Storm would be understaffed.

“I’m giving command of the Arcane Storm to Second Lieutenant Vargas while it is under our control,” said Calvin. Vargas had become the de facto second officer since Vincent Rose’s death, even though Calvin had never officially assigned him to fill the position.

“Yes, I am aware,” said Summers. “And I approve. Vargas has been in command of Red Shift since Abia and all of Red Shift are among the officers I’ve assigned to transfer to the Arcane Storm. Was that what you wanted to see me about?”

Calvin tapped his fingers and looked away for a moment. He had mixed feelings about what he was about to say. But, considering how the situation had developed, and that he had a critical decision to make, and no more time to make it—and that he needed to trust somebody—and Summers had really proven herself in the Remus action, he decided it was worth it. Even though it meant going against his word.

“Sir?” she asked, her eyes probing him. He realized he’d been unresponsive a bit too long.

He swallowed and accepted that what he was about to do was the right thing. “Summers… I’m not allowed to tell you what I’m about to tell you…”

She perked up.

“I gave my word that I would not share this information.”

She said nothing to interrupt him but he could see the hunger in her eyes, signaling him to keep talking.

“But the situation has come to a head and I have to make an important decision. I don’t want to make that decision without having someone else check my logic. I don’t want to make this decision alone, and on this ship… there’s no one here whose insight I value more.” His eyes met hers and he could see how pleased and pleasantly surprised she was behind her cold exterior. She fought a smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now to get right to it,” said Calvin, “do you remember when we were pursuing Raidan and I ordered the ship off mission to—”

“Tau System, yes I remember.”

“Well prior to going there I was sent a message from Kalila Akira.”

“The princess?”

“Yes. She asked me to go there and meet with her, and so that’s what I did.”

Summers’ eyes widened. She almost seemed skeptical. Such a claim probably sounded absurd—a member of the royal family asking a random mid-level military officer to meet her in secret, not the most common of occurrences certainly. But Calvin could tell that, despite Summers’ instinctive skepticism, she believed him. After all, he had no motive to make up such a ridiculous story.

“What did she want?” prodded Summers gently.

“She was very interested in our pursuit of Raidan. She wanted me to follow Raidan and collect intelligence on his organization and to not interfere with his actions.”

“A direct violation of your orders from Intel Wing and the Fleet.”

“Exactly,” said Calvin. “And there’s more. She kept her presence on Tau Station secret from the station’s personnel. She was in disguise—almost looked like she was in hiding—and she told me specifically to keep quiet about the fact that we met.”

“And have you met since?”

“No,” said Calvin. “I’ve barely heard a word from her. But now she wants to meet with me again, and she claims it’s urgent. She asked me to divert the ship to rendezvous with her as soon as possible.”

“I see,” said Summers, “and did she give any details as to what this is about?”

“Only that it’s urgent and the window of opportunity is closing,” said Calvin.

Summers folded her arms. “So what’s the problem?”

“Raidan asked me to rendezvous with him. And, like Kalila, he claims that it’s urgent I meet with him, that he has something critical to tell me that he won’t trust to kataspace.”

“And I take it you can’t do both?”

“Raidan wants to meet at Lyra Minor and Kalila gave me a set of coordinates that lead the other way, the timeframe I have is now about twenty-two hours for each of them. It was never possible to meet with them both.”

“At least, not possible for you to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you could send someone on your behalf to meet with one and then you could meet with the other. The Arcane Storm could go to Raidan and the Nighthawk could go to Kalila.”

“That’s one option,” said Calvin. In truth he hadn’t decided whether or not it would be wise to let the Arcane Storm out of his sight. He’d promised to deliver it to Raidan, but a part of him had hoped to be there when the ship was torn apart from bow to stern to uncover all of its many mysteries. Another complication that Summers seemed to be downplaying was that, given his past conversations with Kalila and Raidan, Calvin doubted either would accept him sending one of his inferiors to meet on his behalf. “I’d have to go to Kalila, she’s under the impression that I haven’t told anyone about our meeting. And, until a few seconds ago, I hadn’t.”

“I could go to Raidan,” a fire showed in her eyes when she said the name. Clearly she still had strong feelings for him—mostly negative. “Vargas can remain here and I can take command of the Arcane Storm. Whatever Raidan has to say to you he can say to me.”

Calvin saw some logic in that plan, but he didn’t want Raidan and Summers’ history to become an issue. Calvin also didn’t want Summers to leave the Nighthawk. It was a strange feeling—more gut intuition than anything else—but he knew he’d be more comfortable if Summers remained. “Actually I think I’ll continue with the crew assignments as they’ve been given. Vargas will go aboard the Arcane Storm and meet with Raidan; you’ll remain here on the Nighthawk.”

Summers looked hurt. She masked it well but Calvin was starting to get to know her. The last thing he needed was for her to again doubt that Calvin trusted her. “And, the minute I’ve finished my meeting with Kalila I’d like to have you around to discuss the new information.”

Summers nodded, accepting this reasoning.

“Just… tell me one thing,” said Calvin. “Am I making the right choice? Choosing Kalila over Raidan?”

“Raidan cannot be trusted,” said Summers with a flat simplicity to her voice as if her statement was one of the axioms that defined the universe.

“But can Kalila?” asked Calvin. He wanted to trust the princess, she was remarkable, and had this… profound effect on him. Her words stirred him and every moment in her presence was more pleasant than he would like to admit. She affected his objectivity, and he knew it. He didn’t want his feelings for Kalila—as weak or strong as they were—to impair his judgment. “After all, she is the Empire’s most wanted fugitive.”

“When her ship attacked Renora,” said Summers, “someone gave the order to fire, but it might not have been Kalila. Whether it was her or not, I’m sure she has a valuable perspective on the situation. Meeting with her might be an opportunity to get information you can’t get from anyone else, not even Raidan.”

That was true, Calvin supposed. Despite everything Raidan seemed to know, he probably had no more information on Kalila than Calvin did. “It is a golden opportunity. It might also be a trap. If Kalila’s ship was taken by a hostile force, and that force wanted to eliminate us, she could have sent her message to me under duress, to lure the Nighthawk to its death.”

“We have the stealth system.”

“We had it in Abia as well,” said Calvin, “and a lot of good it did us there…”

“I don’t know the right answer,” said Summers. “But I would rather take my chances with Kalila Akira than Raidan. Raidan claims to be serving the crown. The Akiras are the crown.”

It was what Calvin had wanted to hear. He wanted to go to Kalila. Despite everything she was accused of, and everything he didn’t know about her, and everything Raidan had already done for him—including saving his life—Calvin’s innermost feelings told him to choose Kalila. He just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out from her what was going on.  He made himself a promise that by choosing Kalila he wouldn’t let himself become her pawn; the next time he saw her, he would demand to be told everything.

“Anything else, Lieutenant Commander?” asked Summers.

“No, thank you, that will be all.” He watched Summers go, so stunningly beautiful and yet so cold. She disappeared and the door closed, leaving Calvin alone.

There was one more variable that Calvin hadn’t brought up. The Roscos had sent him a list of stolen materials—weapon components—that were probably acquired by Raidan while his people were on Aleator. The use of such a weapon—one that could create irreversible damage to a planet’s ecosystem—was something Calvin hoped Raidan incapable of. He’d wanted to share this intelligence with Summers but hadn’t wanted to divulge his source was the Roscos. His relationship with the galaxy’s premiere criminal outfit and his family’s past dealings with them wasn’t a subject he was eager to discuss with Summers, or anyone else for that matter. And certainly would require a lengthy conversation that he wasn’t even remotely in the mood to have.

Calvin wondered if this decision would ruin him as an asset to Raidan, and possibly cut him off from much needed supplies, resources, and information. The Nighthawk had taken a severe beating from its brush with the Phoenix in Remus and would need to be resupplied and repaired, it also needed replacement personnel. Calvin could think of no way to obtain these resources except through Raidan and his Organization.

A peace offering had to be made. At the very least, some kind of fool’s apology that Raidan would accept. Since Vargas wouldn’t know that Calvin was going to meet with Kalila—and that such a meeting was urgent—Raidan was sure to think Calvin had blown him off. Perhaps if Calvin gave Raidan something valuable, it would undo some of the sting of that injury?

He got out of his chair and abruptly marched for the door. It was time to get more answers from their captive—whether he was medically strong enough for further interrogation or not.

***

The Nighthawk had come to a full stop. Officially it sat in dead space so it could transfer personnel to the grossly understaffed Arcane Storm. Alex had no reason to doubt that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was indeed the whole story. Perhaps Calvin had commanded the ships to stop because he hadn’t yet determined where their next heading was, or perhaps he was waiting for something. Whatever the plan was now, Calvin was being mum on specifics.

Alex had spent some time on the bridge, gleaning what information he could, but none of the officers—not even the junior officers—had let slip anything about the Nighthawk’s next destination—if they even knew.

Alex wasn’t sure whether or not to be alarmed by this. After all, the last time the ship’s destination had remained classified—when they’d gone to the lycan base on Echo Three—Alex had been in the know. But then again, so had Tristan and Pellew, and from what Alex could tell neither of them had been told any new information. Only Summers, the ship’s XO, had met with Calvin privately. And Alex had gotten a good enough read on her to know that trying to get information to slip through her vice-like human jaws wasn’t worth the effort. She was a vault. Her cold, guarded nature seemed almost Rotham in a way and Alex respected that.

Still… if Alex hadn’t been made yet, that didn’t mean he was in the clear. At least not so long as the loose ends remained. He stood ready, waiting. Knowing that time was not on his side and he needed to act swiftly. The moment the opportunity appeared.

Eventually Alex’s patience bore fruit. As he stood on the Nighthawk’s bridge, ostensibly gazing through the window out at the Arcane Storm—but actually paying very close attention to the goings on of the bridge—Calvin finally emerged from the CO’s office.

“Hey Cal,” the defense officer acknowledged him; he was big even for a human. With a thick beefiness that made Alex wonder what the man would taste like after being roasted over a spit. Strictly speaking Rotham didn’t eat humans, at least not since the peace agreement was signed, but Alex was old enough to remember the experience. And, while not all humans tasted alike, the kind that tended to look like the defense officer usually resulted in good texture.

“Miles,” said Calvin, shooting the defense officer a glance of acknowledgement. He didn’t stop or even slow his pace toward the elevator. Just as Alex hoped.

Once Calvin had disappeared below decks Alex subtly made his way to the CO’s office and entered. His presence in the CO’s office would be noted, which meant he needed to come up with an excuse. He wandered over to the captain’s console on the desk—the same computer station Tristan was allowed to use to periodically keep in contact with Raidan. Alex had not been granted computer privileged to transmit information off the ship, nor could he peruse much of the ship’s archive.

He made a half-hearted attempt to send a message off the ship to one of the Rotham colonies. The ship—which had a communications lockout in place—blocked his attempt and logged that it had been made. The body of his message, which had been typed, was innocent enough. It was made to look like an effort on his part to re-establish contact with his Advent unit and alert them to the existence of isotome weapons, and let them know that while some had been destroyed, it was entirely possible that more existed. When Calvin reviewed the contents of the message he would probably not find it suspicious. Satisfied, Alex set to task on the real reason he was here.

He walked over to the air vent behind the CO’s desk and using a screwdriver he’d concealed on his person, loosen and remove the grate. He knew that Cassidy had been assigned the task of searching the top deck for listening devices—so Calvin could identify the mole that had leaked information to Intel Wing—it was Alex’s intention to make sure Cassidy found one.

He removed the listening device from one of his pockets. He checked it over, making sure that it still included the DNA material that he’d planted on it, and then he proceeded to plant the device in the ductwork near the grate. He swiftly returned the grate to its proper place and left the office. Phase one complete.

“You tried to send a message didn’t you?” asked Miles, the big defense officer, once Alex was back on the bridge. “The computer blocked and flagged it.”

“Guilty,” replied Alex in a ginger tone.

A big smile spread across the human’s face. “You know,” he wagged a finger at Alex, “you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“I suppose not.”

***

“I’d like more information from our captive,” Calvin said almost the minute he stepped into the infirmary. Rain stood in front of the captive—who’d been taken from the surface of Remus Nine—he was strapped down to a hospital bed and kept perfectly immobile. A special forces soldier stood nearby, armed.

“I too have some questions for our prisoner,” said Rez’nac. The tall, muscular Polarian flanked Calvin; he was the only Polarian left on the ship—the rest had been moved to the Arcane Storm already—Calvin had asked him to remain a little longer to help interrogate the prisoner. Tristan had wanted to come as well—he was itching to continue the brutal questioning he’d started already—but Calvin had intentionally left him out of it. The last thing he wanted was for their prisoner to be tortured to death.

“Rain?” asked Calvin, noticing that the doctor hadn’t yet turned around. She was looking down at her patient.

“Human healer,” said Rez’nac. “The prisoner has much to answer for, his actions resulted in the return of many of my brothers to the Essences. He will answer our questions.”

At last Rain turned around and faced them. She pulled off her gloves and showed a look of puzzlement and sorrow on her face. “I’m afraid that will be difficult,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Rez’nac.

“There has been an interesting development,” she replied and then stepped out of the way, gesturing for them to get a good look at their injured prisoner.

The man no longer resembled the living being he’d been on the surface of Remus Nine. As an Enclave operative, Calvin had assumed the creature they’d taken—who’d looked perfectly human—had been a strigoi Remorii. If not that, then certainly he had to be human. But now, judging by the looks of him—if this even was him—he was something else entirely. A kind of warped alien life-form that Calvin had never before encountered.

Calvin’s brain had trouble processing what he saw. “Is… he dead?” The question felt almost rhetorical. The color in the man’s skin had faded to a dull grey and his limbs and torso had shrunk a few inches and held a rigid, constricted pose. Strangest of all was his face… if one could call it that. The eyes, nose, and mouth were gone. There was no hair, nor any discerning features. It seemed almost blank.

“The patient died a few minutes ago,” said Rain.

Calvin shook his head, disbelieving. “There’s no way this is the same guy we took from Remus Nine…”

“It is. And he held his form for a remarkable amount of time. When the transformation finally did happen, it happened swiftly.”

“And… you’re quite sure he’s dead?” asked Calvin as he leaned over the corpse and looked it over. It had a rubbery look and he resisted the urge to poke it.

“Yes,” said Rain. “And while I’m not one-hundred percent certain what constitutes life for this kind of organism, he has no vitals as we know them. And, after performing a scan, it seems he no longer has organs either. His innards have merged into some kind of… non-functional goop. I take that as a pretty good indicator that he’s dead. But I don’t claim to understand any of this.”

“Yeah,” Calvin said, again shaking his head. The sight before him was one that he wouldn’t get out of his mind easily—not for a long time—but for as grotesque as it was, it didn’t disgust him. It was more fascinating than revolting. And there was no foul deathly stench like one might expect. “I don’t understand it either.”

“I do,” said Rez’nac, finally speaking. Only then did Calvin realize the Polarian had been silent since they were shown the body.

Calvin looked up at Rez’nac—who was several inches taller—and so did Rain. They were both eager for any kind of explanation.

“This creature before you,” said Rez’nac, “is a Qi'laqin—a Faceless One. Believe it or not, he is Polarian.”

Calvin looked from Rez’nac’s hardened grey face to the almost goopish grey mass on the hospital bed. “I don’t believe it.”

Rain went and retrieved a portable scanner and then began comparing a reading she’d taken from a tissue sample to some of Rez’nac’s blood that had been taken when he’d been inoculated for Hylacre Disease.

“And I don’t blame you,” said Rez’nac, keeping his attentive focus on Calvin. Occasionally his eyes would dart to the strange alien corpse and in those black opals Calvin could see a kind of fear. Something that all the many zombies of Remus Nine had failed to elicit from the mighty warrior. “There are dark regions deep in our space, places where no one may go. The Faceless Ones come from there. When the first Essences blessed the galaxy with Polarian life, they originated too. But, in time, over thousands of years, they defied the purpose of their existence and became lost. They ceased to be our brothers and went off on their own. There, in those black, dark places they found—places forbidden to all—they were changed. Unable to commit to the purpose they had once been given, they were damned to have no purpose at all. No identity. No face.”

Calvin realized quickly that Rez’nac meant the Faceless Ones had a part in the Polarian Creation Myth. Calvin wondered if the disparate species could have evolved from the same origin.

“He’s telling the truth,” said Rain, looking at the results on her scanner. “At least, about the deceased sharing genes with Polarians. I wouldn’t call the deceased a Polarian but undoubtedly he and Rez’nac here share a common ancestor.”

Rez’nac balked at this. “We were brothers. Our kind and his. But we are not descended from the same line! My people are from the mightiest Essences! Khalahar! Formali! Roqir! He and his kind came from the darkness!”

“Okay, okay,” said Rain, “I meant no offense. Just that you evolved from the same—” she paused. “You know what, never mind.”

However the strange creature came to be, it was entirely possible that they lived in the deep regions of Polarian space that Rez’nac spoke of. It was no secret that vast portions of Polarian space were unchartered and unexplored, particularly to non-Polarians. Even the planet where their great spiritual leader, the High Prelain, lived—the Forbidden Planet—was off limits to all but the most choice Polarians. And any attempt to reach that planet by so-called unworthy souls, such as the Rotham attempt made during the Great War, had created a rallying cry across the Polarian Confederacy that swelled their armies with soldiers and resulted in tremendous bloodshed. So the farthest depths of Polarian space still guarded many mysteries that neither Intel Wing nor the Advent had ever managed to unlock… so far as Calvin knew.

“Rez’nac,” said Calvin, again looking down at the body. “I find it interesting that this Faceless One was able to have such a human-like face when we met him. So convincingly human that it even fooled you and all of your men.”

“The Faceless Ones have a dark gift. They can steal faces from others.”

Calvin thought of the doppelganger Raidan had seen aboard the Harbinger, the two Raidans together, side by side, nearly exact in every determining way. Raidan had called them replicants. “Can the Faceless Ones steal any face they wish?”

“A Faceless One may only ever steal one face during its life, and he must take in some of the essence of that person before he can steal his face.”

“That explains why there is token genetic material in the corpse not original to the organism,” said Rain. She put on new gloves and moved over to the corpse where she dug through the goo-like substance, which now seemed as much fluid as solid in places, and she produced what looked like a small piece of excised bone fragment and tissue.

“So whoever that bone fragment belongs to,” said Calvin, “this bastard took his face, and probably his identity.” He tried to sort out what that implied. If an Enclave agent had been a replicant, did that mean he’d truly been a Phoenix Ring agent posturing for the Enclave? Or did it mean the Enclave had access to replicants as well? Perhaps given to them by the Phoenix Ring. And how was the Phoenix Ring extracting these Faceless Ones from the forbidden, unexplored nether regions of Polarian space? Were they sending expeditions to extract them? Were Polarians cooperating with the Phoenix Ring, perhaps giving them Faceless Ones, or were the Faceless Ones venturing out and getting captured?

“It would be wisest to avoid these creatures if you can,” said Rez’nac. “They are said to bring misfortunate on all those they cross paths with.”

“How did he die?” asked Calvin. “Was it from injuries Tristan gave him during the last interrogation?”

“No,” said Rain. “He seemed to be recovering from those injuries all right, but he was in pain so I administered Xinocodone. The usual dose for a person of his size and weight—or at least what used to be his size and weight at the time—there wasn’t much risk. I certainly didn’t expect this outcome. But, after running some tests, it looks like he had a reaction to the drug and it made him revert back to what I assume is his original state, killing him in the process.”

“Equarius kills replicants?” asked Calvin. “Well I’ll be damned.” The pain-killer that had haunted his life, and nearly poisoned him to death, had a new strategic use. “I want everyone on the ship administered a standard single dose of equarius.”

“Excuse me?” asked Rain.

Calvin gave her a telling look. “There are more creatures out there like this one, more Faceless Ones. I was once warned by Raidan that some of these creatures—he called them replicants—have been switching places with important people inside the Empire. Given the nature of their natural camouflage they could be anywhere.  And, until now, there was no good way to test for replicants. Now there is. Test everyone. I’ll see to it that all personnel and everyone aboard are given orders to report here.”

Rain’s pretty blue eyes met his, testing him, but she didn’t dissent. “All right. But only one dose. The last thing I want on my hands are more recovering equarius addicts.”

Calvin felt the sting of that but let it bounce off him. “Now the question of what to do with the body.” He didn’t like the idea of it being out in the open to unsettle the crew and take up space in the infirmary.

“We should destroy it. Or better yet, shoot it out into space,” said Rez’nac. “The sooner we’re clear of it the better.”

“Actually I was hoping to send it over to the lab for further study. It can safely be kept frozen in a secure storage container over there,” suggested Rain.

Calvin nodded. “As you wish. But only you will have access to it. I don’t want it on display for everyone to gawk at.”

“Of course.”

As Calvin turned to leave he felt a small hand touch his arm. He turned back to see Rain looking up at him. “Calvin,” she said, stopping him from leaving.

“Yes?” he looked at her curiously.

“Are we ever going to have that drink?” she gave him a faint, almost teasing smile. And he could tell she could use the break and would benefit from the diversion. In truth, so would he.

“All right,” he said. “How about now?” He didn’t have a lot of time—he needed to send the Arcane Storm on its way and then give the order to meet up with Kalila—but he supposed he could spare a few minutes.

Chapter 3

The computer beeped, interrupting Nimoux’s meditation. With a patient breath he cleared his head and uncurled himself from the lotus position. Heavy and perplexed thoughts weighed on his mind. It was something of a personal weakness that he felt off-balance and disharmonious with himself when the picture before him was so very unclear. Ever more he found himself thinking about Calvin Cross and the message the rogue had sent him, accusing the Empire of corruption and conspiracy. Nimoux was not in a position to judge the veracity of the specific accusations, but the feeling they gave him—the intuition that something odd was going on—seemed unshakable.

He moved to his computer terminal and sat down. He glanced over the results of the latest analysis, the screen glow brightly in the dim environment. It was the latest in a series of analyses he’d been doing in his spare time, when not on watch. And with each new tidbit of information, an increasingly interesting puzzle was taking shape.

The data had come from the Desert Eagle’s sweep of Abia System with her new advanced scanners. Nimoux and his crew had been given the assignment recently—though it felt like ages ago—to wipe that area of space clean and destroy any recognizably large pieces of starship debris. Nimoux and his staff had followed their orders and now not so much as a floating bolt remained in Abia to be identified. The information wasn’t gone though. Even though the ruined hulls of the obliterated starships were now space dust, his computers had recorded a great deal of the information. And though, probably, he’d been expected to delete the information, Nimoux found himself instead combing through it intensely. Finding golden nugget after golden nugget.

“ISS Barracuda…” he whispered as the computer positively ID’d a fraction of a battleship’s hull and matched it to the list of ships branded by Intel Wing as “missing”. So far the remains of three Imperial destroyers and two Imperial battleships had been identified, and every one of them occupied a space on the Company’s ever-growing “missing ships” list. Nimoux suspected that the list of AWOL vessels, which at a glance was frighteningly long, wasn’t quite so lengthy after all. It made him start to wonder how many of the ships had been destroyed, and what was motivating the Company to cover up the fact of their destruction, rather than pursuing the truth.

Among the pieces of debris and refuse that the Desert Eagle had scanned were several unidentifiable fragments that belonged to alien vessels. Their schematics, markings, and other information wasn’t in the Imperial database so confirming the ID’s wasn’t possible—although files kept in the Intel Wing archives gave Nimoux some pretty good guesses as to the identities of the alien ships—and from what he could, tell they were Rotham in origin. And not just any run-of-the-mill Rotham ships either, military vessels. Warships.  Not unlike the fleet he’d seen in Imperial space swooping down on Remus System.

As much as Nimoux was afraid to admit it, he couldn’t escape the conclusion that the Rotham Republic and the Empire were at war. Ever since the ceasefire signed at the end of the Great War and the re-creation of the DMZ, the rival powers had continued to wrestle with each other using discrete means: espionage, sabotage, financial pressure, and such tactics, but Nimoux had never expected—and had certainly never heard—that the political powerhouses had resumed their shooting war. He wondered if the firefight in Abia had been only one of many such incidents invisible in the darkness, kept quiet by both the Imperial government and the Republic.

What a strange thing to cooperate on…

The Desert Eagle and the squadron of ships under Nimoux’s temporary command moved silently through alteredspace. Technically their standing orders were still to hunt down the renegade Nighthawk but after witnessing the Rotham fleet in Imperial space firsthand—with its combined strength of over thirty warships—Nimoux’s priorities had changed. Currently he’d ordered his ships to a strategic position that brought them closer to the regions of the Empire patrolled by the Fifth and Sixth Fleets, the forces of the Empire responsible for securing the border to the DMZ. Nimoux believed that even now the Fifth and Sixth Fleets were being scrambled to respond to the Rotham invaders, and that his squadron would soon be called into play to assist. Certainly that was the only reasonable response to the threat.

And he knew the Fleet and Intel Wing were aware of the threat. The instant his forces had safely jumped away from Remus and the inbound Rotham fleet, Nimoux had sent urgent and repeated messages to the Fleet and Intel Wing informing them of this new intelligence—that so many Rotham ships had crossed the DMZ and been spotted inside Imperial space.

What he could not understand was that the Fleet and Intel Wing hadn’t seemed to react to this news. The messages they sent him back were variations on the same theme: “Situation under control. Continue standing orders.”

Nimoux wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did they not care? Or were they simply trying not to involve him? The more he thought about it, the more Calvin’s message came to his mind—warning him of conspiracy and corruption. And Nimoux would feel a chill trace his spine. Then he’d think of the names of the ships that haunted the “missing” and “AWOL” lists like ghosts, silent and dead.

The comm panel next to his computer console beeped. He tapped it. “Nimoux here.”

“Pardon the interruption, Captain,” said the voice of his 2O who currently had the deck. “But we just got the results back from the probe you dispatched to the Xenobe Nebular Region.”

It took a second for Nimoux to even remember that he’d sent a probe. The last thirty hours or so had rattled him pretty thoroughly. “Yes, go ahead,” he said, remembering that the probe was in response to Calvin’s claim that weapons somehow manufactured from isotome were being made and sold, and that they had the potential to devastate entire star systems. Since there was only one spot in the known galaxy that had stable deposits of isotome, and the amounts there had been well cataloged by survey and science teams, any discrepancy would be immediately detected.

“According to the probe’s report… there isn’t any isotome in the Xenobe Nebular Region.”

Nimoux felt a shockwave ripple through him and his eyes grew wide, but he kept the surprise in his voice to a minimum. “The isotome has been completely removed?”

“Or destroyed,” his 2O said. “The data from the probe has no information as to what happened to the isotome, just that it’s gone. Even trace amounts have been removed.”

“Any indication when this happened?”

“The last survey of the region was six weeks ago, so it must have been in the last six weeks.”

Unless the survey team had been fooled, or their results fictionalized... “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir.” The communication ended.

Nimoux did a search of the information he had available—everything from the Intel Wing archives to common news broadcasts, and found nothing about missing isotome, massively destructive weapons, or an ongoing war with the Rotham Republic. There was plenty of speculation about the missing ships, now that Intel Wing had released the list of missing ships to the public but it was all only speculation, and most of it not very logically reasoned, Nimoux found.

Nimoux dressed into his uniform and then, using his console, sent a communique to Capital World, office of the Director of Intel Wing. He was put through to Director Edwards without delay. Edwards didn’t seem surprised to be hearing from Nimoux, they’d spoken several times in the past few days.

“Do you have a report for me on the IWS Nighthawk, Captain?”

“No sir, not yet,” said Nimoux, his voice apologetic. “I do have new findings that you should take an interest in. I will forward all of my data you, Intel Wing Command, and the Fleet, but the short version is this: the isotome in the Xenobe Nebular Region is gone. Either mined or destroyed. Some rumors persist that it is a component in weapons of mass annihilation.”

Edwards gave Nimoux a very neutral look through the display. He seemed neither surprised nor upset by this news. “I’ll look into it,” he said gruffly. “As for you, continue your mission. I expect updates about the Nighthawk within twenty-four hours. Mister Cross has been a fugitive long enough. Take him down. Edwards out.”

The screen went blank.

Nimoux frowned and wondered what the right thing to do was. He’d passed along the information and spread the word. Intel Wing and the Fleet had been given fair warning about the Rotham war fleet, and now the isotome, but was it enough? He had half a mind to take his squadron and head directly to Capital World and inform the Assembly of all of this personally.

Clearly there was a war going on in the shadows and for some reason no one wanted to shine a light on it.

***

“Calvin… may I ask you something?” Rain looked into his eyes. They were seated on chairs in her quarters on either side of a small coffee table she’d brought aboard with the rest of her things.

“Please do,” he said, lifting his glass to take another sip. Because he didn’t drink alcohol—he could pick up on the taste of ethanol from a mile away and had always hated it—his glass was full of a rich dark grape juice. Rain on the other hand was taking tiny sips from her glass of red wine. She limited her alcohol intake since she had to return to duty immediately afterward.

“How are you holding up?” Her wide eyes looked into his and there was the hint of the tiniest smile on her pretty face. Her unkempt hair was as red and as wild as ever, barely kept in line behind her head by a single elastic band, and her whole demeanor showed that, despite how fatigued she was, she had a fighter’s spirit and wouldn’t admit to any weakness.

“What do you mean?” asked Calvin.

“With everything. You’re dealing with a lot. You ran into your estranged father, you’ve had more than your share of Remorii to deal with, and you’ve lost people under your command recently—including your friends. On top of it all you’ve been fighting one of the hardest habits in the galaxy to break.”

“Wow, when you put it like that, I feel like I should be passed out on the floor somewhere, more dead than alive,” Calvin shook his head once and then finished his drink.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I don’t want you to take on too much by yourself. I’m here for you, if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” said Calvin, not quite sure how to respond. It was true that he’d been feeling pretty haggard lately and that he typically kept his complaints to himself. And he was sure that Rain was right, that it was healthier to vent and share one’s concerns with other people, but Calvin also knew his habits weren’t about to change. So he decided to change the subject. “So tell me… has there been any change in Shen’s condition?” He asked the question without flinching, but inside he felt a great deal of turmoil at the thought of his friend fighting in vain against the toxins ravaging his body. First Christine and now Shen, those god damned Remorii…

“Shen’s condition is stable… but only just.” The hint of a smile that had been on her face faded and Rain showed some of the frustration that was undoubtedly boiling inside her. “I admit the virus is persistent, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen, but… don’t give up on Shen.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “We can beat it, I know we can!”

“I hope you’re right.”

There was silence for a minute and Calvin poured himself another half a glass and drank. Rain set aside the remainder of her glass. “As strange as it sounds, Shen isn’t the one I feel bad for,” said Rain. “It’s Sarah. That girl has come to visit at least ten times, and every single time she leaves in tears. I honestly don’t even know what to say to her.”

Calvin nodded. He’d allowed Sarah to remain on temporary leave of absence because she was so clearly emotionally compromised by what’d happened to Shen. The two had been close, best friends as far as Calvin could tell, and now she was in severe grief. It was the first time Calvin had seen Sarah react in such an emotionally striking way to anything. It worried him. “I’m thinking about sending her along with the crew going aboard the Arcane Storm. Maybe a change in setting will help her get perspective and maybe even closure.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Rain. “I know it’ll make my job easier not having Sarah staring over my shoulder. And hopefully, when Sarah returns, Shen will be up and at ‘em, just like old times.”

Calvin couldn’t help but smile at Rain’s optimism. Even if it was simply wishful thinking.

***

Alex waited until 0320 and then made his way to the brig. He gave himself a window of exactly five minutes to get there. And then, right on cue, he saw PFC Tara Larsen setting up to stand guard. Having just replaced the previous special forces soldier that’d been assigned to watch the brig. When he was certain the coast was clear, Alex approached.

“I had a feeling you’d show up,” Tara said, getting a long look at him. There was no approval in her voice but if she’d had any problems with Alex and his offer he would have known by now. Probably because he’d be on the other side of the brig’s force field. Since he wasn’t, he assumed all had gone well.

“You saw your money then?” he asked quietly once he stood about a meter away from her.

“That I did,” she said. “And now that it’s too late to take it back I’ll have you know you paid too much. I would’ve done it for half.”

Alex didn’t say anything. If Tara wanted to believe she’d gotten the better end of the deal, so be it. In truth he would have paid double. So he supposed it averaged out. Just so long as he got what he wanted, all would be well.

“I won’t get in any trouble, will I?” the soldier looked him in the eye. She, like most human females, was smaller than her male counterparts but she was still taller and broader than the average Rotham, including Alex. And she made a show of looking intimidating. He wasn’t afraid of her, despite his size disadvantage he was surprisingly quick and had trained in countless areas of unarmed combat, but he knew it wouldn’t come down to that here. The moment she’d used his passcodes and electronic information to log into one of his slush accounts and accept the bribe, their fates were eternally tied together. Lucky for her, Alex had no intention of letting his actions be discovered. Or hers.

“Nope,” he replied flatly. “So long as you get out of my way and let me do my business.”

Tara nodded. “All right. But be quick about it. You don’t have more than a few minutes. And should any of this fall back on me, I’m taking you down with me. You understand that, lizard?”

Alex ignored the offensive pejorative and forced a smile. An expression that probably looked more devious than friendly on his Rotham face.

“And don’t be gentle,” Tara said. “The bastard deserves worse as far as I’m concerned.” With that she made herself scarce and Alex had some time alone with the prisoner. He walked up to the force field and shut it down.

The prisoner, a foolish young human named Patrick O’Conner, looked up at him with surprise.

“If you try to run I will use it as a chance to kill you,” said Alex.

“Nowhere to go anyway,” Patrick said with a shrug. “So tell me, why am I looking at your ugly face again? Back for more?”

“No, the information you already gave me on Calvin has proven interesting enough. And I’m quite sure that it’s all you have to offer.”

“And the information you gave me about the ship heading to the lycan base on Echo Three proved most accurate as well.”

“Our first and last business together,” said Alex. He’d only exchanged information with the young, foolish human informant because in his assessment of the risk there wasn’t much chance the young human could get word out to his superiors in Intel Wing. Apparently Alex had misjudged the boy’s craftiness. It was almost worthy of a Rotham. Almost.

Unfortunately that meant Patrick had become both a loose end and a liability. A threat to the ship, Alex’s mission, and now Alex himself. Gaining information about Calvin to potentially be used as leverage against him—as a means to protect himself—was only natural, Alex was Advent after all. But the loss of the Nighthawk, especially if it occurred before the isotome weapons were totally destroyed, would have been a tremendous victory for the Rahajiim. And that was unacceptable. Which meant lights out for Patrick, the only one who could implicate Alex in the leaked intelligence.

Alex moved into the cell and climbed up on the bench.

“What are you doing?” asked Patrick. He shifted position, tightening up defensively. Perhaps he expected Alex to attack him. Judging by the bruise on his neck, rumoredly given to him by the ship’s female XO, Alex doubted Patrick was interested in another physical melee. So he ignored the boy and got to work. But he kept his ears alert and would glance down at the young captive every few seconds, just to make sure he wasn’t thinking of doing something stupid—and horribly inconvenient—like escape.

“I said, what are you doing?” asked Patrick a little louder this time. Alex continued to ignore him. He opened the air flow control panel and adjusted some settings. With tools that Tara had furnished him, that fit conveniently into his pockets, and the electric discharge of a common stunner, he sabotaged the alarm, a primary air filter, and one of the small furnaces.

“You know when the Nighthawk is taken into custody, I’ll be free and my name will be clear. And when it is, I’m taking everybody here down,” said Patrick. Alex glanced down at him to see the hot fire in Patrick’s defiant eyes. “Especially you.”

“Well, let me know how that turns out,” said Alex. When he was finished he replaced the cover and stepped down. He gave Patrick a Rotham smirk, an expression that either frightened or disgusted the young human, and then Alex stepped out of the cell. He closed the force field, then went to an air access control panel on the other side of the room. He checked several of the settings, making minor adjustments, and then fried the non-essential components with the stunner.

“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but I won’t forget that you were here. Next time anyone comes to question me, I’m spilling my guts and telling them everything about you. Everything about our little deal. How’s that?” Patrick said, raising his voice over the hum of the force field. “That’s right you Rotham scum, your days are numbered.”

What a coincidence, your minutes are numbered. And it’s not a big number.

“Guess you got me,” said Alex. He gave the prisoner a wave and then left. On his way out he walked past Tara who’d been guarding the doorway leading to the elevator.

“Is it finished?” she asked. He hadn’t entrusted her with the exact details of his plan, but she understood that Alex was there for some vengeance—not technically true, but he supposed it was true enough.

“It’s finished.”

Chapter 4

Calvin gave his dispatches and final instructions to the crew members being diverted to the Arcane Storm. He’d already sent the remaining Polarians over, by now even Rez’nac had made his way onto the other ship.

Crew morale was still broken among the special forces soldiers over the gruesome murder of one of their own, Staff Sergeant Gary Patterson, and now that the Polarian force had been reduced to a meager handful after the devastating losses they’d sustained on Remus Nine, Calvin feared that some of the special forces men would take it upon themselves to avenge themselves upon the surviving Polarians who, as far as Calvin was concerned, had already paid dearly. The murder investigation was ongoing and Calvin intended to get to the bottom of it as fast as he possible could, but in the meantime he decided it would be best to separate the human and Polarian soldiers for the time being. The easiest way to do that was to send the aliens onto the other ship as its security detail. All of the human soldiers, including Pellew, would remain here. Alex would need to stay on the Nighthawk, of course. Since, if he let Raidan and the Organization get that close to the Rotham by sending him with the others aboard the Arcane Storm, it was likely they’d take Alex for themselves and Calvin would lose out on any further intelligence Alex could have given him.

It was Summers’ duty, as the XO, to see that Calvin’s orders were implemented and that the away crew was properly briefed, equipped, and instructed for their mission on the Arcane Storm. All of them had been notified by now and many of them had gone aboard the other ship. All but Sarah, who Calvin intended to speak with in person. He hadn’t seen her since he’d allowed her to be relieved of duty and, although he probably could have made the time to visit her and check up on her, he hadn’t felt comfortable doing so and had made excuses to put it off. Now though, since he intended to send Sarah away for a while, he knew he had to see her. But, before he did, he had one very important errand to complete first.

He reached crew quarters number 407 and rang the chime. The door opened and he saw Second Lieutenant Vargas with a bag under each arm, looking about ready to depart for his new assignment aboard the Arcane Storm. He dropped one of his bags and saluted when he saw Calvin.

Calvin returned the salute and stepped inside.

“Captain.”

“At ease, Vargas,” said Calvin.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“I have some final instructions for you before you go aboard the Arcane Storm.”

Vargas picked up his dropped bag and then gave Calvin his full attention.

“As you know, you are to take command of the Arcane Storm. Rez’nac and the other Polarians are going with you. I can’t speak for the others, but Rez’nac is someone you can depend on. Use him as needed to maintain order.”

“Understood.”

“Also the crew that is going with you, you can depend on them. But as for Tristan, I want you to be wary of him. He has proven useful but also resourceful. Consider him to be Raidan and the Organization’s eyes and ears. Be careful what you say around him, and how you conduct yourself around him, and don’t give him too many liberties.”

“Aye, sir,” said Vargas. There was a slight look of petrification in his face and Calvin was sure that the man, along with so many others of the crew, was actually quite intimidated by Tristan. Fortunately Calvin didn’t expect any trouble from Tristan, but he wanted to give Vargas fair warning just in case.

“You are to maintain regular contact with the Nighthawk and your primary mission is to coordinate with Raidan and the Organization for the Nighthawk to receive new supplies and repairs. Do not surrender control of the Arcane Storm to Raidan until arrangements have been made for the Nighthawk to receive the resources it needs. You and the others will bring the new supplies, along with yourselves, on the Arcane Storm to rendezvous with the Nighthawk. After that Raidan may take possession of the ship, not before. Make sure that message is clear to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one more thing,” Calvin said. He reached into his pocket and handed Vargas a handwritten note. Vargas picked it up and read it.

“I’m sorry that I’m not here to meet with you in person as we agreed. You must trust me, though, that I have very good reasons. The matter I’m attending to is urgent. Also I’ve discovered Xinocodone if administered to a replicant will kill him. Calvin.”

“See that he gets that message,” said Calvin.

“Sir, if I may, what is the urgent matter you are taking the Nighthawk to address?”

“Need to know basis,” said Calvin.

“I understand.”

With that Vargas saluted and Calvin left. He walked to the elevator and took it to the next deck. He followed the corridor. It seemed eerily quiet and empty with so few crew left aboard the ship, he didn’t run into a single person all the way to Sarah quarters. He rang the chime.

No answer came.

He rang the chime again.

No answer.

Feeling suddenly worried, he banged on the door and shouted, “Sarah it’s Calvin. Open the door please.”

If she could hear him through the door, she ignored him. And the door did not budge.

“Sarah, I’m coming in.”

He tried to open it. It was locked.

Calvin opened a panel and input a command override. The door unlocked with a hiss and slid open. The quarters were dark. He stepped inside. “Lights full,” he said and they snapped on.

Sarah lay on the bed. She was curled up and facing away from him. She didn’t seem to be moving. Calvin felt a jolt of fear and ran to her. He grabbed her arm with one hand and went to feel her vitals with his other.

“Calvin,” Sarah said, turning to face him. Her eyes were red, though she wasn’t crying, and she seemed pale.

“Sarah, are you all right?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know.”

Calvin couldn’t believe the sight of her. Sarah was the one who was always so cool under any kind of pressure. Seeing her like this… it was like she was a different person. And Calvin didn’t like it. He had half a mind to tell her to snap out of it, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. So instead he helped her to a sitting position.

“This can’t just be about Shen,” said Calvin, wondering if maybe Shen’s demise was more a last straw than an absolute cause for Sarah’s emotional crisis.

She shook her head. “It’s my fault,” she whispered.

“What’s your fault?”

“He… he only went on the mission because of me. Because I rejected him.” She looked up at Calvin with her bloodshot eyes. “I rejected him.”

“What do you mean you rejected him?”

“He made me this nice dinner and he asked me out and… I turned him down. Just like that. I’m afraid he wanted to die…”

“No, no, that’s not fair,” said Calvin. Though in truth he was surprised to learn this. He’d always seen Shen and Sarah as having more of a brother-sister dynamic and somehow he’d glossed over that Shen might have romantic intentions toward Sarah—albeit very patient ones. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for any of this. Shen volunteered for the mission and saved everyone’s life who made it back. When we were trying to escape the surface, the gunship we were on lost power. Shen brought it back. He saved all of us.” He gave Sarah the most tender and sincere look he could.

She seemed to soften a little at this news. But the regret and anguish was still clearly in her eyes.

“And Shen isn’t a goner yet,” said Calvin, searching himself for anything to say to help coax Sarah out of her sorrow. “Rain is sure she can save him.” Calvin couldn’t believe he was saying it. He knew Shen was a goner, there was no use pretending otherwise. It made him feel cheap and dishonest to resort to such platitudes to try and cheer Sarah. But they seemed to help a little.

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah. She sniffled and started brushing out some of the creases in her wrinkled clothing. “I don’t know what got into me—”

She wasn’t better, and she wasn’t happy, but she seemed to have sobered up emotionally. Though the faint scent of alcohol was still on her breath.

“Come on,” Calvin said, reaching out a hand to lift her to her feet. She accepted it. And he gave her a hug. She pulled him in tight and held him for several seconds longer than expected but he didn’t pull away. If she needed this kind of support it was the least he could do.

Eventually Sarah did break away from him. “Thank you,” she said with a half-broken smile.

“Sarah, I want you to go aboard the Arcane Storm with the others. It’s a short mission but I think it would be good for you. And there’s no one I trust more than you to bring everybody back safely to me.”

She nodded. “All right,” she whispered. Perhaps agreeing that a change of environment would do her good.

Calvin was about to speak again when General Quarters sounded throughout the ship. He felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him and he became very alert.

“What’s going on?” asked Sarah, giving him a look of concern.

“I don’t know,” said Calvin. “But I’m going to find out.”

He left Sarah’s quarters and sprinted for the elevator.

***

Calvin stood over the body. The young defense officer’s corpse had been pulled from the brig and was now on the ground just outside of it. Being attended to by a medic and an analyst from the lab. Pellew stood nearby, acting as security.

“Time of death was probably less than an hour ago,” the medic said. She stood up and looked at Calvin. “Appears to have been carbon monoxide poisoning.”

Calvin folded his arms and frowned. The ship had gone to condition one the moment the prisoner had been found dead by his attending guard. Calvin had sprinted to the scene as soon as he’d been made aware of the situation. Now here he was helpless before the scene of another mysterious death on his ship.

“Is there any danger to us being here?” asked Calvin.

“No, the carbon monoxide has since been contained,” said the analyst. “The cause of the leak seems to be damage to the air system and furnace associated with the containment section of the brig. Fortunately the area where prisoners are kept, when contained by force field, has an independent air system. So no one else was breathing it in, not even the attendant guard.”

Lucky indeed. Perhaps a bit too lucky. “Why didn’t the carbon monoxide alarm go off?” asked Calvin, skeptical that this failure had been a freak accident.

“There was a power overload that fried the sensor, probably the same event that damaged the air system. “The systems were put under a lot of pressure during the action in Remus and there have been sporadic overloads and systems failures throughout the ship ever since. As far as I can tell this one is no different.”

Calvin nodded. He still wasn’t convinced but he supposed the explanation was plausible. Immediately he ran through a list of people on the ship who might want Patrick dead and who could have pulled off the engineering feat required—if it was possible to do—to simulate a natural systems failure. Shen could do it, but he was obviously not in a position to. And any of the engineering staff might be able to. It wasn’t any of the Polarians or Tristan, unless they could have done the sabotage before the Arcane Storm departed—Calvin doubted it, and Calvin supposed it could have been Alex. He wasn’t sure what sort of training an ex-Advent operative had but he couldn’t rule out that this was the sort of thing one might engineer, except that Alex had no motive to kill Patrick. No one did. Patrick hadn’t been particularly well-liked, especially when he’d single-handedly mutinied against Summers and nearly lost them the ship when he refused to operate the Nighthawk’s stealth system as the Desert Eagle’s flotilla had born down on them. But, from what Calvin could tell, no one had a personal grudge against him. Or truly benefitted from his death.

“What do you think?” Calvin turned to Pellew.

The special forces captain gave Calvin an indifferent look. “I think it’s a case of bad luck, nothing more. Good thing Patrick was in the brig when the systems failed and not someone we actually needed alive.”

Calvin wasn’t surprised by Pellew’s callous regard for life. He’d seen firsthand what the soldier was capable of when convenience demanded it. Calvin doubted he would ever forgive Pellew for flushing a civilian crew out into space—whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure Pellew had situation reasons for why he’d done what he had, and there was a kind of morbid logic to it, but it was still cruel, wrong, and not the sort of thing Calvin was capable of. Or so he hoped.

“Why did it take your soldier so long to discover something was wrong?” asked Calvin.

Pellew shrugged. “She said it wasn’t until Patrick refused to awaken for food and water rations that she got suspicious that something was wrong. Carbon monoxide is odorless and colorless and someone breathing it in doesn’t show signs of distress. “

Calvin knew that was true. “Did the soldier on duty report any visitors?”

“No, she says she was on watch the entire time and Patrick had no visitors.”

Calvin nodded. He doubted the soldier herself had the technical expertise to sabotage the system so smoothly into killing Patrick, and he had no reason to distrust the soldier’s word. After all, she had elected to remain a fugitive on the Nighthawk at her own expense, and if she’d allowed someone else to enter the deck and tamper with the systems she had no incentive to protect him or her.

“When Cassidy gets the chance I’m going to have her look over the systems thoroughly,” said Calvin. “On the off-chance that you missed something,” Calvin looked at the analyst, who nodded. Calvin next turned to Pellew. “I want you to take Patrick’s body to the infirmary. I’ll have Rain do an autopsy and see if there is anything else about this death that stands out—anything suspicious. I’m leaving you to clean this up.”

“Understood,” said Pellew.

With that Calvin left and headed for his office. Once he was there he took a seat and used the intercom to summon Cassidy.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked once she was inside and the door had closed behind her.

“Yes,” said Calvin. He didn’t know Cassidy particularly well, and he hadn’t forgotten that during his contest with Summers for control of the ship on the way to Abia, what seemed like decades ago, Cassidy had taken Summers’ side over his. But since then Calvin had learned to trust Summers so he supposed he should trust Cassidy as well, and—now that Shen’s talents and expertise weren’t available to him—Cassidy was the best-trained operations officer on the ship. “Have you completed your sweep of deck one?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “And I did find a listening device.”

Calvin leaned forward. “And?”

“It had been placed inside the vent just behind you. I sent it to the lab for analysis.”

Calvin tapped the intercom again and called the lab.

“Midshipman Hughes here.”

“Mister Hughes,” said Calvin, “is the lab currently analyzing a listening device that was sent down there?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Any results on that so far?”

“We found some skin cells and hair that the computer is analyzing for a DNA match currently. As for the device itself, it’s still being checked over to see if we missed anything.”

That sounded promising. “Has the computer come back with any results?”

“The analysis is completing now—hold on one moment, sir.”

“Very well.”

Calvin waited for over two minutes before Hughes replied.

“Sorry about that, sir—”

“It’s fine, just tell me you have some good news.”

“That I do, sir. The computer has positively ID’d the skin samples and the hair.”

“And?”

“They belong to Midshipman Patrick O’Conner.”

“Thank you,” said Calvin and he closed the line. It made sense for Patrick to be the mole, he would have known the proper Intel Wing codes that had been used. And, based on reports of his behavior at Remus, he clearly sympathized with Nimoux and Intel Wing so he had motive. Now, finally, there was a method. This new report gave Calvin some idea of how Patrick knew about Echo Three—which he’d then, apparently, leaked to Intel Wing. Hopefully establishing this meant Patrick had been operating solo as the mole and that there were no further security threats on the Nighthawk. But, just to be sure, Calvin intended to maintain his restricted communications policy.

“Is that all, sir?” asked Cassidy.

“No it isn’t. I want you to run a full diagnostic on all critical systems on every deck, especially all life support systems. If there are any problems found—and there likely will be from power surges that occurred during the battle with the Phoenix—do whatever it takes to get them resolved. I want the ship to be completely safe. Work with Andre Cowen as needed and if you or the chief engineer need anything, let me know at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then, once that’s finished, I want you to meticulously examine the air systems on the brig deck. There were some failures there that resulted in the death of a prisoner.”

“Patrick,” she said in a reverent tone. Patrick had belonged to Cassidy’s same shift and the two had likely been friends, at least until Patrick had decided to mutiny.

“Yes, Patrick. I want to be double sure that the systems failures that resulted in his death were purely coincidental, and not the result of deliberate sabotage.”

“I’ll check them over to the best of my ability, sir.”

“That will be all.” He dismissed Cassidy and then gave an order to the bridge to stand down from condition one to condition two. The explanations were all in place, Patrick had been the mole and he’d died of a systems failure caused by the firefight with the Phoenix, so there was no clear and present danger to the ship or his crew. But Calvin still felt uncomfortable about the whole thing, so he didn’t order the ship to stand all the way down to condition three. He wanted people on their guard.

The ship was finally on its way to meet up with Kalila—and had been for almost half an hour—they still had time to spare and Calvin hoped that there would be no new crises in that time.

Chapter 5

The plan was coming together. Mostly.

Zane Martel received word from his second that the other members of the Phoenix Ring were concerned about the timing of the operation. “Renora should have generated more results in the Assembly by now,” they said. Zane dismissed their concerns and sent his second back to the others with a message assuring them that all was moving forward as it should. The situation on Renora was a developing chaos that Zane’s people had well under thumb, and as for the Assembly—they would fall in line eventually. Zane had assurances from Caerwyn, his brother—who was not a member of the Phoenix Ring but was nonetheless sympathetic to their goals—that the mood on the Assembly floor was one of growing anxiety. In time the moment would be ripe to challenge the Akiras for the throne, but not yet.

As a corporate magnate and acting chief executive of MXR—which his father Brinton no longer took a role in—Zane had considerable resources at his disposal. Other key members of the Phoenix Ring had wealth, power, and status that proved useful, but Zane at the helm of the mighty MXR brought the lion’s share. And that had given him the opportunity to seize the role of de facto leader—an opportunity he had not missed. Now, though, there came certain responsibilities. He had to keep peace among the different interests that’d allied themselves with him, he had to manage a very delicate alliance with alien interests—which he knew were extremely dangerous and self-serving—and he had to achieve a certain level of results. Otherwise his brother would not be able to successfully wrestle away the throne and all would’ve been for naught.

Lately they’d had some success, via bribes and extortion, identifying key members of the opposition, the so-called Organization. It was a group of blind would-be patriots who defended the status quo and acted as unknown pawns of the military-industrial complex that had grown so enormous inside the Empire. Their leader, White Rook, remained as elusive and mysterious as the Phoenix Ring itself, but Zane knew better than to underestimate him or her. Which was why it was so important that he root out the rest of the Organization’s assets on Capital World and eliminate them. The time of ascension was fast approaching and, when the Empire was finally reborn, it would be reborn here. Here at the center of everything. When that time came Zane wanted to be sure that the Organization had no more resources to tap and no more cards to play; they would be out of the game. Too distant and dispersed to intervene in time.

Success had been slow and steady, but a few variables remained that gave Zane concern. One of them was the elusive Calvin Cross, a one-time asset that had been apparently recruited by the Organization. Making him a threat. His talents and resources were formidable, despite their practical limitations, and Zane would not have a rogue further jeopardize their plans. He didn’t know what information White Rook, or Asari Raidan, or someone else in the Organization, had fed Calvin, but Calvin had been sighted in Remus System. Just as the isotome weapons deal was about to go down between the Organization’s fake Enclave agent and the Rahajiim. Zane hadn’t yet gotten a full report on what’d happened—as it had yet to be determined—but based on reports from Intel Wing operatives, communicated to Zane through Director Jack Edwards Prime, Calvin and his ship had been present in Remus. That was around the same time the Phoenix Ring’s operative, who’d been down on the surface, had stopped maintaining contact with the Phoenix Ring. The way Zane saw it, only a few things were possible. Calvin and his crew abducted, killed, or recruited the agent—all of which were potentially quite bad. Especially if the agent, who was a replicant himself, revealed how the Phoenix Ring was acquiring replicants and which people had already been replaced. Or else the Rahajiim had abducted, killed, or recruited the Phoenix Ring operative. Perhaps they had something to offer that the replicant wanted, or maybe they’d learned of the deception and knew the replicant wasn’t a true Enclave agent. Perhaps the Enclave itself had ceased to be fooled. From Zane’s perspective there was no way of knowing, but if Calvin had taken possession of the replicant, Zane wanted to know. He had to have some sense of what he was up against.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite prisoner,” said Zane as he walked into the basement dungeon. The guards escorting him stepped aside so he could get a clear view of the prisoner. A tall, somewhat lanky man was chained to the ceiling and floor, his arms raised uncomfortable above his head.

The prisoner raised his head and a look of disgust and recognition came over him as he spotted Zane. He spat and lowered his head.

“He still isn’t cooperating,” said the guard nearest the prisoner. Next to him was a table with a variety of instruments of persuasion and by the look of things, the prisoner had already been tortured significantly. His clothes were removed and bruises and cuts decorated his body. There was also a pool of dried blood at his feet.

“Come now, Rafael, it doesn’t have to be like this,” said Zane. He stepped closer and looked the prisoner in his defiant eyes. Rafael remained silent.

“You know, we have ways of making things a whole lot better for you… and a whole lot worse.”

Still no reaction from Rafael.

“He hasn’t said a damned thing all day,” said the guard. “Shall I keep starving him and limiting his water?”

“No, we don’t want him to die,” said Zane. He found the sight of Rafael in this condition oddly amusing. Almost like he was observing a puzzle that was just a few pieces away from being solved. Despite the prisoner’s mighty display of resilience and defiance, something about him looked on edge of giving way.

“Good idea sir,” said the guard. “He’ll talk sooner if he has to keep pissing and shitting himself.”

Judging by the looks of things there had already been a fair amount of that, and goose bumps on the prisoner’s skin revealed he didn’t like the cold air blasting him from the vent.

“In time you will cooperate,” said Zane, looking Rafael squarely in the eyes. “And you will ask Calvin the questions I demand you ask him.”

“And if I don’t?” said Rafael at long last.

“Then everyone and everything you love will start disappearing—starting with your fingers and toes.”

In response, Rafael spit again. This time a large mucousy glob that landed on Zane’s hand-made suit. The guard nearest him whipped out a handkerchief and started dabbing at the spit and the guard with the torture instruments withdrew an electric stun baton and jammed it hard into Rafael’s ribs, shocking him with pain.

“I’m sorry about that, Boss,” said the closest guard.

“No matter,” said Zane. He could buy every suit on Capital World if he wanted—and every company that made them—and he’d never feel the slightest difference in his wealth. “But do show our guest that we mean business. Index finger, left hand, see that it’s gone.”

“Yes, sir,” said the guard next to Rafael. He picked up a pair of pruning shears and approached the prisoner, who squirmed against his chains.

“The more you take from me now, the less I’ll have to lose tomorrow. And the easier it will be to resist you,” said Rafael. He did a good job of showing no fear in his voice, even though it was clear as day on his face.

Zane smirked. In another life he would have liked to have this one working for him. “Just remember, you are the one making things hard on yourself. Don’t be your own enemy. It’s time for you to look to your own needs. Rather than protecting those who’ve abandoned you.”

“Go to hell,” said Rafael.

“Oh I intend to,” said Zane. “And the way things are going, it looks like you’ll be getting there first. Be sure to save a place for me.”

***

Three hours had passed since the Arcane Storm and the Nighthawk parted ways. Now the battered stealth ship was gliding seamlessly through alteredspace. Calvin had some time to kill, and the chance to mentally prepare himself for the rendezvous. He hadn’t forgotten how easily and completely Kalila had charmed him the last time they’d met face to face, and he didn’t want to bend to her will like hot steel in a fire. If he was going to work with her, and trust her, she needed to earn that trust. And until she’d been properly acquitted in his mind for the attack on Renora, he knew he had to be on his guard with her. And, if it turned out that she was behind the attack that had led to mass chaos and civilian deaths in the scores of thousands… that made her an enemy, not a friend.

He lay in his bed in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to catch up on sleep—he hadn’t properly slept since the Remus mission—but his excitement, curiosity, and anxiety of the encounter to come forced him awake. He tossed and turned for the better part of twenty minutes before resigning himself to lie awake.

He remembered the princess’s beautiful face in his mind, like an echo of a warmer yesterday. And the feelings that had shot through him when she’d touched his arm, and their eyes had met, and she’d spoken his name. Pleading with him to help her. Trusting him. That someone so far above his station knew of him, and had sought him out…

No. He wouldn’t be dazzled by her rank, or her status, or her very effective manipulation tactics, he reminded himself. People were dying in Renora, even now. The political situation across the Empire was becoming unstable and unpredictable, and a very real and dark corruption had taken root inside the upper echelons of the military leadership. For all Calvin knew Kalila was a part of it—though he doubted it, and wanted not to believe it—he forced himself to consider the possibility that she was maneuvering many of these events for her own selfish interest, perhaps to wrestle away the throne from her father and older siblings, maybe she had some large grand design for the Empire, one that might align with the Phoenix Ring.

The more he considered it, the less plausible it seemed, certainly such a theory did not fit with Kalila’s behavior every time he’d interacted with her. She’d wanted him not to attack Raidan, for instance, and she seemed very aware that a threat was growing deep inside the very roots of the Empire, she’d spoken of it herself. But that was not enough to acquit her of the Renora attack—no matter how much Calvin wished it was. More evidence would be needed.

His mind wandered as fatigue finally set in and as his thoughts became emptier, he began drifting off to sleep. Only to be abruptly awakened by the noise of the intercom panel.

“What?” he yelled hoarsely, almost rolling off the bed as he tried to get his bearings.

The alert on the comm panel went off again. He staggered to get up and then rushed over to the panel. He slapped the button. “What is it?” He tried not to sound cranky but knew he did a poor job of it.

“Midshipman Hughes here, sir.”

“Did you find out more about that listening device?” asked Calvin. He knew that Hughes was putting in extra hours at the analysis lab, now that so much of their staff had left the ship, and for that Calvin was grateful.

“No, sir. This is about the murder investigation of Staff Sergeant Patterson.”

Calvin felt a solemnness overtake him. “Go on,” he said.

“We’ve finished analyzing the DNA evidence found at the scene. In addition, after further study of Staff Sergeant Patterson’s remains, we’ve identified the cause of many of his injuries.”

Calvin recalled the gruesome sight, probably the ugliest and most revolting thing he’d ever laid eyes on. The body had been thoroughly eviscerated, in particular the head which had been smashed to a pulp. The victim’s blood had then been used to paint a message on the wall in bone-chilling letters. JUSTICE.

“It looked to me like the cause of death was severe blunt injuries and… a head smashing in,” said Calvin.

“We were able to determine that Staff Sergeant Patterson died before his head was smashed in. There was an altercation—a very short one—and after physical blows, which cracked some of his bones, he was repeatedly slashed and stabbed by a sharp blade. Blood filled his lungs and that was the cause of death. After he was dead the attacker stomped on his head with significant force, enough to crush it. By studying the remaining bone fragments we were able to get an idea of the shape and texture of the boot.”

Hearing these details made Calvin sick to think such an action had taken place on his ship, and therefore under his watch. It was hard to believe, and he’d be tempted not to if he hadn’t seen the corpse for himself. “I’m guessing the boot was a Polarian boot,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

It all added up. The Polarians had motive for the slaying—the victim had interrupted their sacred ritual. Polarian DNA had been found on the scene. The victim had been slashed and stabbed to death by a knife and Polarians were the only personnel who carried knives around—the humans used bayonets and only when deployed. The corpse had been slaughtered and displayed almost ritualistically and Polarians were well known for their value of rituals, and lastly the boot that had crushed the deceased’s head had been a Polarian boot. In Calvin’s mind this was certainly enough evidence for conviction. Sure it was technically possible that an extremely clever person with a lot of resources could have framed the entire thing to blame the Polarians, but Calvin could think of no one on the ship able to do so, and certainly no one with incentive to arrange all of that. It was time to put the issue to rest.

“So which Polarian was our attacker?” he asked. He sincerely hoped the offending Polarian the DNA belonged to was one of the many who’d died on Remus.

“After comparing the DNA sample to samples taken by Dr. Poynter during the inoculation process, we found a perfect match. The DNA belongs to Grimka.”

Calvin felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not only was Grimka one of the Polarians that had survived the Remus Nine mission, Grimka was also Rez’nac’s son. He did not look forward to breaking the news to the Polarian commander.

“Thank you, was there anything else?” asked Calvin.

“No sir.”

Calvin shut off the comm and returned to bed. He stared up at the ceiling once more, in the darkness, and thought of what he was going to say to Rez’nac. And he wondered how the mighty Polarian leader would take the news.

Calvin debated for some time whether or not to even deliver the news to Rez’nac, he considered delaying and even the idea of having someone else send him this information—sounds like a perfect job for Summers! But even as he thought it he knew those options were unacceptable. For whatever reason, Calvin was the only one Rez’nac truly respected, probably a cultural thing, and the news really needed to come from him. And, Calvin reasoned, some things were just better to get out of the way rather than let fester.

He left his bed and returned to the comm panel. He instructed the computer to bypass his communication lockout and send a message to the Arcane Storm. He hailed Rez’nac by name and waited.

After a couple of minutes the screen flickered to life and showed the large, square, greyish face of Rez’nac. His features were fierce but his eyes were kind, and he seemed glad to see Calvin. “Hello Captain,” he said in a warm tone.

“I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid,” said Calvin. He took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Rez’nac looked ready to hear it, in fact he looked ready for anything. “Go ahead,” he said.

“I was able to identify the murderer. The one who slaughtered Staff Sergeant Patterson.”

“And who was it?” Rez’nac looked more curious than anxious. He’d taken a keen interest in the investigation and no doubted expected to be kept in the loop regardless of Calvin’s findings. He’d personally seen to the safety of Calvin’s investigation officers—who’d conducted interviews of each Polarian after the murder had happened—and even though the interviews had produced no suspects, Rez’nac was still very involved in trying to solve the mystery. No doubt he hoped to acquit his people of the tragic deed. Calvin wished he had better news…

“I’ll have my lab send all of the information to you, evidence, reports, everything… you’ll want to see the proof,” Calvin rambled, somewhat avoiding answering Rez’nac’s question.

“Who was it?” Rez’nac asked again.

Calvin had trouble forming the words but when he did, he didn’t falter or hesitate. “The murderer was Grimka.”

“Ah,” was all Rez’nac said. His face remained hard and strong but something showed in his eyes. Not tears, for all Calvin knew Polarians had no tear ducts, but there was a pain visible in them. It made Rez’nac look almost human.

“Like I said, I wish I had better news…”

“Do not apologize,” said Rez’nac. “The truth is the truth. It respects no man and offers no quarter. It is better that you speak a painful truth than a pleasant lie.”

Calvin nodded.

“Please, send me all of the reports and evidence,” said Rez’nac. “I do not doubt your findings… I just… would like to see this for myself.”

“Of course,” said Calvin.

“And Captain,” Rez’nac said just as Calvin was about to terminate the call, “thank you for telling me. You have my sacred word that I will take care of this.”

***

Rez’nac did not have to look at the evidence Calvin had sent him. He knew the kind of man Calvin was, he knew Calvin was not the type to dishonor himself with such a perverse lie. But Rez’nac checked over the data all the same, checked it and checked it again. Not wanting to believe what he saw. But as he looked at it, there was no escaping the conclusion.

“All the many souls of Khalahar, forgive me,” he said aloud. “I have failed my own son.”

He stormed away from the public office—it was one of a few rooms on the Arcane Storm that had been converted for general use. On this ship, like the Nighthawk, outward communication was restricted, but access to the basic networks and applications was not forbidden. In a strange way Rez’nac wished it had been, maybe then he could have delayed learning the truth a little longer. But he knew that was foolishness even as he thought it, it served no man and no purpose to delay knowledge. As cold and brutal as it often was, the truth was the only mistress a man could ever trust.

He went to the converted barracks—a single crewman’s quarters that’d been made into lodgings for the Polarians. There was sufficient room for them to spread out more but such was not their way, they preferred close quarters with their brethren.

“Grimka!” Rez’nac said the instant he entered the room.

“He is not here,” spoke the only other in the room. He bowed his head slightly when he addressed Rez’nac, but not as much as he should have. He and the other surviving Polarians were young and untempered, they had yet to learn their place.

“Where is he, Ki’lar?”

“He is on the flight deck, preparing for the Pon’yor.”

Rez’nac felt some anger at this news. He was glad his son valued the Pon’yor and their other tender rituals, but it was not his place to prepare for the Pon’yor, or to organize one. He, like the others, belonged to Rez’nac. It was his place, not Grimka’s. “It would seem the offspring of my body has overstepped himself,” Rez’nac said.

Ki’lar did not answer, except to bow his head again.

Rez’nac left him and made for the flight deck. As he took swift long strides his hand curled and uncurled around his ceremonial dagger. More of an anxious habit than anything, but it helped him to focus his mind, and to ignore his pain. The physical beating he’d sustained on Remus ached him from head to toe, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his soul at the thought of his son’s actions. And what he had to do.

“Grimka!” Rez’nac said boldly as he pushed through the door and stepped out onto the large flight deck. It wasn’t large compared to the flight decks of many spacefaring ships but it was larger than any room on the Nighthawk—which didn’t even have a flight deck or carry any launch-capable craft.

Grimka stood in the middle of the room. His hair had been pulled back into a ceremonial braid and he wore his finest clothes. Around him were two of the other Polarians, the same ones that Rez’nac knew to be Grimka’s closest friends. Regardless of the friendship, they too belonged to Rez’nac and it would be fitting for them to witness what was about to take place.

“Yes, father?” asked Grimka. He turned and looked at Rez’nac as he approached. His eyes were like steel but none of his body language showed any real defiance. That was wise.

“You have dishonored yourself, and in so doing you have dishonored me, and the Polarian race, and worst of all you have dishonored the very Essences themselves,” Rez’nac did not stop until he was but a meter away from his son.

“I am of the Essence of Qi’lara. I know no dishonor,” Grimka replied simply.

“And I am of the Essence of Khalahar and I say that you do.” Rez’nac pointed at him. “I know that you slew the human soldier on the Nighthawk. Slaughtered him in cold blood. And I know that you dishonored yourself further by denying your actions when questioned by the humans. Do not dare to deny it to me,” his eyes narrowed and he stared at his son, teeth clenched.

Grimka looked at the other Polarians, as if for support, then his eyes met Rez’nac’s again, and there was a change. He stood a little straighter and his muscles tightened, his face looked like steel and fire filled his eyes. “Yes, father. I did those things. And I was right to do them.”

Rez’nac felt like he’d been dealt a lethal blow. He had come here expecting this, convinced of Grimka’s guilt, but a small part of him had still wished all of it to be a great mistake. Now that Grimka had confessed, and showed neither remorse nor regret for his deeds, a small part of Rez’nac died. “I am the one who decides what is right and what isn’t,” Rez’nac said fiercely. “For it is I who is of Khalahar. I am the master here. I am not yours. You are mine.”

“The human deserved what he got,” grumbled one of the other Polarians, a youth by the name of Hrokki.

“Silence!” Rez’nac said, turning his attention to the others. “You will not speak again until I allow you,” he looked from one to the other. They both lowered their heads, perhaps in shame. Rez’nac looked again to Grimka.

“Hrokki is right,” Grimka said. “The human defiled our sacred ways. There is only one appropriate response, the Blu-qi! I did not murder him as a dark one in the night, I performed the Blu-qi as our ways demand.”

The Blu-qi was a punishment ritual reserved for only the most heinous of crimes. And had it been Grimka’s place to decide the sentence, and had the victim understood the Polarian ways, Rez’nac conceded that his son would have been in his right. But it had not been Grimka’s place, it had been Rez’nac’s, and the slain human had not known their ways. “It was not your place to decide.”

“What was there to decide?” asked Grimka with wide eyes. “The Blu-qi is our way!”

“But the humans do not follow our ways!” said Rez’nac.

“No father,” Grimka said, now drawing his ceremonial dagger. “It is YOU who does not follow our ways.”

“You forget yourself again, Grimka,” said Rez’nac, reaching for his own blade.

Grimka looked to the other Polarians. “I declare an Arahn-Fi!” The others looked up in shock.

“You would challenge me?” asked Rez’nac in disbelief. His son, who had never known true war, and had never bled true blood, was no match for him. Why dishonor himself further?

“The Essences demand it,” said Grimka. “You have become lost, father. You may no longer lead us. For you are no longer guided by their light.”

“How dare you?” Rez’nac felt a surge of anger, strong as tidal forces, pour through him.

“You bring us into the unclean company of humans, you submit us to them—that they may be our masters, you shed our blood to die in their wars, you poison our souls with their tainted politics and interests—none of which are our concern,” said Grimka, citing a list of accusations that struck Rez’nac as too ready not to have been prepared—clearly Grimka had been planning this rebellion for some time. “And you take us far from our homeland, away from the souls of the Essences. Ever since we have left I have not felt them. Have you?” He looked from Rez’nac to the others. “Have any of you?”

“No,” they both admitted.

Rez’nac felt his fury boil over. “And what would you have me do? You and all your wisdom of a newborn child.”

“It is clear what we must do. We must return to pilgrim. It has been nigh six months since last any of us pilgrimmed. Already our skin is beginning to show it.” He looked down at himself and then at the others. “You see how faded we have become?”

Rez’nac did not see. As far as he could tell Grimka and the other youthful Polarians were as blue-hued as they’d always been. True, any time spent away from the Stars of Pilgrimage would cause the skin to lose some of its vibrant blue color, but it was not something to be concerned about. The Polarian youths had made the blueness of their skin a symbol of their piety and worth, a foolish belief. One that was at its core self-centered and vain. But one that Rez’nac knew had been taking hold of this younger generation. And, as the three youths before him took sight of him, and judged him for the greyness of his skin—its blue almost completely faded away—they took it as a sign of infidelity. Clearly, in their minds, he ought to be more pious. Like they saw themselves.

“No matter how many trips around the Pilgrimage Stars you make, whether it be one or ten-thousand, no number is enough to achieve the calling of your birth, nor will it satisfy the duties of your birthright. It is in how you treat others, and yourself, and how faithfully you follow the truest spirit and purpose of our ways that decides whether you join the Honored Dead or the Forgotten Ones when you die. No pilgrimage will be enough to permit you back into the Essences.”

“The words of a lost sinner who has forgotten his heritage,” said Grimka. “No number of words will ever justify your lack of fidelity to our ways.”

Rez’nac did not want to slay his son, every fiber of his soul went against it, but all that he knew and understood of his ways demanded it. The Essences themselves demanded it. The wrongly slain human soldier demanded it. It was the unflinching, unyielding, uncaring truth. And he had to submit to it. “You may have your Arahn-Fi,” said Rez’nac, though the words were difficult to form. “And on the morrow we will allow the Essences to decide.”

Grimka bowed. “And decide they will.”

Chapter 6

Of the original twenty-four hour window that Kalila had given him, Calvin had about four hours left. Fortunately the Nighthawk had made good time and was scheduled to arrive at the rendezvous in just under two hours. That left an additional two hours for Kalila to explain to him what was so urgent.

The ship had followed a set of interstellar waypoints that Kalila had provided, the end destination was a star called Virgo Major. From what Calvin could dig up about the site it wasn’t home to anyone, or anything. There were some satellites, mostly rocky debris, and out in a distant orbit there was a large gaseous planet, but all things considered, Virgo Major was not a site of interest to anybody. Perhaps that’s why Kalila was there, somewhere nobody would think to be looking for her.

He reviewed the message she’d last sent him. “Calvin, we have to meet right away. Time is short. Follow these coordinates. I regret I can only give you twenty-four hours. After that, it will be too late. I pray you get this message in time.”

He wondered if there was more to the message, perhaps another more specific message buried within the text. He doubted it, but on the off chance there was, he had the computer run an analysis. It was still ongoing but so far no useful patterns had emerged.

“After that, it will be too late,” he repeated in a thoughtful whisper. What would be too late? Did she have news of something big? Something she expected him and the Nighthawk to get involved with? He hoped not. Given the state of the ship: several systems offline, most of the weapons shot, and nearly all of the port armor destroyed, not to mention half the crew away, he hoped Kalila wasn’t calling the Nighthawk into a combat engagement. If she was… princess or not, Calvin might have no choice but to engage his cloaking system and his engines and get to safety.

The door to his office opened and Calvin looked up to see Summers. She took a step inside, just enough for the door to close behind her. “I thought I might find you here,” she said.

“Summers,” he greeted her. “What brings you here?”

“I just wanted you to know that so far our scanners haven’t been able to get any conclusive images of Virgo Major, other than the celestial bodies.”

Calvin doubted that was the reason Summers had come, more likely she’d come to make sure she had the latest information about their current mission. In case Calvin had learned something new, perhaps by receiving another message from Kalila, Summers wasn’t about to be left in the dark. But, for as suspicious as Calvin was, he was surprised how glad he was to see Summers. “Please, sit down.”

She did, taking the chair opposite his desk.

“It’s funny…” Calvin said, more looking through her than at her. “I talked it over with you, and we made a decision, and we agreed on the logic behind it, but… I can’t get past the feeling that maybe we made the wrong choice.”

“It’s too late now to change it,” she replied. “There’s no sense in having self-doubt at this stage.”

He nodded.

“Our mission, the only thing that matters,” said Summers, “is to root out and eliminate the corruption that has poisoned the military and taken hold of the Empire. Everything else… Raidan, Kalila, they’re all just variables. Ants in the big picture. Right now what we need is information, and Kalila can give us information Raidan can’t, information that might make all the difference between success and failure. That’s why we made the choice we did.”

“I suppose,” said Calvin. He picked up the chargeball that was lying on the floor next to him and he began spinning it gently on the table. It was a mindless habit he sometimes fell back on when his thoughts were preoccupied.

“You should let me come with you,” said Summers.

Calvin finally realized the real reason why Summers had come to visit him. To get herself invited along for the away mission—assuming there was one. He didn’t blame her and would probably try to do the same thing, but he also believed it was better that she not go. “I need you to stay here and have command of the ship,” he said. Before she could protest he added, “Kalila will probably ask me to go alone. Just like before.”

“You could refuse,” Summers folded her arms.

Calvin looked at her curiously. “Can I?” He resumed spinning the chargeball, believing that if he were to get any information from Kalila he would likely have to play her game.

Summers didn’t say anything more for a while but when she did her voice did not challenge his. “It’s your decision.”

Calvin stopped spinning the chargeball and looked at her, giving her a good long search with his eyes. Was she finally starting to trust him? He didn’t know what to say so he simply nodded.

Eventually Summers got up to leave. Just before she exited the office, Calvin spoke. “I will promise you this much,” he said, catching her attention. “Whatever information Kalila gives me… I’ll share it with you.”

Summers looked pleased. “Better to have two pairs of eyes than one.”

“Exactly.”

***

“ETA one minute and five seconds,” said Jay from the helm. It was odd seeing him there, with him there and Cassidy at ops, things felt out of place. Only Miles remained of the White Shift; he sat at the defense post monitoring the stealth system.

“Standby to exit alteredspace,” said Calvin.

“Standing-by,” replied Jay.

“Stealth system status?” asked Summers. She hovered over Miles’ shoulder, a favorite perch of hers. Calvin noticed how she would ride the man, almost like it was a game to her. If there was anyone on the ship Summers still hated it was Miles, but he hated her right back and then some.

“All defense systems—including stealth—look good,” said Miles. “Of course we don’t have piss for ammo and only have one working weapon, oh and half our armor is gone, but yeah. We’re doing all right.”

“Cut the chatter,” snapped Summers.

“All right, go easy on him,” said Calvin. Even though his peace treaty with Summers seemed to be developing into a kind of alliance, Miles was still his friend and, as far as Calvin was concerned, the best defense officer in the Empire.

Summers left Miles’ shoulder and returned to her seat at the XO position. Miles dared a glance back and shot Calvin a looked like a cross between “Thank you,” and “It’s about time!”

“Thirty-five seconds,” said Jay.

Calvin rubbed his chin as he stared out the forward window into the blackness of alteredspace. They were about to arrive at Virgo Major and when they got there, he wondered what they would see. Their ship had been scanning the system since they were close enough to do so but so far nothing had stood out. The violet star could be seen on the 3d display as well as the equally lavender gas giant that circled it—though it wasn’t displayed to scale.

“Fifteen seconds,” said Jay.

“Condition Two,” said Calvin, ordering an upgrade in their alert status. He didn’t expect a hostile encounter but he decided to be careful when maneuvering into an unknown position.

“Aye, Aye, Cap’n,” said Miles and he adjusted their alert status. It wasn’t enough to warrant a change in their defense configuration—Calvin didn’t want to raise the shields or arm the energy weapon for fear that that would eliminate their stealth advantage, but he wanted critical personnel to be standing by and ready in case an ugly scenario unfolded before them.

“Five seconds,” said Jay.

Calvin leaned forward in his chair, eager eyes sharply focused on the window before him.

“Two. One.”

The view filled with stars. The portside view showed the glowing violet star at a healthy distance. As for the gas planet it was too far away to be seen.

“We have arrived,” Jay announced.

“What do we see?” asked Calvin.

“Short range scan in progress,” said Cassidy. And then, a moment later, “there is a very large ship in close orbit around the planet. Imperial markings. Attempting to identify it now.”

“Display it,” said Calvin. The image on the 3d projector switched to show a large dreadnought in a parking orbit around the gas giant. It had dark markings and fierce contours, but despite the edginess it also showcased a sleekness and elegance that most ships couldn’t dream of. Calvin recognized the ship at once.

“It’s the ISS Black Swan,” said Cassidy, though probably every soul on the bridge recognized it.

“Is there anyone else around?” asked Calvin.

“No sir. The Black Swan appears to be the only other ship in the system,” said Cassidy. “Our scanners most likely didn’t detect it during alteredspace flight because of its proximity to the gas giant.”

“Deactivate stealth system,” said Calvin. It was almost refreshing to encounter a ship that couldn’t see through the Nighthawk’s stealth technologies.

Immediately the Black Swan reacted by breaking orbit with the planet.

“Ship is changing heading,” said Cassidy. “It’s coming our way.”

Considering that this ship was last seen assaulting civilians on an Imperial planet, there was a part of Calvin that knew he should be concerned. And yet he wasn’t. He doubted Kalila would lure him here just to kill him, not after she’d asked him to investigate Raidan for her, and besides—if there was a fight, the Nighthawk in its current condition against a ship like the Black Swan… the battle would be over before Calvin and his crew realized it was happening.

“Raise the shields?” asked Miles. “Should I clear for action?”

Calvin understood his reaction. He hadn’t been told about Calvin’s past interactions with Kalila. No one had—except Summers—so they were understandably twitchy and concerned. “No, do not clear for action,” said Calvin. “Maintain condition two.”

“Are you sure--?” asked Miles.

“We’re being hailed,” said Jay.

“Display it.”

“Audio only,” said Jay. “Restricted channel.”

“Go ahead.”

“IWS Nighthawk, this is Captain Adiger. You are ordered to comply with a docking operation.”

Ordered? Calvin raised a curious eyebrow. “This ship is not under your direct command,” said Calvin.

“I have no time for semantics,” said Captain Adiger with an urgency to his voice. “My ship is carrying critical personnel and vital cargo and we must transfer them aboard the Nighthawk immediately.”

Calvin rubbed his chin. This was an intriguing development. He’d be a lot more comfortable if he was getting this information from Kalila, and if it was a request and not an order.

“Do you copy?” asked Adiger.

“We copy,” said Calvin. Though he didn’t yet agree to the captain’s request.

“We will be upon you in two minutes,” said Captain Adiger. “Prepare to comply. If you do not comply, you will be considered an enemy of the state and fired upon.”

The transmission terminated.

“Well that seems like a harsh reaction,” said Calvin.

“So what do we do?” asked Miles. “If I throw everything into shields and Cassidy throws the rest of our power into engines, even life support, we might be able to outrun them—”

“If we act now we could probably escape the system before taking any fire,” said Jay. “We may be battered and beaten but we’re still the faster ship.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Calvin. He looked to Summers to get her take. She nodded her agreement. They were all in. They’d come here at Kalila’s request and had a chance to get vital information. If they ran away now with their tail between their legs what did it buy them? Nothing. At least nothing that could potentially be used to save the Empire. “Comply with their instructions and prep the deck four airlock for deep space attachment.”

“Aye, sir,” said Jay.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Miles.

“I do,” Calvin reassured him—and himself. He tapped his direct line to special forces HQ.

“Pellew here.”

“We’re about to have some guests coming through the airlock on deck four,” said Calvin. “Get every soldier we have left on this ship armed and over there in case something goes wonky.”

“Understood.”

With that Calvin jumped out of his chair and headed for his office to grab a firearm.

“And where are you going?” asked Summers.

“To the airlock,” he said. “You have the deck.”

Chapter 7

When Calvin arrived at the airlock, it was in the process of being unsealed. Pellew stood resolute, carbine in hands, with nine other special forces soldiers in arms. It was a large showing of force but Calvin knew it wasn’t every soldier on the ship like he’d asked.

“Ten—or eleven counting you—is already too many people for ideal tactical control of this corridor,” said Pellew. “Any more and we’d be seriously crowding each other out.” Calvin knew he was right. And while there was still value in having more bodies available to fill in the gaps should a firefight happen, he also knew that the hundreds of marines on the Black Swan, while not as elite as special forces, would have no difficulty capturing the Nighthawk—if that was their mission.

There was a snap-hiss as the triple seal locked into place and the thick hatch began to retract. Calvin raised his own weapon, a well-maintained carbine, and pointed it in the direction of the opening hatch. He remained standing, but noted that Pellew and several of the soldiers had taken kneeling positions. There wasn’t much cover to be had. Should a firefight occur Calvin knew he’d be an easy target, so he prepared himself to go prone the instant there was even a hint of trouble. Truth be told, however, he did not expect a fight. If he did, he’d be a fool to let the Nighthawk be put at such risk. Especially with no hope of prevailing.

The hatch slid completely aside and the innards of one of the loading tunnels of the Black Swan could be seen. There were people there, quite a few, and they too brandished weapons. Calvin could see body armor, though most of their tactical gear was covered. These were not uniformed marines but rather a private bodyguard. He wasn’t immediately sure at their numbers because the view through the hatch was so limited.

“Princess Kalila Akira and escort to come aboard,” one of the strangers shouted. Calvin noted that it wasn’t a request, simply a statement of fact. He felt his heart race a little at the sound of the princess’s name.

“Permission granted,” said Calvin.

“Lower your weapons and come aboard,” Pellew added.

The lead member of the boarding party looked behind him for a moment, probably for instruction, and then he led the others onto the Nighthawk. They still clung to their weapons, but they were pointed peacefully at the ground. Once they’d all boarded the ship, a group of seven, the lead guard moved aside and Kalila stepped forward.

She was not tall, easily half a head shorter than Calvin, but her commanding presence was unmistakable despite her civilian disguise. Her radiant eyes met his, bold and unintimidated. Calvin lowered his weapon immediately when he saw her.

“Princess,” said Calvin. He bowed his head.

“Calvin,” she said. “I am happy to see you. Unfortunately, as seems to always be the case when we meet, there is no time to wait on ceremony. The Nighthawk and the Black Swan must depart the system at once. Otherwise we will be trapped here by a powerful battle squadron.”

Calvin nodded. He had many questions, and reminded himself that he would not fold to her will without getting proper answers, but if there really was a squadron of warships inbound he could appreciate the need to act now and ask questions later. “Where are we to go?” he asked.

“I am coming aboard the Nighthawk and we will make for Capital World,” said Kalila. Calvin gave her a curious look, thinking Capital World was not a safe place for the Nighthawk to wander, not with its fugitive status. “Don’t worry, I will explain it all as soon as opportunity allows,” she added, noting his confusion. “As for the Black Swan, it will continue its mission and divert the pursuing squadron away.”

“You heard her,” said Calvin. “Pellew, see that our new guests are properly quartered.”

“Actually, my bodyguard is not to remain with us,” said Kalila.

The guards looked almost as surprised by this news as Calvin was. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Royal Highness, but I must protest,” said the lead guard.

Kalila shushed him gently. “I am safe here,” she said. “Calvin Cross will see to that,” she looked at Calvin and he felt a strange warmness inside him as their eyes met. “And a group as large as ours would never escape notice,” she added. “Now go swiftly, we have no time to linger.”

The lead guard nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

He led the rest of the bodyguard back through the hatch and it closed behind him.

“In that case, Princess, please follow me to the bridge,” said Calvin, “and we’ll make preparations to leave the system. After that we have a great deal to discuss.”

“And discuss we shall,” said Kalila.

Calvin noted that several bags and a chest had been brought aboard. Calvin assumed these were Kalila’s effects, and it made him wonder how long she intended to stay on the Nighthawk. The thought was a pleasant one, even though he knew it put the ship at greater risk.

“I’ll see that these bags find a home,” said Pellew.

“Find her quarters on deck five,” said Calvin. He wanted to make sure Kalila was close to him in case she needed anything. That and deck five would keep her far away from the saltier men on the ship.

“Thank you, Captain,” Kalila said to Pellew, noting his rank insignia.

Pellew bowed and then barked orders to his men to stand down and pick up Kalila’s things.

***

When they arrived on the bridge, Calvin ordered a new heading be set. Ursa Leo, a system that would take them near Capital World without putting them into the jaws of the beast itself. Until Calvin knew why they were going to Capital World—and that the reason justified the risk—he wasn’t going to send the Nighthawk and all his crew there. “Detach the ship and get us underway as soon as possible. Jump depth of ninety-percent potential.”

“Aye, sir,” said Jay.

“And send word to Mister Vargas and the Arcane Storm that our intended rendezvous may be delayed.”

“Understood.”

The crew was professional enough, and—other than Miles whose jaw visibly dropped and he seemed unable to speak words larger than a grunt—there was no shocked reaction to Kalila’s presence. Even though Calvin knew every person here was surprised and anxious. He was sure none of them had ever interacted with a member of the royal family before and this was quite the electrifying experience for them.

Cassidy and Jay looked at Kalila very neutrally, almost not comprehending that she was there. Miles, after staring at her for a few seconds and giving her a good once-over up-and-down with his eyes, was now staring intently at his computer station. His face red.

Of everyone there, Summers looked the least impressed by the sight of the princess on the bridge. She scrutinized her with half a frown plastered to her face. Her arms were folded and she seemed unamused and distrusting.

“As ever thank you for your cooperation and loyal service to the Empire,” Kalila said, looking directly at Calvin. “And I mean that for everyone here. Your diligent effort and sacrifices will not be forgotten.”

“Aww shucks,” said Miles quietly. He still stared at his screen, making a big show of looking busy and hard at work.

“Now Princess,” said Calvin. “There are certain things we need to discuss.” He looked at Kalila, seeing here there on his bridge… he couldn’t keep back a smile, but he reminded himself that he was not going to be her pawn, led blindly into the darkness.

“Certainly,” she replied and gestured toward the CO’s office adjacent to the bridge.

Summers shot Calvin an urgent look and Calvin nodded, understanding. “Commander Presley, if you’ll please join the princess and me in my office.”

“Of course,” Summers replied. She tried to hide her pleased look but did not succeed.

“You’re bringing your XO?” asked Kalila.

“Yes,” said Calvin. “Summers is my right hand and it would be helpful to get a second perspective on everything. But do not worry, Your Highness, the commander has my full confidence.”

“Not to mention I have a few questions of my own that I’d like to ask you, Your Grace,” said Summers.

Kalila looked at her with eyes that could not be read. “You worked for Asari Raidan most recently, before being posted to the Nighthawk, is that correct?”

“I did.”

Kalila nodded. “In that case I may have some questions for you as well.”

Calvin led them into his office and the door closed behind them.

***

Calvin went to his seat and offered the chair opposite him to the princess, which she accepted. He waited for her to sit before he did. Summers, with no other chairs available, was forced to stand. She took up a position next to Calvin, almost like a sentry, and stood rigidly with her arms folded. Defensive and cold. Calvin wanted to be tough with the princess too, since she’d been nothing but mysterious to him and she was the prime suspect in one of the most heinous acts ever to occur on Imperial soil, but he simply couldn’t help but feel warm and happy that she was near. And that she was taking an interest in him. Him. Lowly half-citizen Calvin!

“I thank you for your aid, Captain,” said Kalila. “Now, I’m sure you have many questions, not the least of which is why I am asking you to go to Capital World. A place that we both know is not safe for your ship. At least as things stand at the moment.”

“Yes,” said Calvin. “I do want to know about that. But I have a few other concerns that ought to be addressed first.” He considered how to broach the subject. Somehow it was difficult to ask Kalila a challenging question, especially one that seemed to question her integrity and character. There was just something about her that was difficult and intimidating and… he simply did not want to upset or displease her.

“Why did your ship slaughter all those people on Renora?” asked Summers. Her voice was bald and uncompromising, and she did nothing to sugar-coat the issue or be gentle. Kalila looked surprised—she was probably not used to being addressed in such a way—but she kept her cool.

“My ship did not attack Renora,” she replied.

“I’ve seen countless broadcasts that clearly show the Black Swan, an alpha-class ship—one of only a handful in the whole Empire—bombing and slaughtering the people and infrastructure of Renora,” said Summers.

“It is very suspicious,” added Calvin, wanting to take a part in this discussion—and wanting to remind himself that Kalila owed him some answers if he was going to even consider helping her. True he’d sworn an oath to the crown and it was his duty to serve the royal family, but not at the expense of the well-being of the Empire.

“I’m glad you bring up the matter,” said Kalila, “for that is why we must go to Capital World with all haste. And why I have need of your help in doing so.”

“And we should aid and abed a fugitive of the Empire because?” Summers raised an eyebrow.

“Firstly because you yourselves are fugitives,” said Kalila. “And you know first-hand that you are undeserving of the title. You know—we both know—that there is something rotten that has infiltrated our military. That perverse influence has summoned ships to hunt and pursue you, so that you will not expose it. For the same reason they have planted a false flag at Renora, framing me and my vessel for a brutal attack, which we did not take part in, in order to discredit me and cast doubt upon my family. The very family that raised humanity out of the broken ashes, from fledging disunited colonies into a single, powerful civilization—and has shepherded it ever since. They wish to challenge my father. That is why they attacked Renora in my name.”

Calvin considered her words. The idea that Renora had been attacked as a way of destabilizing the throne, possibly to create a vacuum of power that would allow the Phoenix Ring to seize the throne, did fit very snug with the facts he already knew, and with the information Raidan had already given him. However making the entire galaxy believe the Imperial colony had been attacked by the Black Swan was no meager task.

“If it was not you and your ship that attacked Renora—which I am inclined to believe,” said Calvin, not wanting to upset the princess or give her cause to distrust him, “then how did they do it? I’ve seen the broadcasts myself; the ship seemed in every way to be the Black Swan. It had all the right markings, and all the right firepower.”

“Let me ask you this,” said Kalila. “Did you ever hear a broadcast that included any voice messages from myself or my crew during or before the attack?”

“No,” Calvin admitted. “The reports are that the ship maintained radio silence as it approached the planet and commenced bombing.”

“Which it did because the people on that ship who did the bombing were not my people. We were somewhere else. That ship was not the Black Swan. It was another ship, made in secret, designed to the exact specifications as my ship. Meant in every way to seem like my ship. To make any observer believe they are looking at my ship. But if we were ever in the same place, trust me you’d be seeing double.”

“I want to believe you,” said Calvin. “But I need proof.”

“And a lot of it,” added Summers.

Kalila nodded. “As you should. And the evidence that I have with me is complete and convincing. It has taken some time to collect, but it will acquit me not only in your eyes but in the eyes of the Assembly and the Imperial public.”

“That’s a bold claim,” said Summers.

“A bold truth,” said Kalila. “I intend to go to the Assembly floor and acquit myself, my House, and my crew before the entire Empire. That will frustrate our enemies’ plans, and hopefully buy us enough time to identify them and expose them. We will root out their festering influence and excise it from the military, the government, and the Empire. Then all will again be as it should.” Her dark eyes shimmered in the office lighting and Calvin was taken in by them. They were unflinching, unyielding, and uncompromising. Calvin had zero doubt that Kalila spoke her words sincerely.

“That sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” said Calvin. To strike against the enemy in their own house, and purge the Empire once and for all of the Phoenix Ring and all the corrupt elements that had taken hold, that was a worthy goal if ever Calvin had heard one. And it would also mean a chance to find out what had happened to Rafael and, hopefully, come to his aid.

“I’d like to see this evidence that is so convincing,” said Summers.

“And see it you shall,” said Kalila. She reached into the pocket of her civilian clothing and withdrew a tiny data disc. “This disc is the key. On it is everything we need to make our case before the Assembly. It must be kept safe at all costs.”

“Before you start planning your case before the Assembly, perhaps you’d better first make your case here,” said Summers.

Kalila ignored Summers and looked deeply into Calvin’s eyes. “Here, Calvin,” she handed him the disc. He took it from her gingerly and held it. It was so tiny and yet it represented so much, if it could do what Kalila claimed it would. “I want you to hold onto it,” she said. She reached out and placed a hand on his wrist. He felt a spark at her touch. “Calvin I am trusting you with this. In your hand you hold my fate, my family’s fate, and the fate of the Empire.”

Suddenly the tiny disc felt very heavy.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

He nodded. Too stunned to speak.

“Enough dramatics, let’s see this evidence,” said Summers. “If it is as strong as you claim, then you have my full support. I am ever a servant of the Empire. But if it is not, if there is room for even a shred of doubt, then I will not be able to trust you. And I think it is only fair that you know that I intend to advise Calvin, in such a case, not to trust you either.”

Kalila smiled. “Then I have nothing to worry about. And I look forward to counting you among my strongest supporters.”

With a surprising amount of reluctance, Calvin pulled his hand away from Kalila’s tender touch and inserted the disc into his computer terminal. The princess got up from her chair and walked around the desk so all three of them could get a good look at Calvin’s display.

On the disc were several file groups. Kalila coached him through the different screens. “This is the one that took the longest to obtain,” she said as Calvin pulled up documents ostensibly taken from the Secure Polarian Archives. It was a network of military and other secrets within the Confederacy that even high-ranking political leaders had no access to, it was the exclusive domain of the Prelains and anyone they considered worthy of such knowledge and access. For Kalila to have obtained it, she would have to have a spy very highly placed in the Polarian Religious circle. Or else have had tremendous success finding a highly established Polarian who was also susceptible to being bribed or blackmailed—two things the Polarians were generally considered immune to.

“As you can see here, these documents were acquired from ‘an unnamed source’ eight years ago,” she said. The data before them appeared to be extraordinarily detailed schematics of the Black Swan and other advanced Imperial ships. Calvin wasn’t a ship-builder but as far as he could tell everything was here in such cumbersome and complete detail that the information could be used to build an exact replica of the Black Swan—so long as the builder had the considerable resources to do so.

“And after this was acquired,” continued Kalila, “another anonymous party arranged for construction of the ship to begin. The process was done in secret at a shipyard in Eos Minor and took approximately seven years to complete.”

“How do we know you didn’t fabricate these documents?” asked Summers.

Calvin thought that was a fair question, though it did show a little bit of Summers’ inexperience working with these kind of classified materials. Not only would it be extremely difficult to fabricate Polarian documents with such perfection, it would be nigh impossible to fabricate the Black Swan’s design schematics. Even if the engineers at Kalila’s disposal were clever and they used the Black Swan as a medium and tried to infer its design schematics from studying the ship, it would be a cumbersome and difficult process that would take considerable time and inevitably result in a product that was not exact. And the inevitable imperfections in the schematics they fabricated and the actual schematics themselves, no matter how tiny, would be pounced upon once Kalila released these documents to the Assembly and the public in an effort to acquit herself. If these schematics were not the genuine article, Kalila was only putting a nail in her own coffin. Therefore Calvin believed they were genuine. He also doubted Kalila had access to classified military designs and if she’d made any effort to acquire the schematics of her ship, certainly those efforts would have been noted. So, all things considered, Calvin was convinced the most plausible explanation was that Kalila had indeed acquired these documents through her Polarian contact circle, which meant that military secrets were being leaked to the Polarians and a replica Black Swan—one of the fiercest ships in the galaxy—had been constructed.

“You can see these markings here,” Kalila said. She went on to coach Summers through several of the subtle indicators that demonstrated the documents were of Polarian origin. The review gave Calvin flashbacks of his Intel Wing training.

“I see,” said Summers, still sounding a bit skeptical once Kalila was finished.

“There’s more,” said Kalila. She guided Calvin to another set of documents, these were Imperial documents and were certain to be more familiar to Summers. “Here are all of my ship’s logs, including all of our destinations in the past year. Here are the computer records, indicating every course and heading input into the navigation system over the last year… there is a lot of data there but if you run a cross-check on all of these coordinates you’ll find that the ship hasn’t been anywhere near Renora in recent memory. The last time it was even within a light-year of that system was nine standard months ago. See,” she brought up one of the data points. Calvin took her word for it for now, as far as he could tell she was speaking the truth, but he would have the Nighthawk’s computer crunch the numbers for him when he got the chance—just to be sure.

“And as for the time of the attack on Renora, observe these logs,” said Kalila. She then brought up not only a dataset marking the ship’s tracked positions while the Renora attack was taking place—which showed the Black Swan was indeed nowhere near Renora—she also brought up footage from the ship’s own cameras that showed images of space and stars that corroborated the computer’s claim of where the Black Swan actually was. “These star configurations, in this pattern, clearly indicate that we were at Theos One. Not Renora. If we were at Renora these star patterns would be completely different.”

Calvin nodded. By this point he was entirely convinced. And not just because he wanted to believe the princess was innocent, but because this was actually a healthy amount of compelling evidence.

“I’d still like to have the operations chief check over all of this data, as well as the Nighthawk’s computer, to assess the likelihood that any of it was tampered with or outright fabricated,” said Summers.

“Of course,” said Kalila. “I insist.”

But it wasn’t to Kalila that Summers was speaking. Her eyes were on Calvin. “Sir, with your permission?”

“Granted,” said Calvin. “Have Cassidy do a thorough analysis of this data and make a complete report to both of us regarding the probable authenticity of this information. In the meantime maintain present course and speed.”

“Yes, sir,” Summers said. She bowed her head once to the princess and then swept away. The door slid closed behind her.

“I don’t think that one likes me very much,” said Kalila.

Calvin smirked. “I’ve been there before. But don’t worry, for as cold and icy as she is, Summers is completely dependable. And in her own strange way she grows on you.”

“Indeed.”

Kalila continued going through the various documents, even though Calvin was already convinced of her innocence. He tried to focus as best he could, but it was difficult when she was standing right next to him, brushing up against him. He could smell her light but splendid perfume and it, combined with her proximity, made him melt a little inside.

He cleared his throat and tried to organize his thoughts. “Tell me, princess, how did you acquire such high-level Polarian documents?” He knew he had to focus if he was to keep a clear head. Somehow Kalila was just so intoxicating…

“I have some Polarian agents of my own,” she replied. Calvin remembered their first meeting on Tau Outpost, when he’d caught sight of blue skin hidden behind the hooded disguise of one of Kalila’s bodyguards. He’d suspected then that Kalila had at least one Polarian operative. Perhaps these documents meant she had dozens.

“Those must be hard to acquire.”

“Some of them were sought out by my family, in an effort to improve relations and remain informed. Some of our friendships and connections have existed since the Great War, when there was for a time a common enemy, and some of my connections are ones I have sought out myself. But the truly valuable ones…” she paused and turned her head. Her soft raven hair brushed his cheek and he liked how it felt. She looked at him, their eyes very close—he’d never seen such richness and darkness in a person’s eyes before; they could cast spells!—and she spoke. “The most truly valuable have been the Polarian agents who have put themselves, and in their minds their immortal souls, at risk to give us information, and warnings, because they fear another Great War is coming. These are noble Polarians who love their people, and their families, even above their sacred duty—which is technically blasphemy in their culture—and are willing to give up everything, including eternal bliss, to do all they can to prevent a second bloodbath from occurring. The Great War was not kind to them. And if there is to be a second one…”

“It would be far worse,” Calvin agreed.

Kaila didn’t move away and Calvin stared into her eyes. Something about her completely pulled him in. He felt a weakness inside him, a tingling…

The door opened and Summers stepped inside, followed by Cassidy. “I’m ready to analyze the data, sir,” she said. “Commander Presley has given me full instructions.”

Kalila pulled herself away from Calvin and stood up. She then walked to the side to make room for Cassidy and Summers next to the terminal.    Calvin got out of his seat and gestured for Cassidy to take his place. “You have every resource at your disposal; this is to take top priority.”

“It will not take long,” said Kalila. “I assure you, you will find the data to be sound and true.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Calvin. He looked at Summers. “What is our ETA to Ursa Leo?”

“Twenty-six hours at present jump depth.”

“That should be ample time,” said Calvin. “Summers, you have the deck. Princess,” he turned back to Kalila. “If you’ll follow me I’ll be glad to show you to your quarters.”

Chapter 8

“What is it? This had better be important,” said Zane. He’d been forced to walk out on a meeting with some wealthy potential investors who were sympathetic to the cause. And while it was true that the Phoenix Ring had wealth enough—especially Zane—there was no such thing as too much wealth or too much power, particularly when the fate of the galaxy was being decided.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Celeste Ortega-Gasset. She was a pretty little thing, even when broadcast over the computer screen and its poor lighting there was something sensual about her. Her fair hair and semi-dark skin—an unusual combination but one Zane found pleasing—worked well with her dark, almost black eyes. If she weren’t so far beneath his station, and such a useful tool besides, she was one Zane would actually consider taking as a mistress. At least until he grew bored of her.

“You will now explain why this call is so important,” he said. He kept his tone even, free of harshness of emotion, but those who’d worked with Zane for any amount of time knew that he always meant business, and they’d be wise not to waste his time.

“It’s about the Remus Incident,” she said.

Zane felt his frustration with her evaporate and his mind quicken. There were a lot of question marks surrounding the strange set of circumstances that had come into play during the failed Remus Nine operation. Some things had been discovered—such as the fact that the Phoenix Ring operative had vanished without a trace and no one had made contact with him since—but most of the mystery remained, such as why their operative had stopped contacting them. Zane hoped that the operative had died, or even that he’d been taken captive by Calvin Cross, anything was better than the alternative. Unfortunately it was that alternative he believed most likely, and it had grave implications…“Go on.”

“The replicant, X’li Prime, may have defected to the Rahajiim.”

Zane felt his heart stop for a moment. That was what he and the others most feared. “What? Explain.”

“There have been whispers that the Enclave figured out that X’li disappeared, and that X’li Prime, posing as X’li on Remus Nine, was in fact not the true X’li. If true, they may have gotten to X’li Prime before he got into position on Remus Nine. Or else X’li Prime had always intended to betray us and he sought out the Enclave himself. One informer—while intoxicated—claimed the Enclave cut a deal with X’li Prime. And that the Enclave decided to double-back on their deal with us and instead make good on their promises to the Rahajiim.”

It had been a bold move of Zane and the Phoenix Ring to try to recruit the Enclave out from under the Rahajiim. The Phoenix Ring worked with the Rahajiim to promote a common interest, but their good feelings for each other ended there. In the end, both organizations, while smiling at each other’s faces, knew that when the dust cleared, either the humans or the Rotham would be standing at the top of everything. Eventually the two groups would be at odds, and that meant it was critical to make preparations for that inevitable conflict now. They were friends with their arms around each other and knives pressed against each other’s backs. And the clock was ticking. And at the end of a very delicious tether was the Enclave—and, much more importantly, the most deadly weapons in the galaxy.

The isotome weapons were the key, and Zane had urged the others to sweeten the pot for the Enclave so the Phoenix Ring would be the ones holding the isotome when all was said and done. Even though, according to their arrangement with the Rahajiim, the Phoenix Ring was only supposed to be involved in helping to develop the weapons. The weapons themselves belonged to the Enclave, who—according to the agreement—belonged to the Rahajiim. But that deal had unacceptable implications. So Zane and the Phoenix Ring had double-crossed the Rahajiim. Zane had then used the Phoenix Ring’s private relationship with the Enclave to arrange for a key member of the Enclave to be replaced, so that when the time came there were certain assurances... They had double-crossed the Enclave and now, it seemed, the Enclave had double-crossed them right back.

“If those rumors are true, then the isotome weapons on the surface of Remus Nine are now in the possession of the Rahajiim.”

Zane knew that was bad, but the worst part wasn’t that the Rahajiim had the weapons they were always supposed to have according to the agreed upon plans, it was that the Rahajiim knew the Phoenix Ring had double-crossed them. That meant they had X’li Prime, the Enclave, half the weapons, and another reason to accelerate whatever plans they had to act against the Phoenix Ring. “At least we have the rest of the stockpile,” said Zane.

Celeste didn’t say anything.

“Right?” pressed Zane. If it turned out they’d lost the other half of the isotome weapons he was sure he’d have a heart attack.

“I don’t know, we may,” said Celeste. “I haven’t gotten that confirmed yet.”

“You mean they’re just sitting there for anyone to grab? What if the Rahajiim fleet followed the Arcane Storm and found them?”

“That shouldn’t be possible, based on the information I have from Edwards Prime… not even the Desert Eagle was able to pick up the Arcane Storm’s jump signature. And the Rahajiim fleet arrived at Remus long after the Desert Eagle did. So the trail would be even colder.”

“Drop everything and make sure those weapons are safely where they’re supposed to be.” Zane narrowed his eyes. If there was anything that would protect the Phoenix Ring from the Rahajiim when the time came, it would be the deterrence of the isotome weapons. They each had a gun to the others’ head. If the Phoenix Ring didn’t have one, on the other hand, and the Rahajiim did, that did not bode well. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t tell any of the others this news.” Zane did not want to be wasting his time trying to reassure some of the more flighty members of the Phoenix Ring.

“Too late, sir,” said Celeste. And her face disappeared. The call was over.

“Damn,” Zane slapped an angry hand flat on the console.

He left the private room in his estate and headed out to his limousine. His personal escort followed and he ordered his driver to take him to the other side of the capital city. During the drive he received a call on his mobile from a secure line—a call he’d been expecting, and dreading, since speaking with Celeste.

“We have to get out of here,” said the frantic voice of Rita Donovan. “We have to get the hell off this rock and go, while we still can.”

“And go where?” he asked. Rita had heard the upsetting news that their replicant X’li Prime might have defected to the Rahajiim. And she was already jumping to all sorts of panicked conclusions.

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” she said. “They’ll be coming for us. You mark my words. They’ll be coming!”

“First of all, there’s nowhere in the galaxy safer than Capital World. And secondly, no they won’t. You and the others stay calm. The situation is under control.”

“And just how is it under control? Do you have a hundred warships ready to defend us? Are you prepared to give battle to the Rahajiim?”

Zane nearly rolled his eyes. Rita was right to be fearful of the long reach of the Rahajiim, and the group’s merciless brutality, but she hadn’t the slightest sense of what an attack by the Rahajiim would look like. At least one against the Phoenix Ring. “Everything is under control,” Zane repeated.

“This will be our heads. I just know it!”

“Stay here, stay calm, and stay down,” he said slowly and clearly. “I’ll contact you when I know more.” He hung up without giving Rita another chance to speak. The last thing he wanted was for her to lead a panic that resulted in the Phoenix Ring’s members fleeing the system in all different directions, pulling out their money and their support. Especially when everything they had ever aspired for was literally within their reach for the first time.

The Rahajiim were incredibly powerful, and there was no doubt they would be a serious threat to the Phoenix Ring eventually, but the much more immediate danger—the one that threatened to ruin all of their plans before they could come to fruition, was the Organization. And Zane would prefer the Phoenix Ring keep its resources and attention fixed on them for the time being.

When his car arrived in the discrete underground parking garage, he and his escort entered the building through one of the underground “back doors.” Zane left his bodyguard and proceeded through several security checkpoints. This was one of many structures quietly operating under the flag of Intel Wing. Technically Zane did not have clearance to be here—no civilian did—but he and the Phoenix Ring had made considerable inroads inside Intel Wing, and now the premiere intelligence gathering network in the galaxy was more or less at his disposal. He still had to be careful, and keep his head down at times, but those agents he’d managed to recruit—or replace—were slowly taking over everything.

“Hello again, Mister Martel,” said one of the guards. He was in full combat fatigues and very heavily armed. He was the gate keeper to the inner sanctum of the facility. Not only did he look ready for some serious urban warfare—carrying weapons and explosives enough to fend off a small army—he stood over a button that would summon an army of marines to swoop down on the facility and lock everything down within minutes.

“Hello,” said Zane.

“Here to see Director Edwards again?” the guard asked.

“That’s correct.” Of course the guard, like most people here, had no idea that the person who sat in Director Edwards chair now, and who wore his same face, was in fact Edwards Prime. And that the real Director hadn’t been seen for… quite a while.

The guard buzzed him through and Zane continued his journey, which wound into the inner sanctum of the facility. He made it to the Director’s office where again he was buzzed in.

So much security and all of it useless, he thought as he remembered how easily they’d managed to abduct the real Director Edwards from his personal home.

“Good to see you again,” Edwards Prime said once Zane was in his office and the door was closed. Zane knew that the room had been stripped of all recording equipment and made soundproof so he was at liberty to speak openly.

“I take it you are enjoying your new lofty position in the Imperial Military?” asked Zane. Mostly to remind the replicant whom he owed everything to and where his loyalties should lie—after hearing that X’li Prime might have defected from the Phoenix Ring, Zane wanted to make sure Edwards Prime wasn’t of a similar mind.

“I am ever at your service, my master,” Edwards Prime bowed. “How may I serve you?”

“Firstly I need you to identify more sympathizers of the Organization here on Capital World—even people who are just suspects will do—Blackmoth is running out of targets and I want to make a statement to the Organization by cutting them off from Capital World completely.”

“We have not yet confirmed that anyone else is working for the Organization, other than the names I already gave you. But we have a few suspects under surveillance. I can produce a list of them for you if you like—though it’s unlikely most of them are connected to the Organization in actuality.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Zane. “We take them all out. If even one belonged to the Organization, it will help me send the message I want to send.”

“And if not?”

“Collateral damage.”

“Understood. I’ll have that list sent to you within the hour.”

“Good. Now on to the second thing,” said Zane, thinking about his most recent conversation with Rita Donovan. “Tell me what is going on with the Rahajiim. Are they still in Imperial space? What are they up to?” If the Rahajiim had plans of their own—which Zane didn’t doubt—they were imperative to discover before the Rahajiim acted on them. Certainly their ultimate interests were not in line with the Phoenix Ring’s, or humanity’s.

“The Rahajiim fleet was positively identified en route to Remus System, according to reports submitted by Captain Nimoux.”

Zane nodded. “And did they remain?”

“Unknown, Nimoux withdrew his squadron from the system before it could be cornered or captured by the Rahajiim fleet. He reports that the ISS Phoenix did not make the rendezvous and is therefore missing.”

“Damn that Commander Datar,” said Zane. When Anand Datar had been given control of the ISS Phoenix by the Fleet, the Phoenix Ring hadn’t yet been ready with a replicant to replace him. Which meant they’d have to manipulate Datar through more conventional means until the time was right to replace him. Zane had thought that if the young commander could be made emotionally compromised, and that if he blamed his former friend Calvin along with Raidan’s Organization for his newfound emotional turmoil, he might be molded into an unknowing but useful tool. And might be used to destroy the Nighthawk, thus depriving the Organization of one of its most valuable assets. Unfortunately, when the moment had come, and Datar had indeed fired on the Nighthawk, Nimoux and the Desert Eagle had prevented the Nighthawk’s destruction. Since then the Phoenix had been pulled from the squadron and now, according to reports, Datar and the Phoenix had disappeared entirely.

“No one has seen the Phoenix and no one seems to know where it has gone,” continued Edwards Prime. Telling Zane what he already knew.

“No matter,” Zane said. It was a shame that Datar had not completed the task, but at least his absence and his recklessness still served a minor purpose. He was a chaotic element that would help bring about the instability the Phoenix Ring was working so hard to achieve. And, if the Phoenix did manage to hunt down the Nighthawk, there was always the chance that Anand Datar and the Phoenix would eliminate the ship and its intrusive commander once and for all. “Just tell me that Nimoux and the squadron we gave him are still in fast pursuit of the Nighthawk.”

“He isn’t. He and his ships have changed position to prepare for a Rotham invasion that he believes to be imminent. He mistook the Rahajiim fleet for the Rotham navy. He believes we are at war.”

“Tell him to continue his original mission,” said Zane.

“I have, and I’ve sent the order to him through multiple channels. Intel Wing and the Fleet.”

“And he will not comply? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I am awaiting his most recent report. I will let you know.”

“Be sure that you do.”

“There is one other concern I have about Nimoux,” said Edwards Prime. “Not only did he allow the Nighthawk to escape—and thereby enable Calvin Cross and the Organization to keep frustrating many of our efforts—Nimoux has been doing some digging of his own. He sent a probe to the Xenobe Nebular Region and discovered that all the isotome had been stripped away. He has since reported this to the Fleet and Intel Wing, though I’ve intercepted all of his reports so far.”

“He knows about the isotome weapons?” asked Zane with a jolt of concern. Nimoux had considerable status and influence for someone in his position, and he wasn’t an operative Zane believed the Phoenix Ring could successfully recruit. If he knew too much and was able to successfully blow the whistle… that would create a crisis for the Phoenix Ring.

On the other hand, Nimoux was one of the most useful tools Zane had access to. He was the best operative in the Empire and one that Zane could be sure had not been recruited by the Organization or the Rahajiim. So long as Nimoux’s orders came through proper channels—and Zane controlled those channels—Nimoux was as obedient as a well-trained dog. Or so Zane had thought. Nimoux should not have allowed the Nighthawk to escape, he should not be investigating isotome, and he should not have abandoned his pursuit of the Nighthawk to prepare for a war that—if all went well—wasn’t going to happen.

“Resources have been mobilized and I’m prepared to deal with Nimoux, if that is your wish, sir,” said Edwards Prime.

Zane thought about it for a moment. He couldn’t risk Nimoux finding out any more than he had—and he certainly couldn’t risk the legendary captain bringing his information before the Assembly. At least not before the Hour of Ascension had come. On the other hand, the Phoenix Ring needed useful operatives in the field working for them, whether knowingly or not, and there was no one more skilled and capable than Nimoux anywhere. Zane would be sad to lose him.

“Sir?”

“I’ll make up my mind on the matter soon and let you know. Until you hear from me, do not move against Nimoux. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

***

The time came for the Arahn-Fi. Normally it would be witnessed by dozens of Polarians—enough to form a complete ring around the combatants, large enough to give them space but tight enough to keep either from escaping. Here aboard the Arcane Storm, though, there were only a few Polarians—most of their group had died on Remus Nine. Joining the Essences with full honor and glory. Which meant that there was no ring around Rez’nac as he faced his son. Only three other Polarians stood by to witness the Arahn-Fi. But it was no matter; Rez’nac knew that he would never dishonor himself by fleeing the combat. And neither would Grimka. Their beliefs were far too sacred.

“As your master, I am giving you one final chance to abandon this madness and submit to me,” said Rez’nac. He looked at his son who, like him, was dressed with the ceremonial breastplate and helm, and carried the artifacts of his Essence, including a dagger.

“I refuse,” said Grimka.

“I urge you to let the proper order be established once more. Fall into line and receive no shame, only honor. All of this, every whit of your petulant defiance, will be forgiven.” Even as Rez’nac spoke the words he knew he could not allow Grimka’s murder of the human soldier to go unpunished, but he hoped to allow Grimka the chance to recant before death, perhaps letting him go to the Essences after all, instead of the darkness.

“There is no order here. In this house, under your watch, we have gone astray. It is for the Essences, and their honor, and the sacred duty of everyone here, that I must call forth the Arahn-Fi.”

Rez’nac felt disheartened by Grimka’s answer, but was not surprised. Truly it was a sad moment in any Polarian’s life when he had to slay his own son to keep his honor. But, like he’d told Calvin Cross, the truth was what it was, and it had no sympathy. And respected no person.

“Are you prepared to be judged by the Essences, father?” asked Grimka.

“I am prepared for the Essences to show us their will,” Rez’nac replied. “Let the Arahn-Fi commence!”

With that he took a step closer to his son and drew his dagger. Grimka did the same. As opponents, they circled each other for a moment, sizing up the other. Rez’nac searched his soul for the strength to lash out against his own son, knowing it had to be there. For honor required it. And there was none more honorable than Khalahar. His own Essence.

The three witnesses began chanting, speaking the harmonious poetry that was a symbol of the Arahn-Fi, calling forth the collective souls of the Essences to take possession of the bodies of the combatants and show them—the witnesses—their will.

Grimka attacked first. He lunged and Rez’nac easily deflected the blade. Grimka opened himself up with his failed attack and Rez’nac sent him a swift punch to the face. His hard knuckles cracked against Grimka’s cheek, tearing his coarse blue skin, and the younger Polarian recoiled.

Rez’nac did not press his advantage, though, and instead waited for Grimka to recover and come at him again. Hoping that somehow Grimka would see the madness of his deeds and try to declare an end to the Arahn-Fi—even though such was strictly disallowed. Yielding to Rez’nac would cost Grimka his honor, but allow him to hold onto his life. Rez’nac hoped Grimka would take that option, and he wondered if that made him a bad father to value his son’s life more than his son’s honor. And, deep inside, he knew it did. And that pained him.

Grimka attacked again, carving and slicing through the air with his fierce dagger. Its razor-honed edge glimmered in the flight deck’s lights and Rez’nac had to duck and roll to the side to evade the attack.

Grimka became angry that his attacks were not finding their target and, showing the bright blue of embarrassment in his face, he gritted his teeth and growled. He cursed Rez’nac in the foulest of the forgotten tongues, and then charged him.

Rez’nac stood his ground. It was time for him to teach his son a lesson. His son who had defied him, and who had murdered one of the humans, and who had summoned this Arahn-Fi madness even though he could not prevail and the Essences would not favor him.

Grimka slashed his dagger at Rez’nac who deflected the blow with his arm. Grimka then threw a punch at Rez’nac’s face and connected hard, throwing all his weight and momentum into it. But still Rez’nac remained standing, allowing the force of the blow to flow through him. It hurt, and part of him wanted to scream or lash out in response to the pain, but he’d trained himself long ago to be his own master. The pain was merely the dark part of his soul rebelling against him, confused and out-of-place—much like Grimka—and Rez’nac would not submit to it.

With his free arm he caught Grimka by the throat. His fingers seized the younger Polarian tightly. He held him close and stared into the younger Polarian’s eyes. As if trying to see into his soul and understand why Grimka had fallen so far from the path of honor.

Grimka squirmed and struggled against his father’s iron grip and made another attempt to stab him. This time the dagger glanced off the ceremonial breastplate. Rez’nac knocked the dagger aside and it scraped across the deck, stopping several meters away.

Grimka crashed his head down, bashing Rez’nac with his forehead. Their ceremonial helmets collided with surprising force but, once more, Rez’nac ignored the pain and Grimka seemed to get the worst of it.

“Submit,” Rez’nac whispered, still staring into the eyes of his son. With his free hand he raised his dagger until it was poised to deliver the fatal blow; it gleamed menacingly for all to see.

Grimka glanced at it, then back to Rez’nac. Fear showed in his eyes. Utter terror. Rez’nac knew what it was when he saw it. But somehow Grimka did not allow that fear to overpower him. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and showed his defiance.

“Never,” said Grimka. “I will go to the Essences and take my rightful place. But I will never yield during an Arahn-Fi. I would never dishonor myself or my Essence. My soul is at peace. Do what you must, Father.”

Rez’nac was a little taken aback, he had never seen nor expected this kind of fire from his son before. The young Polarian was strong and stubborn, and a devout—if a bit misguided—follower of their ways, but he had never shown this kind of strength before. And so strong was his conviction that it made Rez’nac almost doubt his own. Had he led them astray?

“Finish it,” screeched Hrokki from the side. The other two witnesses joined their voices to his. “Finish it. Finish the Arahn-Fi. Complete the will of the Essences!”

Rez’nac glanced at them, then turned back to Grimka who no longer struggled to break free of his grip. Grimka nodded. “Do it, father.”

Rez’nac tightened his grip on his dagger and readied to plunge it into Grimka’s throat. He wanted to give his son a quick death, if he could. With no more pain than the Essences deemed necessary.

“Forgive me,” whispered Rez’nac. He blamed himself, above all, for failing Grimka as a father. For allowing Grimka to become the rebellious spirit that he’d become. That the Essences now demanded be purged from the galaxy.

“Complete the Arahn-Fi,” the witnesses continued to shout.

Rez’nac closed his eyes—the first time he’d ever closed his eyes to an act of violence he’d committed himself to—and then thrust the dagger toward Grimka. As he did, their memories together seemed to flow through his mind. He recalled the youth as an infant. Remembered caring for him. And in his memory of Grimka he saw the face of the female that had birthed him.

The dagger’s course did not remain true. It glanced off the edge of the breastplate, well short of Grimka’s exposed neck. And Rez’nac knew why. It hadn’t been the dagger that had failed to be true, nor was Rez’nac so poor a warrior that his blade could not find its mark—rather it was Rez’nac himself who had failed to remain true. In the end he lacked the conviction to do as the Essences demanded and slay his own son. It was he who was unworthy.

There was a reaction of surprise from the other Polarians who seemed confused why the fatal blow failed to reach its target. Rez’nac tossed the blade aside and let go of his son. “I yield the Arahn-Fi,” he said, knowing his shame.

He looked down, unable to meet the gazes of the surprised Polarians. This was surely the outcome they’d least expected.

“The will of the Essences has been determined,” declared Grimka. He took both his and Rez’nac’s fallen daggers and wore them as trophies. “I am the master here now.”

The three witnesses bowed their heads to Grimka. Rez’nac looked at them, then looked at Grimka. But he did not bow his head. Though he accepted the outcome.

“I hereby declare you, Rez’nac, formerly my father, and formerly of the Essence of Khalahar, stripped of all honor and all positions,” said Grimka without remorse. “You are cursed to wander as a dark spirit. Lost forever. Free and unjoined. Never to find home in the Essences again.”

Rez’nac looked at him unblinking. He’d known this to be the price of his mercy. Of his weakness. But he had no regrets. And he realized finally that Grimka’s flaws and weaknesses truly were the fault of his father.

The Polarians each in turn turned their backs to Rez’nac, and completed the short and brutal ritual of the unjoining. It was painful seeing them turn away from him, and more painful still knowing that he would never have a place among the honored dead, but he accepted that the will of the Essences had indeed been revealed. They were right, he was unworthy to lead them. Any Polarian who could not complete an Arahn-Fi was no kind of leader.

The truth was what it was. Unflinching. And a respecter of no one.

***

“So why did you choose to trust the Nighthawk to get you to Capital World safely?” asked Calvin. He and Kalila sat on the bed in crew quarters 503, which had been hastily converted to be made as luxurious as possible for the princess—unfortunately the Nighthawk had little luxury to offer.

“You were the only one I knew for certain was not working for the corrupt elements inside our military,” she gave him a candid look. It made him feel warm. “That and your ship has stealth technology that will be useful. The Black Swan doesn’t have the ability to go places unseen and unnoticed like the Nighthawk.”

“But it could have gotten you to Capital World,” Calvin pressed. “Surely you don’t think your enemies would move against you and your ship at Capital World, within sight of the King, your father. Surely he could have protected you, and made sure you got a fair hearing to show your evidence.”

“Alas, I would never make it. The Black Swan would certainly be detected on approach and intercepted. And, for all its armor and firepower, it would still be overpowered and captured by the forces pursuing it. If not destroyed… Even now it’s being chased by enough ships to pulverize it. Let us hope that Captain Adiger is clever enough to keep the ship and her crew intact, and our enemies distracted, long enough for me to clear the charges against us and call off the hunt in the name of the King.”

Calvin nodded. He understood Kalila’s plan, and knew that there were police, imperial marshals, Intel Wing operatives, military vessels, and all sorts of people on the lookout for Kalila. And that protecting her, and her information, until she could clear her name was of critical importance. Their enemies, no doubt, would do everything in their power to prevent Kalila from making it before the Assembly to share her evidence—which would undoubtedly clear her name. That meant they had to be careful along the way, and make no mistakes. Calvin couldn’t help but let it get to his head a little that he’d been the one entrusted with the assignment of escorting her—even if he was the logical choice and perhaps the only one available.

“The Nighthawk can get you to Capital World, but it won’t be able to dock with any of the stations or ships there—nor will we be able to deactivate our stealth system, if we did we would be fired upon ourselves. But if we remain stealthed we should be all right.” Calvin wondered if that was even true. Twice now other ships had seemed able to see through his stealth system—first at Abia when the Rotham squadron matched his movements, then later Nimoux’s ship seemed able to track them. If such new advanced detection technology had been developed, it would surprise him if it wasn’t installed into the Capital World defense grid.

“I understand that,” she said. “There is a ship waiting for us, it will meet us in open space near the Capital System. The Ice Maiden, it’s a civilian ship owned by friends of my family. Distantly connected, but extremely loyal friends…”

Calvin thought the name of the ship would be a perfect fit for Summers if she ever captained a vessel. “Go on.”

“That ship will ferry us to Capital World. There we’ll dock with the station and arrange transport to the surface.”

“Us?” asked Calvin. They hadn’t taken anyone on board from the Black Swan other than Kalila herself.

“Yes,” said Kalila. She put her hand on his wrist and looked him in the eyes. “When I go, I want you to come with me.”

Calvin’s heart beat inside him like a machine-gun and his blood quickened, but for all the excitement this opportunity gave him, there was also hesitation and confusion. He couldn’t leave the Nighthawk, could he? Of all the places in the universe this was the only one that was truly his… On the other hand he couldn’t really abandon the princess to some strangers on the Ice Maiden and expect her to safely arrive at the Assembly Floor. That wouldn’t be seeing the job through to completion.

Most of all he relished the chance to spend more time with the princess, whose commanding presence, aura of mystery, and rich, elegant beauty were only meager parts of the great, woven tapestry of her intoxicating allure. He tried not to let these feelings influence his decision, but hey had a powerful effect.

“Don’t you want to come with me?” she looked into his eyes.

“Yes, of course, absolutely I do,” he said, his words nearly stutter. “I just need to figure out what’s best for the ship, and the crew, and—”

She placed a delicate finger on his lips to silence him. Then, very quietly and simply she explained, “you will come with me and see that I arrive safely before the Assembly. There I will clear my name before the Empire. Once I’ve had my authority reinstated, I will clear your name as well. And appoint you to lead an investigation into the corruption on Capital World. We will scour the planet, dig up the ones responsible, and put them to justice.” A kind of fire showed in her eyes. “You are the one I choose to lead that investigation. Don’t you want that?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, before even thinking about it. He hated the effect she had on him—and yet he loved it at the same time. Still, as his mind tried to beat down the burning feelings of his heart, and take hold of his senses, there did seem to be a logic to her plan.

“Good,” she smiled and let go of him.

He reminded himself that he’d always intended to go down to the surface of Capital World, if he could—without being arrested, to find his missing friend Rafael. To discover what’d happened to him and make sure he was all right. Once he was leading Kalila’s taskforce to search out the corruption, looking for Rafael would be a natural part of that investigation. This was his ticket. He hadn’t planned on leaving the Nighthawk for an extended period of time—in his mind he’d wanted to get in, rescue Rafael, and get out—but he knew that wasn’t very likely. He also knew that the Nighthawk couldn’t be sitting idle near Capital System. Even with its stealth system it was bound to be detected eventually. And it was still in dire need of repair and resupply. He knew that going with Kalila meant sending the Nighthawk away and not seeing it again for a while. Which was a decision that gave him considerably more grief than he would have expected. But he gradually warmed to the reasoning behind it.

“When we go aboard the Ice Maiden, we’ll need proper paperwork and well-designed cover identities,” he said. “And we can’t use any that have been made by Intel Wing, those will be flagged for sure.”

“Yes, I have been thinking you would see to the details of that. No doubt your ship and crew are trained and equipped to handle such logistics.”

She was right, they were. That was a good portion of what Intel Wing did. “It won’t be a problem,” he said. “We’ll just have to think of our cover story, who we are and why we’re traveling together, and then I’ll speak to the quartermaster about—”

“How about newlyweds returning from our honeymoon?” she asked. Her voice was innocent and implied nothing but she did take his hand and hold it as she made the suggestion.

Again Calvin felt a jolt of energy fire through his body. Was she serious? He looked at her, seeing all of her beauty and her mystery, her white perfect smile and raven hair, and those dark eyes that concealed so much and yet seemed to draw him in invitingly. “I think that sounds like a perfect idea,” he said.

“Good.” She let go of his hand and stood up. She went to one of her bags that had been carried there and began rummaging through it. Calvin watched her. Pretending for a moment, in his mind, that he was a newly married man and the beautiful young woman before him was, in fact, his wife. It was a strange feeling. And yet… compelling. He’d never relished the idea of commitment before—on the contrary it had always terrified him—and yet, here, with her, it didn’t seem so bad. Attractive even…

He shook the thought away, reminding himself that it was all pretend. All part of a grand lie to serve an ulterior purpose—to get Kalila safely before the Assembly, to clear her name, and then they could begin the investigation that would uproot and eliminate the Phoenix Ring forever.

“I think I’m going to get some rest now, I’m quite tired,” said Kalila, finding what she was looking for in her bag. “If you don’t mind seeing that the door locks on your way out.”

Calvin jumped up and walked to the door. “Of course, sleep well.”

“Thanks, honey,” she gave him a teasing look.

It stunned him for a moment until he realized she was making a joke of their new cover story. He wasn’t sure what to say so he just smiled, gave her a polite nod, and left.

Chapter 9

The Harbinger finished its twenty-third orbit of the Lyra Minor sun before another ship was seen entering the system. Raidan stood on the dreadnought’s massive bridge, which was occupied by dozens of crewmen and seemingly countless computer stations. The bridge lights were off—as were all lights adjacent to a window—to help the ship remain as stealthy as possible. In addition, the ship’s weapons were charged and ready and the shields were on standby—ready to be raised at a second’s notice.

Since arrival, Raidan had been waiting impatiently, wanting the answers to his questions and ready to communicate his urgent news to Calvin. He knew the Harbinger could hold its own in a straight fight against any other single ship, but there were dozens of warships unaccounted for now, and hundreds more throughout the galaxy with hostile intentions. Eventually the Phoenix Ring would try to corner the Harbinger—and when it did its goal would be to take the ship out, and Raidan, once and for all. Raidan did not intend to make it easy.

“Entry signature appearing,” reported Mister Ivanov, the lead operations officer. The junior lieutenant assisting him managed several screens—no doubt using the Harbinger’s vast scopes to track everything within a click, while the operations chief kept his attention on the arriving ship.

“How many ships?” asked Raidan. He was expecting two—the Nighthawk and the Arcane Storm, any more and it was a potential threat to the Harbinger, and any less and something had gone wrong.

“Only one ship, sir,” said Mister Ivanov. “Small cruiser class… looks to be the Arcane Storm.”

In the distance there was a flash and through the window a tiny speck of light could be seen. The 3d display updated and locked onto the new ship signature, it displayed the familiar hull of the Arcane Storm.

“And the Nighthawk?” asked Raidan.

“No sign. Could be the ship is stealthed.”

“Use all our scanning power to search the space around the Arcane Storm,” said Raidan. The Organization had managed to steal the latest scanning technology and equip one of the prototype models to the Harbinger, greatly boosting its detection capabilities. Unfortunately it was the only working updated scanner the Organization had and the Phoenix Ring, undoubtedly, had equipped several of their ships with the new device.

“Aye, sir,” said Mister Ivanov. He began instructing his lieutenant to commence scanning procedures.

“Mister Watson, break orbit and set an intercept course for the Arcane Storm,” said Raidan.

“Aye, aye,” reported the helmsman. It took him and multiple flight lieutenants to fly the massive ship. The vessel turned and Lyra Minor’s deep crimson sun was visible out the port window briefly.

“Hail the Arcane Storm,” said Raidan. “Let’s make sure our friends are actually aboard.”

“Yes, sir,” Mister Gates acknowledged him. Raidan was especially glad to have him aboard, he was a former CERKO agent—and therefore a good informer on the changing organization—and his role as communications officer had greatly assisted Raidan’s effort in capturing the Harbinger in the first place. His position was the only major function on the bridge that did not require the assistance of other personnel, which had kept Captain Simmons and the rest of the Harbinger’s bona fide crew unable to alert Praxis of the mutiny that’d freed Raidan and given him command of one of the galaxy’s deadliest fighting ships. Gates input something into his computer and began speaking into his headset. Raidan watched him intently, knowing a lot hinged on what kind of response they got from the Arcane Storm. Hopefully it was their people aboard, and that Calvin was merely being unnecessarily cautious and keeping his own ship stealthed and standing by.

“Response from the Arcane Storm,” said Gates after a moment.

“On speakers.”

“I’ve brought her back to you, sir,” came the familiar voice of Tristan over the speakers. “I recommend we dock with the Harbinger immediately.”

“I agree,” replied Raidan. He had full confidence in Tristan, and had reasons to trust him completely, but he’d honestly expected Calvin to be in command of the incoming group—not Tristan. “Tell Calvin to come aboard as well. We have things to discuss immediately.”

“Calvin won’t be able to make it,” replied Tristan. “He sent one of his lieutenants in his place… a Mister Vargas or something.”

Dammit! What’s the matter with you, Calvin? I specifically instructed you to meet me here. Raidan was distressed by this news but he did not show it in his voice. “Why did he do that?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” said Tristan. “Hopefully Vargas knows more than I do – he says he has a message from Calvin.”

“Very well, bring this Vargas with you when you come aboard. I’ll see the two of you in my office right away.” Calvin had no idea the lives he was putting at risk by not coming. Already the Harbinger had been gone too long from the region of space directly around Renora. Fortunately Lyra Minor was within striking distance, but now that Calvin and the Nighthawk were gone, God knows where, the Harbinger might have no choice but to withdraw from the region for an extended amount of time. And all the Phoenix Ring needed, Raidan knew, was twelve hours. If they had twelve hours of unblocked access to the planet, Renora was doomed. And perhaps so was the Empire.

“We will come aboard immediately,” said Tristan. And the communication ended.

“See to it that our teams are ready to go aboard the Arcane Storm the instant she’s docked,” said Raidan. “And be sure that Vargas and Tristan are shown to my office the moment they arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” his staff acknowledged him.

“I’ll wait for them there. Mister Mason, you have the deck.”

When Tristan and a man Raidan didn’t recognize—who was a bit shorter than average, thin, very pale, and had extremely dark hair—entered his office, Raidan nearly stood up and commanded them to enter swiftly. Instead he remained patient and kept his chair, not wanting to appear distressed or panicked. Though the clock was ticking.

“I take it you are Mister Vargas,” said Raidan, the instant the door had closed.

“Aye, sir,” said Vargas. He looked uncomfortable, afraid even.

“Please be so kind as to tell me why Calvin decided to abandon our rendezvous and send you in his place.”

“Calvin said he had something important to take care of—and that you just had to trust him,” said Vargas, he stuttered ever so slightly. Raidan wondered what was making the officer uncomfortable, was it the might of the Harbinger, or perhaps Tristan’s presence—those who knew the ferocity of a lycan were wisely apprehensive around them. Whatever it was, Raidan hoped to capitalize on the man’s anxiety and squeeze every drop of information out of him that he could.

“Where did he go?” asked Raidan.

“The Nighthawk’s heading was unknown,” said Vargas. “No one knows where he went.”

Raidan looked to Tristan, as if to check the veracity of this claim.

Tristan nodded. “He also entrusted Mister Vargas with this written message,” Tristan produced a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on Raidan’s desk. Raidan picked it up and read.

“I’m sorry that I’m not here to meet with you in person as we agreed. You must trust me, though, that I have very good reasons. The matter I’m attending to is urgent. However I can offer you this, Xinocodone is fatal to replicants in even small doses. Calvin.” It was disappointingly vague, almost insultingly so, but at least that last part had some value—potentially. Raidan folded up the note and looked back up at his guests. “And that was all Mister Cross told you, Vargas?”

“Yes, sir. I swear it.”

Raidan had no reason to doubt the man’s word, he seemed far too intimidated to tell a lie directly to Raidan’s face.

“Very well, you may go,” Raidan waved him off.

For some reason Vargas didn’t move.

Raidan looked at him curiously. “Was there something else?”

“Yes…” said Vargas eventually. “There was one more thing. I’m not—” he hesitated.

Raidan waited patiently.

“I’m not to turn over the Arcane Storm to you until the Nighthawk has new crew and supplies,” said Vargas. “Calvin’s orders. The ship is badly damaged from battle with the Phoenix and needs new crew as well, and food and medical supplies. And ammunition too.”

“It’s too late, the Arcane Storm is already mine. My men took the ship immediately,” said Raidan.

“Calvin said not to let you have it. Not until he has the supplies he needs. And that his crew is safely back aboard the Nighthawk. That we’re to use the Arcane Storm to deliver everything… then you can have the ship.”

Raidan resisted a smile. Surely Calvin didn’t think he had any bargaining power here, especially when he couldn’t be bothered to come here and make his demands himself. “I’m sorry Mister Vargas but those terms are not acceptable.”

“They’re not for negotiation,” said Vargas. To his credit he was trying to be brave in a very frightening situation, but Raidan knew the man’s bite had no teeth, and certainly he had no leverage.

“The Arcane Storm is already mine. Everyone on board—all of your compatriots—have already been moved onto the Harbinger. My scanning crews, technical staff, and investigative analysts have already begun. They will tear apart every inch of the Arcane Storm until they find the answers I am looking for.”

Vargas looked unsure what to say.

“But don’t worry,” said Raidan. ”I’ll see that Calvin gets the repairs and resupply he needs. You and all the rest of the Nighthawk’s crew will be safely taken back to the Nighthawk by a repair convoy. We will arrange a rendezvous and do a swift deep-space repair. The Arcane Storm will not be available to be involved, but don’t worry, I have other ships at my disposal. And Calvin will get everything he needs.”

Vargas nodded.

“You may go,” Raidan dismissed him for a second time. This time the man left.

“I take it that one didn’t give you any trouble,” said Raidan once Vargas had gone.

“No,” said Tristan. “At first he was under the mistaken impression that he had command of the Arcane Storm, but I corrected that for him.”

“You saw it necessary to usurp command of the Arcane Storm?” asked Raidan curiously. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Well… it is my ship. The Organization said I could have it if I ever tracked the damn thing down. And besides, Vargas had the silliest notion that he wouldn’t dock with the Harbinger unless you agreed to all of his—and Calvin’s—terms.”

“We could have easily disabled the ship and boarded it by force,” said Raidan.

“Which would have been a hassle for everyone. So I saved you the trouble. You’re welcome.”

“Did Calvin’s people resist you? No doubt they were told Vargas had command.”

“They were surprisingly cooperative. Once I explained to them that I am actually a commander, and that I’m also a Remorii…” his eyes shimmered in the dim lighting. “And once they knew that Vargas wasn’t going to challenge me… they made no complaints.”

“And what about the security forces on the ship? I hope you didn’t feel the need to kill anybody.”

“Calvin only sent five beat up Polarians as security, and they were entirely preoccupied with their own foolishness to care what was happening on the bridge. Everything went smoothly.”

Raidan nodded. No harm done, he supposed.

“So what now?” asked Tristan.

“Now I want you to see to it that arrangements are made to get the Nighthawk the supplies it needs. You know the state of the ship so I’m putting you in charge—get a convoy ready to depart as soon as possible. Calvin’s no good to us if he and his ship are destroyed for lack of armor and weapons.”

“I will,” Tristan saluted.

“And see if you can arrange for the rendezvous to take place near Renora. I know it’s a risk, but I don’t want to draw our ships away from this zone. For… obvious reasons. Once the King’s soldiers land, you can bet our enemies will want to take advantage of that and release some hell of their own… if no one is around to stop them.”

“I understand,” said Tristan. “And what do you plan to do?”

“I’m going to oversee the tearing apart of the Arcane Storm. I know you have fond feelings for the ship, but there are answers that need to be had.”

Tristan grinned, flashing his sharp teeth. “Rip her apart to the bone if you have to. Just let me have her when you’re done.”

“I will.”

***

“New message coming in, sir,” said the helmsman.

Nimoux spun his chair to face the officer. “From whom?” His ship, the Desert Eagle, was leading a squadron of warships to a strategic position near the DMZ. Several of the vessels’ captains had concerns about these orders—which seemed to contradict their existing standing orders which were to pursue the Nighthawk—so it had become commonplace for them to contact the Desert Eagle and request clarification. Nimoux had the same answer for all of them—I am in command, you will follow my orders exactly.

“Not from one of our ships, sir,” reported the helmsman. “ It’s from Intel Wing, Office of the Director. Highest priority.”

Nimoux stood up and approached the helmsman’s terminal. Thinking perhaps now, finally, after he’d repeatedly sent reports to Intel Wing and the Fleet, they were getting somewhere.

“Message is pre-recorded, sir.”

“Play it.”

The familiar-looking face of Director Edwards materialized on the computer screen. Lately he’d seemed tired and not quite himself, this time was no exception. “Captain Nimoux, your squadron is dissolved. Each ship will be given new instructions from Intel Wing and the Fleet. As for the Desert Eagle, you are ordered to proceed to the following coordinates and rendezvous with the ISS Wolverine. Proceed with all haste. Further instruction to follow.” The image of the Director disappeared and was replaced by a set of coordinates.

Very curious… Nimoux wasn’t quite sure what to make of these latest orders. He wondered if the ships were being diverted to join forces with the Fifth and Sixth Fleets—as well they should—to respond to the Rotham invasion. It was possible that was the case, certainly it was the logical thing for the Fleet to do, but this did seem to be an odd way to go about it. Why not keep the squadron together? And why order the Desert Eagle to meet up with the ISS Wolverine? It was a navy battleship—one of the more powerful ones—and had nothing to do with Intel Wing.

“Sir, your orders?” asked the XO. No doubt everyone expected Nimoux to follow the Director’s orders to the letter. It was his sworn duty, after all. One did not maintain a command by making rash, renegade decisions. But on the other hand, something did feel strange about these orders.

Nimoux returned to his seat and stared out the window. His face looked calm and serene but inside his head his thoughts were a windstorm. There were so many considerations to be made, and so many variables. Defiance of his orders wasn’t really an option—not truly—and he had no concrete reason to distrust his superiors, other than Calvin’s testimony—which may have been a ploy on his end—and the general lack of sense behind the Fleet and Intel Wing’s under-reaction to the intelligence he’d given them about the Rotham invasion force, and the missing isotome. Neither security crisis seemed important to them.

“Sir, the rest of the squadron is splitting up. IWS Rhea has jumped from the system. The other ships are preparing their engines,” said the ops officer.

“What are our orders?” asked the XO again.

If everything Calvin had said was true, and there were isotome weapons, and corruption in the military leadership, and cooperation with hostile foreign interests, and there was a cover-up going on—all of which seemed unlikely, but increasingly plausible—then Nimoux had asked too many questions, and rattled too many cages, and was being sent to rendezvous with the Wolverine as a way of mitigating him. After all, he’d allowed the Nighthawk to escape, despite orders to capture or destroy it, that alone might be sufficient to make him seem like a threat.

On the other hand, there might be a very logical and credible reason why the Desert Eagle needed to meet with the Wolverine, though Nimoux couldn’t think of what that reason was, and failing to obey that order might be putting not only his command at risk but, much more importantly, other peoples’ lives. He thought of the three fellow officers he’d been forced to kill during the Altair mission and shuddered.

“Sir?” asked the XO. By now the officers on the bridge were likely starting to worry about him.

“Proceed as directed,” he said at last. “Fastest safe jump depth.”

“Aye, sir. Setting course,” replied the helmsman.

Nimoux reasoned that there was nothing truly compelling him to defy his orders and fail to make the rendezvous. And while he was suspicious of many things, not the least of which was the destroyed Imperial starships he helped clean up in Abia, he needed more information before he could truly act. For now, making reports to both the Fleet and Intel Wing regarding the Rotham invasion force and the disappeared isotome was all he could do. And though he felt he was being ignored, and had half a mind to take his case directly before the Imperial Assembly where he knew his celebrity status would ensure he’d be heard, things were not so desperate that such a bold, defiant action was required. Or so he hoped.

He corrected his posture and closed his eyes, forcing his mind to be silent so he could meditate and clear away the noise inside him. He felt some anxiety toward what he’d be facing once his ship met up with the Wolverine—especially if he’d inadvertently made himself into a liability—but he reasoned that he couldn’t be dealt with easily. He was too well-known, too public a figure to be made to disappear without questions being asked. Certainly there was no action that could truly be taken against him, not without spreading alarm. And, for the first time ever, he took comfort in his celebrity status—something that, until now, he’d always hated. And certainly something he felt he did not deserve.

Chapter 10

For as bad as the Nighthawk had been injured in its fight with the Phoenix, most of the damage had been superficial and had not affected important systems. There were some failures, and power had to be routed and rerouted every which way to keep things online and functional, but so far the stealth system seemed to be holding. Which was good since the Nighthawk was now extremely deep inside Imperial space, about a day and a half’s flight from Capital System. Calvin had ordered the bridge to change course from Ursa Leo to the dead space zone Kalila had provided. Where, if all went as planned, they would meet up with the Ice Maiden.

Calvin ran a hand through his newly darkened hair as he walked through the ship, catching strange looks from the skeleton crew that remained. By now word had gotten around that Kalila was on board, and that she and Calvin were going to pose as newlyweds for some sort of undercover op, but people still looked at him without recognition when they saw him. Which, though a bit awkward, was actually quite reassuring since he and Kaila had both gone to great lengths to alter their appearance. In addition to changes in hair color and style, they’d both had false skin grafted to their fingers and thumbs—to change their prints—and both wore lenses in their eyes that served the double purpose of changing their iris colors and caused any retinal scanners to achieve a false result.

In all, Calvin thought he made a rather good-looking brunette with eyes that were nearly as green as Summers’. They stood out a lot more than his normal faded blue color and he was actually enjoying the compliments he was getting from his staff. Almost enough to consider wearing color-changing lenses in his eyes all the time, but not quite. The hassle wasn’t worth it.

He arrived at the infirmary and entered. It was the second time that day they’d he’d been inside its familiar walls—the first was to get the skin grafts on his fingers. It still felt haunted and missing something, ever since Monte’s death, but Rain had brought her own warmth and personality to the place, so Calvin didn’t dread going there nearly so much. When he stepped inside she looked up from her clipboard of notes and snickered a little.

“What is it?” he asked, walking up to her.

She shook her head slightly. “If there is a God, then he painted your hair sandy-colored for a reason—trust me.”

Earlier when he’d seen Rain, Calvin hadn’t been sporting the dark hair yet. “What are you talking about?” he shrugged. “I think I’m totally pulling it off.”

Rain rolled her eyes and glanced back at her notes. After flipping through them briefly she set them aside and brushed her scrubs with her gloved hands. “What can I do for you?” she asked. She gave him a good look, taking in the new brunette Calvin once more, and a giant smile spread across her face. She shook her head slightly, almost not believing what she saw, but managed to keep from laughing again.

Calvin felt slightly self-conscious by this, but he deflected the embarrassment by getting right to the point. “I’m going to be leaving the ship in just over twenty-four hours—”

“Yes, I know,” she said, and her smile vanished. Rain had been skeptical of Calvin and Kalila’s plan to sneak down to Capital World as newlyweds. Calvin wasn’t sure what the problem was, it seemed like the perfect idea, but somehow it had gotten a less than enthusiastic response from just about everyone. Especially Rain, and—for some reason—Summers. Calvin remembered how unimpressed she’d been, how she raised her eyebrow and bit her lip, her eyes judging him. What was the big deal?—he’d wanted to ask. Only Miles had shown any real support, he’d demanded a high-five from Calvin once he knew he was going undercover as Kalila’s husband. Calvin had reminded him that it was only pretend, but Miles had insisted on calling Calvin “Prince” and “Your Highness” ever afterward, once he’d even called him “Your Mightiness” which wasn’t even a real title.

“Anyway,” Calvin continued, “I’m concerned that…” he hunted for the words for a moment. “I’ll be away from the ship but… my treatment is still ongoing, if you know what I mean…”

A look of realization came across Rain’s face. “Oh yes, that,” she said. Calvin had adopted Rain’s advice to take decreasingly smaller amounts of equarius every day to wean him from his dependence gently, while minimizing side-effects. Since implementing Rain’s plan, he was making steady progress. He still felt strong desires from time to time to take much more than the allotted dose, but Rain only gave him what he was allowed to take—which kept him from falling back on bad habits. However it also meant he had to see Rain every day which, to his surprise, was actually becoming one of his favorite parts of the day. But it also meant he couldn’t really be away from her and her clinical stockpile, even though his next mission fully demanded it.

“So my question is… do I try going off it cold-turkey again, or do you give me a supply of the equarius and trust me to take it like I’m supposed to?” he asked.

Rain bit her lip and looked at him very thoughtfully. He could imagine what she was thinking. She wanted to trust him, they were fast becoming good friends, but what kind of a doctor trusted a recovering addict with a large supply of the very thing he had a vice for? On the other hand, the last time he’d tried to quit equarius cold turkey—which had been his initial plan after the drug had nearly cost him his command—he’d suffered severe side-effects. Including vivid night terrors, light-headedness, nausea, vomiting, extreme headaches, and a host of other unpleasant things.

“Well?” he asked.

“You know yourself better than anyone,” she said. “The healthiest thing would be for you to continue the treatment as planned, by taking diminished doses until you zero out, but if you deviate from the plan—and take more than you’re supposed to—you’ll be setting yourself back ages. You might even get a shock reaction from your body that, trust me, you won’t like. On the other hand, while we have made considerable progress, you are still at a level where withdrawal symptoms are very likely to occur. And they might be just as bad as before—though, then again, they might not happen at all.”

“So what you’re saying is… cold turkey?” he asked.

“No,” she said, folding her arms. Her eyes locked with his. “What I’m saying is, this is a decision you will have to make. And the question is—do you trust yourself?”

Calvin thought about it for a moment. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to give that damned poison the boot once and for all. To be permanently and finally rid of it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, that seemed impossible. Maybe even a little undesirable. After all, equarius had such a wonderful way of making even the most unpleasant experiences fade away into a blissful apathetic nothingness that was warm and comforting…

“Well?” she asked.

He was fully prepared to tell her he never wanted to see the drug again, but those weren’t the words that came out. “I trust myself,” he said. He thought of how vicious the withdrawal symptoms had been and knew that he never wanted to experience anything like it again. Death throes seemed more appealing. “I have the willpower, I will be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes, which she kept sharply focused on him, and she stepped closer. She took him by the hand and gave him a tight squeeze as she spoke. “You must promise me you will follow my instructions exactly,” she said. “Promise me.” Conflict shone in her eyes, but there was another feeling there too—one even more potent.

“I promise,” Calvin said simply.

She nodded. Then let him go.

“So you’ll have everything ready for me… when?” he asked.

“I’ll have the Xinocodone capsules and very specific instructions ready for you by the time you leave.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. He turned and went for the exit.

“Calvin, wait,” Rain called.

Calvin turned back around. He saw her there, standing in her scrubs, her fiery red hair almost aglow in the infirmary lights. There was something warm and compelling about her, but also something very sad in her countenance.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Be careful out there.”

***

Pierce Ryker watched though the binoculars as another troop transport flew low over their position. It was open on each side and enemy boots could be seen hanging over the edge—there were far too many to count.

“Foxtrot Transport…” said Vulture, of all Ryker’s men he had the sharpest eyes and best attention to detail. Supposedly he’d been a member of Intel Wing, way back in the day. “Probably carrying about two-hundred men. Looks like it’s heading to the Capital… what’s left of it.”

“No,” said Ryker as he watched the transport. Its altitude and speed were steady. “More likely heading past, just to the outskirts. Over by Lone Hill District. Looks like someone is setting fires over there,” he moved the binoculars until he caught sight of the pillars of smoke. They weren’t large, but they were growing. “My guess is they want to put a stop to it.”

“Starting fires, you say?” asked Tank. “Well how about that… this time it wasn’t even us who done it.” He was one of the bigger and more experienced men—and like many of the others he’d kept the nickname he’d earned in prison, back when they’d all been doing time together on Andricus Penal Colony.

Ryker lowered the binoculars and looked back at his men. They were armed like him, in guerrilla style with lots of weapons and ammo hanging off of them. They stayed low and kept out of sight, hiding in the debris and abandoned buildings as Ryker had ordered. The last thing he needed was to be spotted by one of the King’s transports.

“That’s the hundred and tenth one I’ve seen today,” said Micah. He was wiry and thin but despite his featherweight appearance he was perhaps the strongest man Ryker had ever met, and easily the most vicious. He took a long draw from his cigarette and then tossed it to the ground, crushing it on the blacktop with his boot.

“That makes about twenty thousand or so men, just in this area,” said Vulture. “Far more than our forty-seven.”

“And what we’ve seen today is just a drop in the bucket,” said Ryker. He looked up at the sky. A few ships could still be seen, but nothing like the blanket of vessels that had swarmed the skies of Renora earlier that day. Massive interstellar troop-carriers had encircled the planet in low orbit, blocking the blue sky like an ocean of metal clouds. And from them a seemingly endless ocean of Tritan Planetary Landers poured—far larger than the Foxtrot Transports now zooming around—and like the rolling tides they came, wave after wave, descending on the broken world and dumping off troops in numbers barely fathomable.

“How many did you say landed here?” asked Micah.

“Last I heard from Mister Martel, it was about forty or fifty million troops,” said Ryker. He looked back into his binoculars and started tracking another Foxtrot Transport, this one was flying a bit higher than the last and was heading the other way. By the look of it, it’d already dumped off its cargo of Imperial Marines.

“Shit…”said Micah. He spat on the ground.

“Forty or fifty million…” said Vulture with awe. “Even with every man in every cell here… we can’t… we’re only about thirteen thousand.”

“And the population of Renora is over nine billion,” said Ryker. “Fifty million troops won’t be nearly enough, not when we’re finished. Thirteen thousand of us, split into two-hundred and fifty cells, covering almost three hundred major cities… it’ll be like swatting flies. Like swatting fifty-million pointless, meaningless, son-of-a-bitch flies.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Vulture.

“For now we lie low and keep our eyes on the enemy. Listening. Studying their positions. Waiting for the shock of the military invasion to be heard from pole to pole. By tomorrow every person on the planet with even half a brain will know about the military invasion. And in two days the entire galaxy will know.”

“And when we’re done waiting?” asked Vulture.

“When we’re done waiting… we raise hell like the universe has never seen. Renora will burn, and the galaxy will burn with it.”

***

Calvin stood in the corridor by the hatch. He wore tight-fitting civilian clothes, including a common jacket, and had a luggage bag next to him. In it were clothes and basic travelling essentials for two people.

Kalila stood next to him. Her hair had been lightened—not quite to a bright gold like Summers’—and her skin had been lightened as well. It hadn’t been very dark before but a lot of the elegant olive-color that suited her so well had been hidden by whitening cream. The lenses in her eyes made them a watery blue—like Rain’s—and she wore jeans and a sleeveless shirt. She looked far too casually dressed to be a member of the royal family, particularly a high-ranking princess, but Kalila had insisted on jeans for their tactical usefulness should things go wrong. Calvin agreed. And as he looked at her. Seeing her in all the wrong clothes, with all the wrong coloring to her hair, eyes, and skin; she looked nothing like herself yet the sight of her still made him melt. And he wished, more than anything in the universe, to be a simple common civilian, married to this simple, common civilian woman, on their way back from a wonderful vacation—ready to return to their common jobs and common concerns. To be removed from all the chaos, all the danger, and the responsibility. True he would miss the intrigue of the spy-game. But if it meant having love, and family, and peace of mind… he doubted anything in the universe could be more desirable.

“Docking operation complete,” Cassidy’s voice could be heard over the loudspeaker. She was on the bridge with Summers, who had command.

“You kids ready?” asked Pellew. He stood there with rifle in hand to ensure they got aboard the Ice Maiden securely.

“Looks like it’s time,” said Kalila She smiled up at Calvin and he returned her smile.

“I suppose so.” He grabbed the handle of the luggage truck and looked at the hatch, waiting for it to unseal. He wondered what the Ice Maiden would be like, what sort of people were her crew, and if they could really be trusted. If not… Calvin had a pistol smuggled onto his person, but knew it would do little good against extreme resistance. And that he’d have to ditch it before they went through Imperial Customs. Mainly he was bringing it because he was suspicious of the Ice Maiden’s crew.

The hatch began to unseal with a hiss and Kalila tightened her grip on the satchel slung around her shoulder. The movement drew attention to the gleaming golden ring on her finger and its two-and-a-half carat’s worth of diamonds. They were as fake as the operation—being cubic zirconium—but still Calvin liked seeing the shiny piece of jewelry on Kalila’s finger. Knowing that he too wore a wedding band, though his was a plain piece of tungsten.

The hatch finished opening and revealed the star-barren innards of the Ice Maiden’s main corridor. The tiny civilian vessel only had two decks, and was crewed by less than five people at any given time. Two men were standing at the entrance, an older man with a moustache with white patches that seemed to have gotten away from him, and at his left was a young man with an almost mercenary look to him. Calvin narrowed his eyes and studied the strangers. Trying to ascertain if either would be a threat to Kalila.

“Welcome aboard the Ice Maiden, Your Highness,” said the older man. He gestured for them to come aboard, and ordered the young man next to him to help with the baggage. An offer Calvin declined. There was truly only the one bag and Calvin had it well in hand.

Kalila led the way and Calvin followed. Once they were aboard the other ship, Pellew saluted Calvin and closed the airlock. The older man sealed the airlock from the Ice Maiden’s side.

“Thank you for having us aboard, Reginald,” said Kalila.

The older man bowed deeply. “It is my great honor, Your Highness.”

“From now on you must address us as our cover identities,” said Kalila. “This is Mr. David Green,” she gestured toward Calvin. “And I am Mrs. Ava Green.”

“Married couple, eh?” Reginald asked, he raised a curious eyebrow as he sized them up, looking almost eerily intrigued.

“That’s right,” said Kalila, and she took Calvin’s free hand in hers.

Reginald cracked a smile. “I’d put you two love birds in our honeymoon suite, I would. Except that there won’t be no time—we’re just a few hours from Capital World. And we ain’t got no honeymoon suite.”

“That’s fine, just take us to the bridge,” said Kalila.

“Aye, I can do that, the bridge is a bit cramped though. Don’t think you’ll be comfortable. Guess you could rough it for a couple hours if it pleases you, I s’pose.”

They followed Reginald down the corridor and to the right. The younger man took up position behind them and Calvin watched him the best he could out of the corner of his eye, feeling apprehensive about him. Perhaps it was just because his tactical instincts had taught him not to expose his back to strange mercenaries.

Reginald’s word had proven true, the bridge was indeed small. Calvin had to leave the luggage bag behind, and even without it he, Kalila, Reginald, and the ship’s pilot all together made for crammed conditions. There wasn’t even room for the young mercenary, so Reginald had dismissed him to the lower deck to attend to his duties.

“There you have it,” said Reginald. He pointed to the window straight ahead, which made up all of the bridge’s stern wall and about half of port and starboard. The view was of total blackness, not a star in sight, suggesting they were already in alteredspace. “I told Ruby here to jump the ship the moment you was safely aboard,” Reginald smiled at his pilot. She was middle-aged, though younger than Reginald, and overweight. Her hair had a slick, greasy texture and was tied back behind her head. Her face, which may have once been beautiful, now carried a coarse roughness to it, not unlike a gamers’ catching mitt, and she seemed to be made of toughened leather.

“At your service, Your Highnesses,” Ruby bowed her head once.

“They’re to be called Mr. and Mrs. Green,” Reginald quickly explained. “No Your Highnesses here.”

“Beggin’ your pardons then,” said Ruby.

“No apology necessary,” said Kalila.

“I know she ain’t much but the Ice Maiden is tried and true,” said Reginald. He gestured toward the captain’s seat, the only chair on the bridge—even Ruby had no chair and was forced to pilot the ship from what looked like a misappropriated bar stool. “I offer you the captain’s chair, Mrs. Green.”

Kalila let go of Calvin’s hand and gratefully sat down. She thanked Reginald who then excused himself from the bridge—giving Ruby instructions to summon him when they were going to drop back into normal space, or if there was any trouble.

Calvin sized up Ruby, searching her with his eyes for weapons or any sign of hostile intent. She seemed like a tough old bird but he doubted there was a malicious bone in her body. Deciding that Kalila was probably safe with just Ruby around, Calvin decided to slip away from the bridge and find the computer mainframe. His Intel Wing training took over and he wanted to tap into the ship’s logs and records, to make sure there was no sign of something shady in the works. A part of him naturally feared that Reginald and his crew were planning to double cross Kalila, and turn her in to the authorities—and therefore the Phoenix Ring—in exchange for some monetary compensation. As Calvin looked at around at the insides of the tiny, mostly pathetic ship, he almost wouldn’t blame Reginald for any such ambitions. If he truly knew the worth of Kalila to the Phoenix Ring, he could probably negotiate for his own battleship in exchange for delivering her. Hopefully he wasn’t so clever, or so self-serving.

It didn’t take long for Calvin to find the computer mainframes. By using a method that Cassidy had briefed him on, he was able to bypass the traditional log-in methods and access a backdoor in the software. He lacked even a hundredth of the knowledge and skill Shen had with such computer wizardry, but Cassidy’s directions had been fairly straightforward and Calvin had his Intel Wing training.

A crew member walked past and asked Calvin what he was doing. Calvin knew there was no point in hiding, and no way to truly disguise the fact that he was accessing the mainframe—and in attempting to do so he would only encourage further suspicion. So he pretended as if nothing was out of the ordinary whatsoever.

“Just sending a message,” said Calvin with complete nonchalance.

“You can do that from the bridge, mate,” said the crewman. Calvin didn’t even turn his head to see the other man, he just kept at the task at hand.

“Bridge is too crowded,” said Calvin. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Aye.”

“Then you’d better get to it and stop harassing me, or else Reginald will hear of it.”

This seemed to work and the crewman left. That was one of the benefits of being in the field surrounded by civilians, they didn’t have the security-mindedness and suspicion that was drilled into military professionals from the very beginning.

He combed through the last of the available logs and, while he did find an extensive shipping history and learned that Reginald had a strange obsession with cheese—with over forty communiques exchanged with cheese suppliers and distributers over the last two months—there was no indication that he was overtly or discretely in contact with anyone who might be interested in capturing Kalila.

Calvin would have liked to do a further, more thorough examination, but he was apprehensive about leaving Kalila alone and out of sight for too long. Especially in a foreign environment with only himself around to protect her. So he left the computer mainframe and returned to the bridge. Kalila was still there, in the captain’s chair, but now she was being chatted up by the young mercenary who’d apparently found his way back to the bridge. Calvin felt a growing wave of dislike and suspicion toward the man. Calvin interrupted them. “Honey,” he said.

“Yes, what is it, Dear?” she looked up.

“How is everything?” he asked, he shifted his eyes back and forth, as if using them to point to the mercenary.

“All is well,” said Kalila. She seemed to understand what he was truly asking. Did she feel threatened or unsafe around the strange mercenary? Apparently she didn’t. All the same, Calvin decided to stick close to Kalila for the rest of the journey. It wouldn’t be a comfortable couple of hours, but at least it would be over soon.

Chapter 11

“Shouldn’t we be coordinating with Second Lieutenant Vargas and arranging for resupply and repair?” asked Cassidy. She sat at the ops position with her chair slightly turned so she could face Summers at the command position

“Yes and we will,” said Summers. She knew Cassidy was only raising a valid concern and not directly challenging the orders she’d been given. “But not before we carry out our current orders.”

“Commander, if I may,” said Jay. “Do you really think it’s wise for us go into Polarian space like we are? No ammo to speak of, crippled armor, and most of our repair staff gone?”

“You raise a good point, Mister Cox, but so long as our stealth system is operating at capacity there won’t be a problem,” said Summers. She looked away from the helmsman and toward the defense officer. “Mister Brown, what is the status of our stealth system?” Seeing him, his giant round head and thick, stupid face, it was all she could do to suppress the involuntary gag reflex.

“Working well, Cap’n,” said Miles. He spun his chair to face her and beamed. Calvin’s final act before departing the ship had been to instate Miles as acting XO. Now that she was acting CO—at least for as long as Calvin was away—Summers originally had half a mind to demote Miles back down and raise someone else, someone more competent, to the position of acting XO. Unfortunately there were not many choices. Of those who outranked Miles, or else shared his same seniority, Lieutenant Iwate was incapacitated and in the infirmary, Lieutenant Winters was away and emotionally compromised to boot, and Second Lieutenant Vargas was off commanding the Arcane Storm. There was still Lieutenant Cowen—who Summers was truly a millimeter away from raising to the position of XO in Miles’ place—but Mister Cowen was also the ship’s chief engineer and so long as the ship was damaged and her repair crew understaffed, Summers knew Mister Cowen could not afford to be anywhere else but engineering. Which left Second Lieutenant Brown and a host of junior officers. If Summers had had her way, she would have chosen Midshipman Dupont for the position, but Cassidy was one of the lowest ranking people on the ship and instating her as acting XO violated far too many protocols for Summers to be comfortable with. So, as much as she hated it, she was stuck with that idiot Miles as her XO.

“Let me know the instant there is any sign of trouble with our stealth operations,” said Summers. “We are relying entirely on the stealth system for our safety on this mission, and so it is vital that it be kept in perfect working condition.” The Polarian border was open, and entering it wasn’t unsafe in the same sense that going into the DMZ was, but considering their destination, and what they hoped to see, Summers was sure there were powerful people out there who would gladly destroy the Nighthawk to keep their dark truths hidden. It was best for everyone if the ship remained effectively invisible throughout the mission.

“Yes, ma’am!” Miles saluted. Normally he was more antagonistic toward Summers but now that he’d been raised to Acting XO, the temporary promotion had put him into a state of jubilee and nothing seemed to bother him.

“Sir…” said Summers with a soft sigh.

“What?” asked Miles.

“In the military you address your superiors as sir, even if they are female. Always sir, never ma’am.” She didn’t know why she even bothered correcting Miles, he was certainly a lost cause.

“I’m pretty sure as the XO I can call you ma’am if I want.”

“That’s it,” Summers snapped. She shot to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at Miles, who looked surprised by her sudden movement. “You. In my office. Right now.” She spun on her heels and headed to the CO’s office, expecting Miles to follow.

Once she was inside and had taken her place at the CO’s desk, and the door had closed behind Miles, leaving the two of them alone, Summers cleared her throat. Before she could launch into what she had to say, Miles interrupted her.

“I know what this is about,” he said. “And... I’m not comfortable with it.”

“Of course you aren’t comfortable with it,” said Summers. “No officer should be comfortable with a dressing down from their commanding officer.”

“Dressing down?” he eyed her suggestively. “As in taking off clothes? I thought so. I see how you’ve been looking at me,” said Miles. “And… I can’t say I blame you,” he took a moment to pose, flexing his upper body for a moment. “But I think, now that we’re both the XO, any romance between us is probably not appropriate. So… this has to be shorter than two minutes.” He grabbed the front of his trousers, as if to unbutton them.

Summers’ eyes widened with confusion and rage. What he’d just said… she didn’t know where to begin! “No,” she said sharply, stopping him. “Don’t… ever, ever, ever, ever do that.”

“Your words say that,” said Miles. He stared at her chest for a moment then looked back at her face. “But your body says something totally different.”

“No,” she shook her head. Feeling more repulsed than she’d ever been.

“Okay so… I’m having trouble sorting through all these mixed signals you’re sending my way.”

“That,” Summers glanced at Miles’ hands which were still poised over the buttons of his trousers. “I don’t want that. No woman in the galaxy wants that. Not from you. Not ever. Is that clear?”

He looked at her with hurt puppy-dog eyes. She didn’t care. “And secondly,” she continued. “What do you mean now that we’re both the XO? We aren’t both the XO, you’re the XO.”

“Okay… so then what are you?” asked Miles.

“The CO!”

“Well…” Miles shrugged. “Not really. I mean, Calvin’s the CO.”

“I am the Acting CO in his place!” You thick idiot!—she wanted to add. “And right now you are the Acting XO—because Calvin made you the acting XO—and, whether I like it or not, I’m stuck with you.”

“I guess we’re just a couple of people stuck with each other,” he gave her a dopey grin. “A couple of steamingly attractive... bored people, with nothing to do.”

Summers spoke over him. “While I am in charge I want you to understand one thing. I’m not going to tolerate any of your shit,” Summers almost couldn’t believe such an unseemly and unprofessional word had come out of her. Yet she stood by it. When dealing with Miles, professionalism and courtesy were as useless as medicine on the dead. “I need you fulfilling your duties in the XO role, as well as in the defense officer role, and I’m going to give you a chance—for Calvin’s sake—”

“Good man, that Calvin”

Shut up for two seconds! “But if you cross me, or give me even the slightest cause, I will toss your ass into the brig and leave it there to rot. Do you understand me?”

“Calvin won’t like that very much—”

“I said, do you understand me?” her eyes narrowed sharply. The intensity of her gaze seemed to disarm him and, for a moment, he looked terrified.

“Yes ma’am—err, sir. Yes, sir!”

“That’s more like it. Now shut up and get back to the defense post. Keep your eyes on that stealth system. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it has to do with our stealth capability.”

***

The Ice Maiden dropped them off at Orbital Platform 203-B as agreed. When Kalila and Calvin cleared the jetway and entered the orbital station, Calvin glanced behind him to see Reginald re-sealing the airlock of his ship. He saluted Calvin once and Calvin nodded. He would have returned the salute but thought the gesture might draw attention to himself—and make him look less like a civilian. He’d given the old man his concealed pistol as thanks for the safe journey, since he couldn’t bring it through Customs, and the old man had seemed grateful.

“So far so good,” Calvin said to Kalila as the two of them entered the thick busy crowds of people. Calvin dragged the wheeled luggage bag with his right hand and took Kalila’s hand with his left, partially so she would stay close and to help sell their cover story to any curious onlooker, but he also did it because he wanted to. He liked the soft, warm feel of her seemingly tiny hand in his.

“The most dangerous part is yet to come,” she whispered back. Her words were nearly lost under the sea of ambient conversations, footsteps, and noise surrounding them.

Orbital Platform 203-B was one of seemingly countless orbital stations circling Capital World. Such stations managed and facilitated all travel to and from the planet’s surface. Since it was the most populous planet in the galaxy, the stations never slept, and the crowds never diminished. The faces changed, but there were always plenty of bodies hustling and bustling, hurriedly going about their business. Moving through Customs. Arranging travel. Many of them waited for deep space transports to ferry them to the far reaches of the Empire.

“This way,” said Calvin as he followed the signs. “Going through civilian procedures and arranging civilian transport were foreign to him, since nearly everywhere he went he did as an officer of the military and on official business, not pleasure. But, as foreign as things were to him, he was sure they were even more alien to Kalila. She’d been born an Akira, and as such had a ship at her private disposal since she was scarcely old enough to talk and say where she wanted to go.

For a couple of amateurs, though, they found their way into line and at the right end of the station easily enough.

As they waited in a host of people to be processed through Customs, Kalila freed her hand from his and wiped it once on her jeans—obviously she was unaccustomed to sweat.

For a pampered noblewoman, Kalila had surprisingly good tactical sense. She kept her head down and avoided looking people in the eyes directly, which was wise because—despite her altered appearance—she still had features that might be recognized if someone looked close enough.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” she said quietly, as they shuffled a few paces forward in line. A voice over a loudspeaker along with station personnel in bright uniforms directed the queue of people.

“It’s my pleasure,” he said with a smile.

“You’re a good man, Calvin.”

To pass the time, and out of a desire to get to know her better, Calvin got a conversation going with Kalila. He talked to her about things she liked, and how it felt to be back, but he avoided any questions that might give away who she was, or challenge their cover story. He spoke to her like a man might his new bride, and she went right along. It made him wonder if her answers were her true thoughts and feelings, or if she were merely roleplaying the character of Ava Green.

“Gate Twenty-Three Open,” said the voice over the loudspeaker.

One of the staff members waved at them. “Next,” he motioned for them to hurry along.

Kalila took Calvin’s hand, probably to make it clear that they were together, and the two of them approached the vacant gate. A bar had been lowered to block access to the far side of the station, and a man in a security uniform with a badge on his lapel sat at a desk.

“Papers?” the security man asked.

Kalila took out their paperwork, which she’d kept in her satchel, and handed it over. The man glanced it over, checking for several things, and then put it into the computer scanner for analysis. He next instructed them on how to place their thumbs to the plate for identification, and how to stand for the retinal scanner to work. It was intuitive and obvious but Calvin supposed the staff were bound to explain it to everyone who passed through.

“State your business on Capital World,” said the man in a bored-sounding tone. Kalila placed her thumb to the plate and allowed the computer to scan her. Once she was finished, Calvin did the same.

“We live here,” said Calvin. “Home address is in the documents, and should be on file in the computer.”

It had taken some effort for them to add new information to the Imperial Network, especially without the help of the Intel Wing Archives. But, through persistence, expertise, and extreme caution, the Nighthawk’s quartermaster and Cassidy had been able to manage it. Or so they’d thought. If there was a problem, Calvin supposed he was about to find out.

The man’s eyes shifted from Calvin to Kalila, and then lingered on her for a moment. “You look sort of familiar,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

She blushed. “You might have seen us on our way out last week. We’re just getting back from our honeymoon.” She gave Calvin an adoring look, like a smitten teenager, then she reached her hands around his head and pulled him in, kissing him. The way a young, infatuated bride would kiss her brand new husband. He kissed her back, pulling her in tight. Feeling all sorts of emotions firing wildly inside him. Not the least of which was surprise.

“All right, enough of that,” barked the security man. With seeming reluctance, Kalila pulled away, leaving Calvin in a bit of a daze. Apparently embarrassed by the public display of affection, the security man avoided looking at them. Whatever spark of familiarity Kalila had struck in him seemed long extinguished, and now he just wanted to hurry them through. The computer beeped, approving of the couple’s paperwork, and the security man handed it back to them, barely making eye contact. “Up there, to the right, through the gate, and you can go to the kiosk and arrange transport from there,” he pointed. “Ask the staff in yellow if you have any questions.”

“Come on, Dear,” Kalila said, taking Calvin’s hand once more. They did as the man said and walked toward the gate, which he raised for them to pass through.

“Next,” they heard from behind.

Kalila continued holding Calvin’s hand and he pulled her close, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Not bad,” he said.

“I can think on my feet when I need to,” she smiled up at him. He smiled back.

Booking passage was easy once they’d cleared Customs and, when the time came, they boarded a basic shuttle and took their seats. There was a constant stream of shuttles coming and going—for that matter this was probably their particular shuttle’s twentieth trip that very day, but despite all of that, there were still far more people trying to come and go than there were shuttles ready to take them. So it was quite crowded, every seat filled. Calvin let Kalila take the seat by the window and he sat next to her, separating her from the throng of other passengers—businessmen, families, all sorts of people of every age and description. They strapped in and, after a short wait, the shuttle sealed its airlock and broke free from the station.

Kalila rested her head on Calvin’s shoulder and the shuttle descended. Calvin watched the view out the tiny window as best he could. The view was mostly blue sky, white clouds, and dark ocean. But once the shuttle adjusted its course, the glittering mass of Capital World Proper came into view. It was like a shiny, massive anthill, home to billions of people. Massively tall skyscrapers that stretched into the heavens, covering seemingly every inch of the small continents. As for the oceans, they made up the lion’s share of the planet, and seemed to stretch on eternally.

They hit minor turbulence on the way down but, to her credit, the pilot kept their descent extraordinarily smooth. It took longer than Calvin would have liked; had he been at the stick he would have dived for the surface with a lot more enthusiasm. Really pointing the nose of the shuttle down and giving gravity some help with the thrust of the engines, only opening the flaps and cutting their descent when he had to. Of course that style of flying wouldn’t be suitable to most passengers here, who—based on a quick survey of them—would undoubtedly be puking their guts up.

When the large part of the city became visible, and they glided at an altitude of about two-thousand meters—low enough to have to avoid some of the taller buildings—the sights became very familiar to Calvin and he felt a wave of nostalgia tug at him. It had been a long time since he’d been here. But this planet, more than any other, was home. A flood of memories poured through him, from his childhood all the way up through attending Camdale.

He took in a deep breath and allowed himself to relax. Thinking that, no matter what dark conspiracies awaited him, in some ways it was still good to be home.

Chapter 12

The fierce-looking ISS Wolverine was partially visible out the window. By battleship standards it was enormous—nearly the size of a proper dreadnought—and compared to the Desert Eagle it seemed to stretch on forever. Nimoux looked at it, his eyes watching the white-and-blue identifier lights as they cut through the blackness, bouncing off the hull of the mighty warship.

“ISS Wolverine has changed its heading and is accelerating,” reported the ops officer. “It is on course to intercept us and has commenced docking preparations.”

“They’re hailing us,” said the helmsman.

Nimoux pressed his hands together as he watched the monstrosity before them yaw to starboard. “On speakers,” he commanded.

“IWS Desert Eagle, this is Commodore Elias Hill of the ISS Wolverine. You are hereby ordered to dock with this vessel.”

“Understood,” replied Nimoux. Intel Wing had already informed him that he was to dock with the Wolverine. “Will comply.” He maintained calm but felt suspicious and unsettled.

“Captain Lafayette Nimoux, you are ordered to come aboard the Wolverine as soon as docking position has been established.”

Nimoux knew this already as well, though it still didn’t make sense to him. “Commodore, what purpose is being served in my going aboard the Wolverine?” asked Nimoux.

“You will obey your orders.” With that the communication terminated.

“Shall I bring us into position to dock, sir?” asked the helmsman.

“Do it,” said Nimoux flatly. He watched the two ships on the 3d display, the massive Wolverine and the tiny Desert Eagle angling to connect their airlocks. He wondered what he could expect once he’d gone aboard the Wolverine, and what purpose could possibly be served by bringing him aboard the other ship. Perhaps it was a legitimate purpose—maybe information had to be given to him that couldn’t, for whatever reason, be trusted to kataspace.

The whole thing smelled too foul, though, for him to truly expect this operation was entirely legitimate. He was more certain than he’d ever been that Calvin had been onto something when he’d warned Nimoux about the conspiracy within the military. Now Nimoux believed he was witnessing a piece of that plot firsthand. The question was… what did they have to gain in summoning Nimoux here? If they captured him, his absence would be noted. His name carried far too much weight across the Empire for his disappearance to go unanswered and unexplained. Surely the conspirators couldn’t move against him directly—if they indeed had determined him to be a threat.

For the same reasons, he didn’t think they could kill him. Unless it was made to look like an accident… perhaps then they could get away with it.

“You’d better get down there, sir,” said his XO. There was a look of slight concern on the hardened man’s face and Nimoux knew that he too smelled something strange about this whole situation.

“I suppose you’re right,” Nimoux tapped his fingers together pensively for another moment, then he tapped his direct line to Special Forces HQ.

“Major Rask here,” came the voice of the special forces commander on his ship.

“Major, I want you and an escort of your best soldiers to meet me at airlock four. We’re going aboard the ISS Wolverine.”

“Aye, sir,” she replied.

If there were to be a fight, a handful of special forces soldiers wouldn’t make any kind of difference. The purpose of bringing them along was to lessen the chances of any incident befalling Nimoux by creating witnesses and, hopefully, an unacceptably high collateral risk.

Nimoux stood up and dusted out the wrinkles of his uniform. He looked his XO in the eyes. “You are to await my return, no matter what. The ship will not leave this sector of space until I am back on the bridge, is that clear?”

His XO saluted. “Of course, sir,” he seemed almost surprised that Nimoux would even have to say that. But he had his reasons. If he were being brought aboard the Wolverine for the purpose of keeping him off the Desert Eagle—perhaps in custody—he wanted the Desert Eagle’s crew to make a fuss about it, and do everything in their power to find out why and what was going on.

With that, Nimoux left the bridge.

He arrived at the airlock and his soldiers were already there. Major Rask, looking strong and athletic, was certainly one of the fiercest looking women Nimoux had ever seen. She’d brought four of her soldiers with her, three men and a woman. All were armed and appeared ready for anything.

“Major,” Nimoux saluted.

“Captain,” she saluted back. “Are we expecting trouble over there?”

“To be honest, Major,” said Nimoux as the hatch began to pull back, “I have no idea what to expect.”

The hatch opened fully and an escort of Imperial marines was waiting for them, along with the Wolverine’s XO—Commander Nelson.

“This way, Captain,” Commander Nelson said with a salute. She had short brown hair and wore the full navy uniform, including the hat.

Nimoux returned the salute and stepped aboard the deck of the Wolverine. His escort of soldiers came along.

Commander Nelson led them down the corridor and toward one of the many elevators. Nimoux walked at her side, his soldiers followed, flanked by about fifteen marines.

“Welcome aboard the Wolverine, sir,” said Commander Nelson.

“Do you know what this is about, Commander?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she replied. “I just know my orders, it’s not my place to question them.”

The group went around the corner and ran into a column of marines with weapons drawn. Nimoux felt his heart race as he spotted them, their weapons brandished at him and his escort, there had to be at least twenty marines. Not to mention the fifteen at the flanks who, he noticed, had also raised their weapons. To their credit, Major Rask and her men had raised their own firearms and looked willing to fight—if it came down to it, even though they were hopelessly outmatched.

“Drop your weapons!” ordered one of the marines; his fatigues showed the insignia of Master Sergeant. “Hands on your heads!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Nimoux looked at Commander Nelson.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she said. “Orders are orders.”

“Drop your weapons or we will open fire!” commanded the marine.

“I’d do what he says,” said Commander Nelson. She stepped out of the line of fire and behind the column of soldiers.

Nimoux looked around; his tiny group was surrounded on all sides.

“Sir, your orders?” asked Major Rask. She held her rifle square to her shoulder and was peering down the iron sights, ready to open fire if he commanded it. He was grateful for her loyalty but saw no need to throw their lives away. Besides, they wouldn’t get away with this… not Captain Hill, not Commander Nelson, not the Fleet. This would not stand. It couldn’t.

“Stand down,” ordered Nimoux and he raised his hands to his head.

Major Rask and the other special forces soldiers lowered their weapons. Several of the marines rushed forward and seized them. Disarming the group from the Desert Eagle.

“Now, Captain, if you’ll be so kind as to come this way,” said Commander Nelson. Two Marines went to Nimoux’s sides to make sure he complied. Nimoux did not resist. He stepped toward Commander Nelson, like she’d asked. All the while thinking she would answer for this.

“This is unacceptable,” said Nimoux.

“Don’t worry, Captain, your people will not be harmed. They will wait for you here. Now step lively and follow me. What you’re about to see is for your eyes only.” She gave him a wicked smile and led the way.

***

After their shuttle landed, Calvin and Kalila made their way through the terminal and out into the public street. Once they were outdoors and Calvin felt the humid air of Capital World on his skin—making him instantly feel like he needed a shower—he couldn’t help but smile and take everything in.

He walked beside Kalila, who seemed to know where she was going, and he kept his eyes vigilant. Now that he was unarmed, if they did run into any kind of serious trouble there wasn’t much Calvin could do to protect Kalila—or himself—but he intended to be ready for it anyway. He glanced suspiciously from person to person in the thick crowds, and from vehicle to vehicle, searching for the tell-tale signs of surveillance, or that they were being followed, or for anyone that just plain seemed out of place.

Calvin spotted a motorcade of dark cars. They were parked parallel to the main street. Some people in suits and sunglasses were standing around next to them, many of whom wore earpieces and most had firearms. Two had concealed shoulder-holsters, Calvin noted the bulge under their coats, and several others wore boots that looked almost designed to facilitate ankle-holstered weapons.

“We may have trouble,” whispered Calvin. “Black cars. Ninety-degrees.” He wasn’t sure who the security motorcade represented, and thought that if they indeed were here to pick up Kalila and drag her away to some Phoenix Ring dungeon they had certainly picked a conspicuous way to do it.

Kalila looked and saw them. In her haste to get through the crowd, and being quite a bit shorter than Calvin, she hadn’t noticed them until he’d pointed them out.

“Good,” she said. And she changed direction, now cutting perpendicular through the crowd to get to the street. Calvin followed.

“So these are the good guys?” he asked, not sure why else Kalila would want to meet them head on.

“Yes these are the good guys,” she replied. “They’re my father’s men.”

They reached the men standing next to the lead car and Kalila introduced herself. They didn’t seem to recognize her—thanks to her altered appearance—but the sound of her voice, her aura of command, and a passphrase she knew served to convince them of her identity. From what Calvin could tell, this meeting had been arranged all along.

“We’re ready to escort you to the Capitol District, Your Highness,” the centermost bodyguard said. He tapped his earpiece and spoke something into it, confirming that Kalila had safely arrived. He then looked at Calvin, his eyes unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. Calvin looked back at him suspiciously. Wondering if it was possible the Phoenix Ring had gotten to these men and bribed them, or replaced them…

“Thank you,” said Kalila. The men took her satchel and helped her into the car.

Calvin wasn’t about to leave Kalila alone with these men—not until he was sure they were who she thought they were—so he climbed into the car after her, leaving the luggage bag on the curb for the men to take care of.

The car was surprisingly large on the inside, and unnecessarily luxurious. It even had a working sink. Calvin couldn’t imagine why anyone would need half the things in this car while traveling, but Kalila put them to good use. She immediately opened some bottles and other effects that had been left waiting for her and she began the process of restoring her natural appearance.

“If I am to go before the Assembly, they will have to recognize me,” she explained. “Feel free to do the same.”

The car pulled away from the curb and out into traffic. Calvin instinctively looked around for a safety-strap but there were none, and he supposed in a vehicle this large and spacious—and slow—one wasn’t really necessary.

Kalila dabbed some kind of cream on her face and then let it sit untouched for about five minutes before rinsing it off. It made her skin look more natural and less pale. Already she’d managed to restore her hair to the proper color. It made Calvin think that, for all the advances humanity had made—journeying into the stars, colonizing distant worlds, curing complex diseases—cosmetics technologies were apparently the most advanced of all. Which made Calvin wonder what statement that made about human society in general.

He grabbed one of the bottles and squirted some of the goo onto his hand. He looked at Kalila who gave him a funny look.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” she smiled.

“Haven’t a clue.” On the Nighthawk he’d had his trained staff alter his appearance for him. All he’d done was lie back and close his eyes for half an hour.

“Put it on your face, rub it evenly all over—but keep it out of your eyes.” She went on to give him directions on how to remove his artificial tan, dissolve the fake skin that’d been grafted onto his fingers, and un-color his hair. He was hesitant to remove the mahogany brown, he rather liked it, but he remembered how Rain had laughed at him and he decided to return to his usual sandy-colored self after all.

By the time he was very gingerly taking the green lenses out of his eyes, they were pulling into the secure parking garage of the Assembly Hall. If he were to ambush the car, Calvin thought, this would be an ideal place to do it.

He peered out the window at the concrete walls and barriers, the other cars, and the sparse security personnel moving about. All the while he held his breath, awaiting attack, but no attack came.

“Done,” Kalila announced. She put down the instruments in her hands—Calvin had no idea what they were, some sort of makeup tools she’d used to apply makeup to herself for the last ten minutes of the drive.

Calvin looked at her and saw the same olive-skinned, raven-haired, brown-eyed, beautiful princess who had stolen his breath away during their first face-to-face encounter on Tau Station.

“How do I look?” she asked, shifting positions a few times so he could see every side of her.

“Stunning,” he said.

A tiny grin appeared on her lips and, if it had been someone else, he would have sworn he saw a hint of warm embarrassment in her eyes.

“No, I mean did I get everything off,” she said. “Do I look like myself?”

“Yes,” he said. “Flawless.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Flawless job,” he corrected. “You did a flawless job,” he felt his face go red. She let it slide.

“So did you,” she said. He felt his face and ran his fingers through his hair—which was probably very untidy looking—and took a deep breath.

“Well, are you ready?” he asked as the car came to a stop.

“I’m ready.”

They entered the Assembly Hall through a rear entrance and their escort followed, though probably not technically allowed to do so.

Calvin hesitated when they reached the elegant antechamber. He’d seen the Assembly Hall countless times, but he’d never been inside before. Kalila, on the other hand, seemed to regard it like a worn-out summer home. She pushed her way through the main entrance and Calvin followed her along a carpeted path that led to the Assembly Floor Proper.

The Assembly Floor was probably the largest room Calvin had ever seen. Its lush décor included tapestries and statues, and there were stadium-like seats stacked high in a semi-circle, balcony raised above balcony, reaching almost to the ceiling. Enough seats to accommodate the almost four-hundred members of the Assembly, representing every planet in the Empire.

The Assembly was clearly in session. Most of the seats were filled and on the bottom level three senior Assembly members were interviewing a panel of four expert witnesses. There was an empty table at the end of the pathway and Calvin was sure it had been set aside for people entering the Assembly Floor to wait for the current proceedings to end. When they reached the table Calvin stopped in his tracks, looking to Kalila for some cue as to what he was supposed to do. She, on the other hand, seemed focused and in control. She moved—followed by her escort in black suits— out to the center of the Assembly Floor, effectively putting a halt to the current proceedings, and then took a microphone from one of the four witnesses. Security personnel converged on them and for a moment Calvin feared there would be a firefight on the Assembly Floor. But the Assembly’s security personnel stopped in their tracks the moment Kalila spoke. And then began talking animatedly into their earpieces, no doubt requesting instructions.

“Honored Representatives of the Imperial Assembly,” said Kalila into the mic. Her voice boomed throughout the chamber. “I am Princess Kalila Akira, and I come before you in the name of the King.”

There were shocked whispers and dissenting voices. Calvin scanned the room to try to judge the general feeling of the crowd, their reaction was neither overwhelmingly positive or negative, mostly just baffled.

“Royal Princess,” said one of the three senior Assembly members who sat on the raised platform before her. Calvin recognized her as the representative from Thetican System, Representative Miranda Tate. “You are interrupting the Defense Committee on the matter of—”

The security personnel formed a tight circle around Kalila and her men. They still looked confused and in need of direction, and many were still speaking into their earpieces or else listening to commands from their superiors. It wasn’t every day that the daughter of the King, who was also a suspect in a terrorist strike, interrupted the proceedings of the Imperial Assembly.

“The matter I bring before you all is urgent. I, along with Captain Adiger and the crew of the ISS Black Swan, stand falsely accused of a terrorist action against the citizens and government of Renora. Even now the tragic situation continues, and the culprits responsible must be brought to justice for their crimes. But know this—the Black Swan did not participate in the attack on Renora, nor was it a party to that attack.”

Realizing that opening this can of worms meant the current matter before the Assembly was going to be delayed, Representative Tate dismissed the four expert witnesses and then officially opened up the matter of the Renora Attack before the Assembly. While it benefitted Kalila by validating her interruption, and thereby preventing the Assembly Security forces from seizing her and her men—at least not yet—Calvin suspected the true motive for opening up the issue of the Renora Attack was to maintain the illusion of power—to create the impression that Kalila was standing before all of them today at Representative Tate’s pleasure.

“Princess, we saw footage of the attack ourselves,” said one of the representatives in the lower balcony. He was Caerwyn Martel, one of Capital World’s three representatives. Calvin recognized his voice immediately. He, like all of the other representatives, had a microphone of his own—though the network of microphones had been cleverly designed not to allow multiple microphones to be active simultaneously. Which, given the argumentative nature of politicians, was probably wise.

“I have evidence with me now,” said Kalila, “that will acquit me and all of my people before you. I stake my name upon it.”

Surprised reactions from the audience filtered throughout the room. Calvin noted that the various representatives seemed a lot more alert and attentive than they had when he’d first walked in.

“And just how do you explain away the fact that your ship was visually accounted for at the scene of the crime?” pressed Caerwyn. Calvin knew that Caerwyn, along with his tycoon brother Zane, were sons of Brinton Martel. And while Brinton now lived a quiet and peaceful life far way in Thetican System, his family still owned MXR, which in turn owned other companies and subsidiaries. These companies had been linked—however frailly—to the cargo Raidan had destroyed. The cargo of alleged replicants bound for Capital World. Calvin didn’t know which, if any, of the claims were true. But he hadn’t forgotten that the link between the Martels and the Beotan Convoy’s cargo had been established, which made Caerwyn and Zane both suspects in his mind. Perhaps neither was a member of the Phoenix Ring, but most likely they were serving the Phoenix Ring’s interests. Whether they knew it or not.

“I’ll explain that, Representative Martel,” said Kalila, “by saying that the ship that attacked Renora was not my ship. Indeed it was a replica of the Black Swan built secretly in Polarian space from military schematics unlawfully leaked to foreign agents.”

“That is a fanciful fairytale if ever I’ve heard one,” said Caerwyn. “How dare you come before this body and waste our time with this foolishness.”

“I am Princess Kalila Akira, Daughter of the King, Heir to the Andrevine, and Fourth in Line to the Throne! I will be allowed to make the case for my innocence. It is my right.”

Her bold words provoked a noisy reaction from the body of Representatives. Caerwyn in particular looked unhappy, his face burned red. Calvin could see that clearly, even from this distance.

“Order,” said Representative Tate, calling on her peers to settle down. “The circumstances are unusual, but it is the princess’s right to make her case before this body.”

“I have brought with me evidence of my claims, evidence that clearly shows that foreign agents accepted our classified military material—including the schematics for the Black Swan—in exchange for a bribe and instructions to participate in a conspiracy. I have also brought further proof that the Black Swan was not at or near Renora at the time of the attack. This is in the form of months of uninterrupted flight logs that show exactly where the ship has been, including recorded images and video—all of which may be computer tested to ensure they have not been falsified. In addition, I have unedited flight recordings, computer records, positioning data, recordings from other ships that witnessed our presence elsewhere during the time of the attack, and the sworn testimony of the members of the Black Swan’s senior crew. I also put it to you that the crew of the Black Swan, and myself, had no motive to engage in such an attack. However our enemies, wanting to incriminate us, did. And those enemies have infiltrated our government deeply, some of them might even be seated here among us today.”

Chapter 13

As the evidence was scrutinized by experts and computers and the mood in the chamber became more palpably pro-Akiran, Caerwyn realized Kalila was going to be acquitted. Despite all the expense, and all the effort, to ensure that she and her family would be blamed for the attack on Renora, the case was evaporating all around him.

Damn you, Zane. He blamed his brother. Kalila was not supposed to ever be seen on Capital World again. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be allowed to state her case before the Assembly—and the general public. One of Kalila’s first requests had been for her statements and evidence to be broadcast across the networks for all the citizens of the Empire to see. A request that Representative Tate had foolishly chosen to grant. Damn her. And Damn Kalila. And Damn Zane. How had he let the princess slip through his iron grip? Him with all his plans, and all his schemes, and all his cleverness—always Father’s favorite—well he didn’t seem so clever now.

With little recourse, Caerwyn decided to speak up in Kalila’s favor. “After a thorough review of the evidence, and with all the integrity of my soul, I hereby move that we call an end to this investigation and proclaim our revered Princess free and innocent before the Empire. Clearly the evidence is overwhelmingly in her favor, that she and the Black Swan did not participate in the attack on Renora, and that she has ever remained true to the principles of our honorable government. I only hope that she has it in her heart to forgive us for ever doubting her.”

He smiled his professional smile. The forced glow of his pearly-white teeth that he showed to his constituents, and to news reporters, and to anyone who saw him when he wasn’t behind closed doors. He hated the smile. Much like he hated the words he’d just spoken. They were filthy and the very last thing he believed—he did not want to see Kalila acquitted before the Empire. To undo some of the shame he and Zane had worked hard to plant onto the Akiran name. But there was no stopping her now. Kalila would be acquitted. And with her powers restored to her, there would be a thorough investigation. No doubt she would search high and low for the souls who’d tried to frame her for the attack. And if Caerwyn persisted in perpetuating the investigation into Kalila’s evidence—which was certain now to end in her favor anyway—he would only be painting a target on his face. True the Martels were famously unfriendly with the Akiras, but so were the Savets, and the Dorans, and the Conroys, and a host of other rival houses with ambitions for the throne. No reason to draw unwanted attention on the Martels…

“I second the motion,” said Representative Conroy. He gave Caerwyn a suspicious look and then faced the center. He was always suspicious of everything Caerwyn did, never wanting a Martel to do something—or think of something—before he did. But that had its uses. Caerwyn had learned quickly that he could lead Conroy around like a dog on a leash, and all the while Conroy would assume he was acting to put the Conroys ahead of the Martels. Idiot.

The motion was called to a vote and carried by an overwhelming majority. Caerwyn simply shook his head. This development was indeed a setback. But, so long as Kalila didn’t uncover anything truly detrimental, things would still work out in the end. There were forces already in play that were well beyond her control, and even surpassed her imagination. He just needed to make sure—no Zane needed to make sure—the Martel brothers and their closest associates kept their heads a little longer.

***

Calvin was surprised by Caerwyn Martel’s motion to end the proceedings and officially acquit Kalila. It didn’t seem in his best interests, the man wanted the throne more than anything. Everyone knew that. And anything that made the Akira House look bad—such as an investigation into the Princess’s possible complicitness in a terrorist attack on Imperial soil—seemed like just the thing Caerwyn would want to prolong and draw attention to. And yet he hadn’t... Calvin looked at him and frowned, scrutinizing the fat representative. Trying to read more from the man’s plump face and features than one could usefully infer from this distance. But the man gave away nothing.

The instant Kalila was officially acquitted before the Assembly and the whole Empire—and her powers as one of the Princesses of the Empire and a Royal Akira were restored—she made a declaration. Her voice was strong, determined, and carried over the mic for all to hear. Though she was physically quite small, she had a large and confident presence. She spoke with the authority of the King’s own voice and her words fell from her lips, echoing across the chamber, like laws dictated in iron.

“I hereby declare Lieutenant Commander Calvin Cross a loyal citizen of the Empire. I revoke his fugitive status and call for all our public, official, military, and police authorities, local and Imperial, to desist any and all attempt to capture Mister Cross. His name is cleared of all wrongdoing and he is officially under the protection of the Akiran House.”

Calvin had known this was coming, but he hadn’t quite imagined the exciting feeling that rushed through him as he stood on the Assembly Floor, facing the honored representatives of every corner of the Empire, and heard the princess herself call for his name to be cleared. For the slate to be washed clean.

“Furthermore, I hereby instate Mister Cross as a full citizen of the Empire.”

This part surprised him. He was a half-citizen, and would be until his mother’s death—or so he’d thought. True, Kalila had once promised him that if he cooperated with her she would make him a full citizen, but he hadn’t expected that to be today—and wasn’t sure if she’d even remembered. He looked down at his hands, not feeling like the same person, and wondered what it would be like to no longer be secluded from places, no longer be restricted to a lesser version of the justice code, and no longer be frozen at Lieutenant Commander for the rest of his life—assuming the military was eventually restored to its proper status and he lived to see it happen.

“With all my rights and privileges, and all the rights, privileges, and powers of the King, I am forming an investigative body to determine exactly how our classified materials came into the hands of our enemies, and to seek out those responsible for the slaughter of our citizens. They will answer for their crimes. In the name of the King, I promise you that.”

Calvin knew that, since it was traditional for the Akira House to have a single voice on the Assembly Floor, and that Kalila’s father had long-ago selected her for that duty over even her older siblings, that meant Kalila did indeed speak for the King. Which meant a real investigation into the Phoenix Ring would finally be able to happen.

“Princess, that is a matter for Intel Wing,” objected Representative Tate.

“Intel Wing may run its own investigation as well,” said Kalila. “But if Intel Wing is responsible for leaking military secrets to foreign agents, and if Intel Wing was therefore complicit in the attack on Renora, then Intel Wing cannot be trusted to be the sole body investigating the matter. I shall conduct my own investigation, under the banner of the King.”

“And who will lead your investigation, Your Highness?” asked Representative Tate. Certainly the Princess herself was not expected to personally direct such an undertaking.

“I hereby create the title and position of Executor of the Empire. And I appoint Lieutenant Commander Calvin Cross to hold and execute that position until such time as it is dissolved or I designate a successor.” She motioned toward him and all eyes looked his way. Calvin stepped out to the center and joined Kalila at her side. “I am appointing Mister Cross as my official representative, with all necessary powers and authority. He will unilaterally direct this investigation. He is now the Executor of the Empire.”

***

Calvin felt like a child with no swimming lessons who’d been dropped by airship into a vast endless ocean, kicking and punching the water with plenty of heart but no sense at all of what he was doing.

“You understand that I am placing incredible trust in you,” said Kalila. They were in the car again, and the motorcade was making steady headway toward the gates leading to the Imperial Palace.

“Yes, of course,” he said. The name Executor of the Empire rang in his head over and over, like an echo. And every time he heard it he felt a strange combination of pride and utter terror.

“You’ve followed my instructions to the letter ever since I first met you on Tau Station, and you’ve seen me safely back to my home,” she gave him a short smile. “You have earned my trust. Now do not fail me.” Her sharp eyes pierced his. “Far too much depends on you now.”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say, or where exactly to start, but he knew that for the first time in his life he had serious resources at his disposal. And with them he was expected to get results. His fate was now irrevocably tied to the Akiran House. They would succeed or fail together.

“The victory we had today will be short lived,” said Kalila. She looked out the window for a moment, staring at the masses of people, and then looked back at him. He watched her curiously, wondering what she would say. “Our enemies will double their efforts, and they will do everything in their power to see to it that my father loses his throne. Even now the attitude in the Assembly is grim. Seeds of distrust are being sown and, as the situation on Renora worsens, it is only a matter of time before the Conroys, or the Martels, or someone else challenges us for the throne. I don’t know who exactly is working for whom, but I do know this,” her eyes sharpened. “If we lose the throne, we lose the Empire.”

“I understand,” said Calvin. “But… what do you mean Renora will get worse?” He hadn’t heard much about the ongoing revolt but had hoped it was winding down.

“My Father has landed troops on Renora,” said Kalila, and she stared out the window. “Lots of them.”

“Why hasn’t word gotten out?” asked Calvin. He certainly hadn’t heard anything about this, and there was no mention of it during the Assembly proceedings.

“We have made great efforts to keep it quiet. But it’s only a matter of time before the news spreads across the Empire. Probably sooner than later.”

“Why keep it a secret?” asked Calvin.

“My Father hoped to restore order and put an end to the violence swiftly, and then allow the news to spread. Let success be the first thing people hear.”

“But—?”

“The situation is not going well. Word will get out, and when it does, it won’t be good news people hear…”

“Ah…” Calvin looked away from her and turned his thoughts inward for a moment. He wondered what was happening on Renora, and why the plan to restore order wasn’t working. Had they sent inadequate forces? Or was the populace more defiant than expected? The most likely answer was that the Phoenix Ring had its own plans for Renora and was working hard to oppose the King’s interests.

“This is why I need you to get results, and to do so as fast as you possibly can,” she said. “I need names, and evidence, and everything you can get your hands on that explains what is going on and ties everyone together. It has to be straightforward, irrefutable, and clear. Clear enough that even the Assembly can understand it.”

He smirked but realized her last statement hadn’t been meant to be lighthearted.

“I will,” he said, reassuring her. “I will get to the bottom of everything.”

“Good. And be swift,” she looked at him once more. This time her eyes were pleading—those beautiful, majestic brown eyes of hers.

“I will. I promise. I already know where to begin,” he said.

She looked at him curiously. Actually he had several ideas and was going to follow up on all of them, but rather than explain all of that to Kalila he decided to tell her about the most important one—the one that he kept fixating on. “One of my people… a friend, went missing here on Capital World not long ago. I’d sent him here to investigate the conspiracy. After he’d dug up a few things, he disappeared. No one has heard from him since. I intend to use all of the resources at my disposal to find him, and find him soon.”

“As you should,” Kalila said approvingly. “I hope that you find him soon, and that he leads us to the enemies of the Empire.”

“Princess,” he said, pausing for a moment. She raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for all you’ve done, for making me a full citizen and clearing my name.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’d be a useless Executor if you couldn’t get in anywhere and everyone was hunting you,” she smiled at him.

“Yes and thanks. But I have to ask you… why didn’t you clear the names of everyone aboard the Nighthawk? My crew, my friends. Technically they’re still at large.”

“When I can,” she looked at him sincerely. “When this is all over, I promise you, I will see to it that all their names are cleared. But doing so now would have been too bold and too soon. It was already an overreach that I created a new office and positioned you in it.”

He nodded, having no real choice but to accept her reasoning. He did miss his ship though, and now that he wasn’t there to keep an eye on things, he worried about his crew’s safety. Summers can handle it… he reminded himself.

“There is something else…” said Kalila. “I didn’t tell you before, but now you should know.” The words came out slowly. Pensively.

“What?” asked Calvin, feeling a trickle of anxiety. I wasn’t like Kalila to mince words.

“It’s about your mother,” she said.

“Is she alright?” Calvin felt his heart jump to his throat.

“I don’t know. When I decided we would be coming here together, I knew your mother would be in danger—especially after clearing your name and granting you powers—so I tried to get her moved into my own protective custody. But, when my people got there, she was gone. And the neighbors said they hadn’t seen her for days.”

Calvin’s mind raced and he immediately began thinking of scenarios that could possibly explain this information. Perhaps his mother had moved and not told anyone or perhaps she’d gotten wind that something was amiss and had decided to lie low—no that was too much to hope for. He knew the likeliest answer was that she’d been taken. Probably by the Phoenix Ring. But where? And had she been harmed? “How long have you known?” he asked, looking at Kalila very carefully. For once able to study her body language without being swept away by her charms and beauty.

“A few weeks,” she admitted quietly.

“Weeks? So you knew this whole time? When I brought you aboard the Nighthawk, you knew?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Calvin,” she looked at him with eyes that were not apologetic. “I knew there was nothing you could do for her—not then, not yet. And I didn’t want you to become… distracted. We had a mission to do. But now you can. Now you can find her and help her. No world in the Empire is outside your reach. ”

He didn’t know what to feel. A part of him understood and accepted the logic behind Kalila’s words, but another much larger part felt betrayed and enraged, mostly angry that his mother was missing and it had happened because of him, because of the choices he’d made. He looked out the window. Feeling wrath and a renewed desire to hunt down the bastards behind this conspiracy and make them pay.

The rest of the drive was silent.

Chapter 14

“You have some serious explaining to do.”

Zane looked up from one of the many computer terminals in his mansion to see the large round face of his older brother. Caerwyn didn’t hide his emotions well, not around family, so Zane knew he’d have to give him his full attention. He logged out, deciding to review the Phoenix Ring’s financial logistics later.

“What is it now?” asked Zane.

“What do you think?” Caerwyn pointed to one of the screens on display. Zane had muted it so he could concentrate but the images were still there, plain to see. It was replayed footage from the Assembly Floor earlier that day, showing Princess Kalila Akira and her Intel Wing boy-toy addressing the Assembly. As far as Zane was concerned it was old news, those events had happened hours before.

“Politics,” he said with a sneer. “So much growling, so little teeth.”

“And what do you call what you do?” asked Caerwyn. “You and that cult of yours.”

Zane frowned. “Cult?” He knew Caerwyn was baiting him, and he didn’t want to get into a petty squabble. Caerwyn did not understand the Phoenix Ring. And, by its very nature, he never would. But their interests were aligned, his and theirs, and that meant Zane need Caerwyn to be happy. If he wasn’t happy he wasn’t cooperative, and more than ever Zane needed Caerwyn’s political sway and influence, even though he hated the political games.

“Now the fallout from Renora is not landing on the King and his family.”

“It will,” Zane assured him. His plans were always done in layers and while it was true that the Black Swan part had backfired—and the Akiras were no long suspects in the attack—that didn’t mean other forces weren’t already in place and at work to see to it that the King was blamed for that “tragic” situation.

“So you say—just like you said that using the Black Swan replica would eliminate the Princess as a threat. Just like you promised me the throne of the Empire. But now… what are these, empty words? The Princess is back, and now she is digging. Investigating. She even has a pet Intel Wing agent, and as I understand it a pretty good one, working for her. What about that? You told me you controlled Intel Wing.”

“There have been a few setbacks,” Zane admitted. “But the plan is working. You will just have to trust me.” It was true that, despite the unexpected twists, the Phoenix Ring’s overarching goal was coming closer. “The Hour of Ascension is fast approaching,” he said. “And then you will have your throne.” And I will have my Empire.

“Words,” Caerwyn waved him off. “Just hollow words. I need proof. I need assurances. I need to know what is being done to keep this from getting to you, and to keep your… private dealings… from being linked to me.”

“Calm,” said Zane. “Calm like gentle rain. A storm is brewing but do not fear. There is peace in the tempest.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that things are exactly as they should be,” said Zane. “No investigation will uncover what is happening, not fast enough. The pieces are already in place. And there is nothing to link me to you other than my blood.”

“And you don’t think they’ll tear this house apart looking?” Caerwyn moved closer and looked Zane in the eyes. “You mean to tell me that with all your scheming and all your plots there is nothing here for them to find?”

“There is nothing.” In truth Zane did have a great deal of information here. But it was all encrypted and hidden. And even if a professional team of investigators downloaded every scrap of data he had, they would find nothing they could use. Aliases, not names. Even the numbers he kept, such as the transaction information he’d just been reviewing, were not the correct numbers. The numbers themselves were useless without the cipher, which existed only in his memory. And the best part was that an investigator could look at the numbers and not even realize there was a code that needed to be cracked. What good was looking at the number two when it actually meant nine?

“Damn you, you’d better be right,” Caerwyn said. “And what of this Executor of the Empire talk? That doesn’t concern you?”

“It’s showmanship,” said Zane. “Nothing more. A title. Words. Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing? He has the powers of the princess herself, and the training of Intel Wing. The boy has two silver stars on his record!”

“Mister Cross is a fish out of water and he won’t know where to begin. The Princess only brought so much attention to him, and gave him such a flashy title, to posture. He won’t know where to begin and there is nothing he can do to connect us to you.”

Caerwyn nodded, looking somewhat reassured. “See that there isn’t,” he said. Then he stormed off.

In truth Calvin Cross was more of a danger than Zane had admitted, and he knew it. He’d played down the threat in order to keep Caerwyn calm—Caerwyn had to be placated and trusting. As for Calvin, there were ways of dealing with him… and Zane intended to reach out to his various resources and handle the situation. As soon as he reasonably could.

But for now there was a far greater concern to worry about. The truest, deadliest danger of all, the one that threatened to undo everything, the one that cost Zane sleep at night, was one that Caerwyn didn’t even know about. And that was what haunted his thoughts, not the newly appointed Executor of the Empire. It was the Rahajiim. If the Phoenix Ring’s own agents were defecting—something he’d failed to prove but increasingly suspected— then all bets were off. They would make a move as soon as they could. And so far the Enclave was still on the table. Whose side they took might determine the ultimate balance of power. Where the Enclave went, the isotome weapons were certain to follow.

***

The analysis lab felt empty, like a ghost town, as Rain moved from terminal to terminal. She’d pulled the replicant corpse out of the freezing unit and was conducting tests on it. The freezing units in the lab could get significantly colder than the morgue freezers in the infirmary, and there was just something creepy about this corpse that made her not want to have it around at the infirmary. That and the tools to properly study it were here in the lab.

“So what makes you tick?” she asked the corpse. There was no one else in the lab—since so much of the crew had gone aboard the Arcane Storm, they could no longer maintain a continuous watch in the analysis lab.

The computer returned a result on a tissue sample she’d excised from the corpse. Unfortunately the computer seemed as baffled as she was, as the configuration of the matter—and its biological properties—did not fit any of the well-known and understood configurations in the biological database.

Rain had not been assigned to study the replicant, and she did so voluntarily during her own off-duty time. She was compelled by the mystery of the alien life form, and how it could adapt so perfectly to take the shape of another living organism. She also believed there were medical advances that could be made—new treatments and therapies—once the replicant’s biology was understood. For instance, it had tremendous regenerative capabilities, and an autoimmune system that functioned unlike any other organism in the galaxy. The fact that the organism had been killed at all seemed remarkable. And that Xinocodone had been able to force it back into its original state was just as fascinating. The rapid and forced transformation seemed to have caused the death more than any allergic reaction to the Xinocodone. But what had made that happen? It was quite the medical mystery. And one that gripped her curiosity.

“I wonder if—”

She was interrupted by an alert sent to the lab. She’d told her staff to page her if a need arose.

“Dr. Poynter,” came the voice of James Andrews, one of the assistant medics, over the speaker.

She slid the cart, which bore the replicant’s corpse, back into the freezing unit and sealed it. Then she tapped the button to answer the call.

“What is it, James?”

“It’s the ops officer… you’d better get down here.”

She felt a surge of anxiety and immediately bolted for the door, not even taking the time to reply.

“Situation?” she asked as she stormed through the entrance. One of the medics handed her a pair of gloves and a mask, which she put on while another medic hurried to get her up to speed.

“The patient began seizing. We got him stabilized but now his heart rate has fallen and he is only breathing sporadically. Blood pressure is only forty over twenty—and still dropping.”

James was standing over Shen, who was still strapped to the hospital bed. A special forces soldier stood guard over him, looking down at the gaunt, dying patient with curiosity and cluelessness.

Rain went up to Shen’s side and started checking the various monitors. “Did you perform an EQR?”

“Not yet.”

“Prep for an EQR STAT,” said Rain. As she did, Shen began seizing again. Very violently. He convulsed under the straps and she wondered if the straps might potentially hurt him. One of the medics rushed to Shen, probably to try to hold him down or pointlessly put something in his mouth, but Rain stopped him. Knowing it was better to leave him be. She searched all of the objects near Shen and made sure there was nothing potentially dangerous for him to strike or choke himself with during his convulsions.

“Get that EQR ready,” said Rain as she watched Shen seizing. After ninety-seconds the seizure ended. There was still no sign of consciousness—and there hadn’t been since Shen had been brought to her.

“Blood pressure is now immeasurably low,” said James. “Pulse spiked during the seizure but now it’s coming down.” He watched the monitors while the others set up the EQR. “Ten beats per minute…”

We’re losing him, Rain realized. She’d promised not only Calvin but herself that she would save Shen, no one was so far gone that they should be given up on. Unfortunately it looked like this was Shen’s time after all...

Not going to give up! If Shen died here today, it would be the will of the universe and not for lack of trying on Rain’s part to save him, she reminded herself. She would fight for his life to the bitterest end.

“Prep me 30 cc’s of Zythatrol,” she said. A syringe was filled and handed to her. She injected it into Shen. Knowing that this agent, while dangerous—especially in this amount—was their best chance of either swiftly reversing the falling blood pressure, or at least stopping it from getting worse.

“EQR ready,” said James from her side. They attached the equipment to Shen and Rain made sure everything was done right. It was a bold treatment, especially when complicated by a high dose of Zythatrol, but Rain could think of no other way to stop her patient from total circulatory failure. She hoped the oxygen starvation to the vital organs wasn’t already of a fatal magnitude.

“Now,” she said.

Chapter 15

There it was. In all its middle-class glory.

Calvin stood at the entrance to a large residential building. Like many of the other nicer buildings in this section of West Central District, it had a small garden in front. It was well-maintained, with lush green grass that was kept short, along with a handful of pruned trees. The dark green was offset by pockets of white, yellow, and red, as perfectly rectangular flower patches grew in patterns so organized Calvin thought the plants had spent time in the marine corps and were standing in lines awaiting inspection.

He walked through the gate and along the short path that led to the entrance. Then, after taking a deep breath, he went inside. The doorman saluted when he saw him, even though Calvin had left the better part of his personal escort outside. Undoubtedly the doorman watched the news and recognized the face of the newly appointed Executor of the Empire. It was a strange thing to have people notice him everywhere he went, to have become a household name in a matter of a day. He didn’t like it, not truly, but it did have certain advantages.

“I need access to level nineteen,” he said. “And I need the key to room nineteen eleven.”

“Of course,” said the doorman. He handed Calvin the room key and then unlocked the elevator. No doubt being so cooperative because he didn’t want to be seen as obstructing an investigation.

Nikolai followed Calvin into the elevator. He stuck close to Calvin at Kalila’s instance. She’d somehow realized that Calvin would be uncomfortable with an escort of bodyguards following him around everywhere, so she’d specifically instructed Nikolai to remain vigilantly at Calvin’s side at all times. Apparently he was one of her most trustworthy, and deadliest, people. Calvin had not objected—there was something about Kalila’s smile that simply made him want to agree with just about anything.

“So this is home?” asked Nikolai as the elevator sped toward the higher floors.

“This was home,” said Calvin. “Once upon a time.”

His mother had moved them here once it was clear Samil, Calvin’s father, was not coming back. Calvin had resented the move, believing that if they left their old home Samil would never find them. That they only needed to keep waiting and be patient, that he’d resurface. And when he did he’d have a good explanation for his absence. You’ll see—Calvin recalled telling his mother. But he’d been young and naïve, and his mother had been wise not to listen. Samil had never returned to Capital World. Or, if he had, he’d never made an effort to let Calvin or Olivia know.

“It is… nice,” said Nikolai. Probably just to make conversation. Nikolai didn’t have the greatest people skills, but Calvin was already starting to get used to having him around. The lean, yet thickly-muscled warrior with his shaven head and fierce, sun-damaged skin wasn’t the subtlest of shadows, but so far no one had given Calvin any kind of trouble while Nikolai was around.

“We lived here, but it wasn’t anything special,” said Calvin. The elevator came to a stop and opened on the nineteenth floor. Calvin stepped out into the hallway, followed closely by Nikolai.

The sights of the nineteenth floor were eerily the same as he remembered them. The old woman who kept the floor clean was there, fiddling with a cart of supplies—except now she looked positively ancient. The reddish-brown carpets and faded off-white walls were all the same, and so were the metal doors coated in cheap pseudo-wood paneling. Even the tacky art hanging on the walls was the same, as was the fake plant at the end of the hallway next to the window. That green thing—whatever it was—had been sticking out of that pot since before Calvin had moved in here as a child. And it had probably been there since before he was born. Probably since the building was erected a hundred years ago. Capital World with its limited space and high population was unlike other worlds in that it repurposed its structures more often than replacing them. As such, many of the buildings—particularly residential towers and commercial enterprises—were actually quite historic.

“This way,” said Calvin.

They went to room nineteen eleven and he rang the chime. When no response came—as expected—he knocked on the door. No answer.

“Well we gave her a chance,” said Calvin, still hoping, albeit desperately, to open the door and see his mother there, wearing her scrubby clothes and half-finished with another of her deep cleans of the apartment, which she was prone to do when stressed or preoccupied. He inserted the keycard and the door unlocked. He pushed it open.

No one was there to greet him. The front room was open and minimally decorated. There was a new amateur piece of art sitting on a painting easel that his mother had undoubtedly been working on. He walked up to and touched it, hoping some of the paint was still wet. It wasn’t. And the picture wasn’t finished enough to know what it was supposed to be.

“Mother,” he called loudly as he stepped past the small kitchen and down the hall. He knocked on each of the three bedroom doors before opening them. “Are you here?”

The first room was completely empty. It had been Calvin’s room and, now that he was grown and gone, there was nothing in it. No child’s sized bed, no box of his things all packed away, none of the scribbles he’d markered on the wall because he’d thought they were funny. It was as if he’d never lived here at all.

The second room had been converted into a kind of office-gym combination. There was a rowing machine set up, as well as an exercise mat, and on the other side was a desk with a computer terminal. Calvin turned it on, hoping to find some kind of clue, perhaps his mother had used this terminal to arrange her travel plans, but the computer was dusty and had clearly not been touched in months. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Calvin knew his mother rarely touched a computer unless she absolutely had to.

The third room, the master bedroom, looked neat and tidy. The bed was made and there was no sign that someone had left the place hastily. No indication that anyone had rummaged through the drawers and dressers, no sign that the closet had been hastily raided in a mad packing frenzy. Everything was orderly and in place. And nothing seemed to be missing.

He checked the bathroom, the closets, and the storage alcove. Once he’d combed every square inch of the apartment, he returned to the front room in dismay.

“No luck, eh?” asked Nikolai. He’d helped himself to a sandwich he’d made from materials left in the refrigerator. Rather than getting on his case about tampering with potential evidence, Calvin went to the refrigerator and inspected the meat. It didn’t smell foul. True it remained in its original airtight container, but that was some indication of how recently it’d been placed here. The bread too showed no signs of mold or decay. The lettuce on the other hand did. So he guessed that his mother had last purchased groceries and left them here no more than ten days ago. Or, if she hadn’t, someone else had.

“So now what do we do?” asked Nikolai once he’d polished off his sandwich and wiped the mustard off the corner of his lip.

“Radio down, tell them to send the forensics team up. Dust for prints and search everything over multiple times—they know the drill,” said Calvin. He didn’t like being back here, he’d never had fond feelings for this apartment, but now that his mother was missing it made him feel especially uncomfortable being here.

“And what about you and me?” asked Nikolai.

“We’re going to ask the neighbors some questions.”

“All right then,” said Nikolai. He radioed Calvin’s instructions and then followed Calvin out of the apartment. Calvin locked the door behind him—he didn’t want anyone else to disturb apartment nineteen eleven until his investigation team had a chance to go over it.

While he waited for them, he began calling on the neighbors and asking them questions. He didn’t forcibly round them up for interrogation, but he and Nikolai made it clear that non-cooperation was not an option. Using his authority as the Executor of the Empire, he compelled even the shiest of the resident of the nineteenth floor to answer a few questions for him. But, in the end, he needn’t have bothered.

Ultimately they all said variations of the same thing. They’d last seen Olivia Cross weeks ago, some claimed not to have seen her for months—though most of these claims were by people who were not very outgoing and, by the look of things, left their apartments under only the rarest of circumstances. No one said they’d seen anyone calling on Olivia, nor did any of them notice anything suspicious or hear any noises. The likeliest thing, based on the lack of evidence of a struggle, was that Olivia had left of her own free will. The question was, however, why would she? And why wouldn’t she tell anyone? Calvin wondered if that meant she had been abducted while she was out and about, leaving no evidence of her capture behind at her apartment.

By the time he was through interrogating the residents of the nineteenth floor, and had managed to talk to every one of them—which had meant waiting around for some of them who were away to return home—his forensics team had a preliminary report for him.

No sign of anyone inside the apartment, other than Olivia and now Calvin and Nikolai, and there was no indication that there had been anything unusual—such as an altercation—that’d gone down. No scratch marks, no slammed doors or forced locks, nothing suspicious whatsoever.

Calvin nodded. He gave them instructions to complete the investigation but he realized this was a dead end. He would never give up on finding his mother, just like he would never give up on finding Rafael, but he knew that throwing all of his resources and attention at this wasn’t going to buy him anything. Whoever had taken her—if she had indeed been taken—had gone to great lengths to ensure that there was no trail left behind. That meant, as much as he hated to admit it, he had to focus on his other priorities and await either a ransom note—if that was the abductors’ intentions, assuming they were going to use Olivia as leverage on him—or else wait for new leads to be found by his investigation team. In the meantime he had to do his duty and focus most of his efforts on the Phoenix Ring and finding Rafael. Hopefully his mother would resurface along the way, and that she’d be unharmed. He wished for nothing more than this whole thing to prove to be a false alarm.

***

He raised an arm to screen his face from the raging fire as he walked down the street adjacent to the burning building.

“Oh god!” croaked an old man who stood in the street, staring aghast as his flat—and those of hundreds of others—was consumed by the inferno. “Why?” he said, staring up at the sky.

He was one of the many in the crowd who’d escaped when the alarms went off. Now people from adjacent buildings were pouring into the street, joining the mob, curious and terrified. A few ran around in a panic, shouting, or struggling to find a way to combat the flames—to no avail—but most were too stunned to do much of anything but chatter nervously amongst themselves and stare up stupidly at the dying building. Little did they know that thousands of such incidents were going on across the planet’s surface right now. And not one of them an accident.

“You?” the old man pointed a crooked finger at Ryker as he approached. “You did this!” the old man turned to get support from the mass of people around him. “I saw him come out of the building—he started that fire! I’m sure of it!”

Ryker did nothing to contradict the rumor. On the contrary, he welcomed it. Even though it wasn’t technically true—Micah had started the fire. Not Ryker.

“You did this?” a large man shouted. He was looking at Ryker. They all were.

“For crimes against the Crown and the Empire,” said Ryker. “I hereby sentence this building to burn in the Name of the King.” He stopped when he was a few meters away from the crowd and took them in—they were an innocent enough looking lot, probably loyalists who’d avoided getting involved in the rebellion sweeping the planet, just like he’d hoped.

“We’re no rebels!” a voice shouted. Others joined it. Some of them screaming at the top of their lungs. A woman shrieked and babes in arms began to cry.

“Continue to rebel, and next time it will be your lives,” said Ryker, loudly and clearly. So as much of the thick crowd as possible could hear him.

“Our lives?” someone asked.

“The King? What right does the King have here?” someone else asked, louder than all of the others yelling. Shouts of agreement joined him. “These were our homes! The King has no right to do this!”

“The King has every right,” said Ryker. “Everything you are, everything you have, you have at the pleasure of the King!”

The crowd reacted very negatively to this, just as Ryker had hoped. There were shouts of “Get him!” and a few of the men broke away from the others and headed Ryker’s way. He raised his rifle but the shot that burst into one of the approaching man’s head—killing him on the spot—didn’t come from Ryker’s gun.

The men approaching him stopped in their tracks. Two of them dropped to their knees to examine the newly made corpse of what Ryker supposed had once been their neighbor.

“He’s dead!” someone yelled.

People shrieked. Some turned away. Others rushed forward to see the body. “He killed Tommy White!”

“Murderer!” someone else shouted. The crowd became increasingly hostile and Ryker knew it was time to make himself scarce. “Murdered by the King!”

“Do not forget the lesson!” said Ryker. He took out a stun grenade and tossed it into the crowd, deliberately aiming for a group of women with babes in arms. Hoping that at least one of the babies was severely injured or killed. The death of one baby—or even a million babies—didn’t matter. Not on Renora. They were too young to raise arms and rebel. But if injury to them could aggravate the populace—and help Mister Martel’s cause, and by extension Ryker’s—then all the better.

He turned his back to the crowd, dropping another stun grenade as he went, and walked away. Micah joined him, getting away from the rubble, the refuse, and the scorching building. He was dressed like Ryker and all of the other Black Phantoms—they wore the military fatigues of the Imperial Marines. Light-weight, durable, and most importantly—easily identified. Ryker doubted a false flag operation had ever been so large, and yet it was almost too easy. Everything was going just as Martel said it would. Ryker had to give the man credit, scheming bastard that he was. He’d managed to plant the uniforms, weapons, and other supplies in warehouses and storage units all over the planet months in advance, and all without letting anyone get the least bit suspicious.

In the distance, emergency sirens could be heard and at least one Foxtrot Transport was closing in, flying low. Its troops no doubt were coming to help fight the flames but they’d get a lot more than they bargained for once the locals caught sight of them.

“Report,” demanded Ryker.

“Tank says the other cells are active. They know their instructions and are doing like they’re told. Major cities are being lit up like candles.”

“Good,” said Ryker. “So long as they know to fade away once they’re seen. Do not engage the enemy.”

“They know,” said Micah. “Everything is happening just like you said.”

“And this is just the beginning. Once we begin Phase Two…”

“Why do we wait? Do it tonight!” said Micah. “Let the whole world shake at its core and not know what hit it.”

“Phase Two cannot be the same night as Phase One, that would be far too much at once. We want to create sympathizers, not crush the spirit of everyone on the planet. Besides, Phase Two is impossible so long as that damn Harbinger is near.”

“How do you know that ship is even out there?”

“Martel will tell me when it leaves. We will do Phase Two then, not before.”

“Whate’er you say. I still think we should do it now, and be done with it. Let someone else clean up the mess.”

“And that is why you follow and not lead.”

They caught up with Vulture, who’d been covering them with his sniper rifle. Together they ran to their waiting vehicle. It was time to disappear and move on to the next target. Even if the Imperial troops were wising up to their tactic, there was far too much planet for them to try to cover. Especially when the rebellion was growing with speed and strength like never before. A fire of anti-Imperial hatred was burning across the planet tonight, and all Ryker and his Black Phantoms had to do was give it kindling.

Chapter 16

After spending four hours making the plans and moving everyone into place, Calvin gave the order for his forces—soldiers and investigators given to him by the Akira House—to storm the three most important facilities where the Intel Wing Archives were stored.

“Companies Bravo, Delta, and Charlie, you are go,” said Calvin.

“Roger. Execute!” the call came over the radio.

He watched on the command display in one of the offices he’d been given. On each of the screens he’d displayed maps of the target buildings and surrounding areas. As well as the positions of his teams who were being tracked.

The red dots that were his men moved swiftly into the compounds and into the structures. He didn’t have enough men to maintain a complete perimeter around each of the buildings but that wasn’t important, they weren’t here to stop fleeing Intel Wing agents, and they hadn’t come to make any arrests, so long as no one flushed or destroyed the hard drives they’d find what they were looking for.

Since arriving on the planet, and indeed since being cut off from Intel Wing when he’d gone to Abia, Calvin had been kept out of the secure archives. Now that he was here, had his name restored, and had been appointed to the post of Executor of the Empire, he had the legal authority to access the archives. However, rather than giving a formal order to Intel Wing to restore his access, and allow the organization the chance to sweep things under the rug before allowing him access to their data, Calvin had decided to take access swiftly and forcibly so that no intelligence was lost. There would be a lot to comb through, and most of it would prove useless, but he believed some of the most critical answers were there.

“Bravo Company confirms, Facility Aveline is secure.”

“Roger,” said Calvin. “Commence linkup.”

“Wilco.”

He shifted his attention to the other teams on the other displays. Charlie Company had to secure the largest facility, so it made sense that they were being slower, but Delta Company seemed to have stopped their advance. Calvin stared at the red dots until his eyes hurt.

“Delta Company this is Executor Actual, report.”

“Delta Company here. We’re meeting some resistance. Staff is armed and has initiated lockdown protocols. Request further instructions, over.”

Calvin imagined the situation, soldiers in arms making slow progress against a dozen Intel Wing agents with small arms trying to disable the computers and lock the doors. Perhaps holding out for reinforcements, but most likely just trying to stall long enough to flush sensitive data. He wished he was on the ground with his team, but understood why he needed to remain at control. “Proceed with force,” he said. “Engagement is authorized.” He didn’t like giving an order that would lead to violence, and perhaps even the deaths of some of his men, but he had to secure that information before it was too late.

“Understood.”

“Charlie Company confirms, Facility Aurora is secure.”

Calvin glanced away from Delta Company’s screen for a moment to note that his second team had taken control of the largest facility. “Roger,” said Calvin. “Commence Linkup.”

“Confirmed, linkup in progress.”

“Bravo Company to Executor Actual, linkup is established. Over.”

“Roger that Bravo Company. Commence lockdown protocols and maintain facility security. Hold that position until further instructions are given.”

“Understood, Executor Actual. Wilco.”

Delta Company was now moving swiftly to the core of the facility. Three of the red dots were not moving and had turned green—their trackers no longer detecting a pulse. Calvin bowed his head out of respect for his fallen men, and told himself once again that this was necessary. That there had been no choice. Their sacrifice was essential for saving the Empire.

“Delta Company confirms, Facility Adalia is secure.”

Calvin breathed a sigh of relief. “Roger, commence lockdown protocols and then establish the linkup.” As much as he wanted the data they’d bled to capture, he decided it was best—in the case of Delta Company—to secure their position before brute-forcing into the local archives’ mainframe.

“Understood. Wilco.”

“Charlie Company to Executor Actual, linkup is established.”

“Roger,” said Calvin. He entered some commands into his terminal to test his newly established access to the Archives, and to check their security. As far as he could tell, all had been done according to plan. And once Delta Company completed the linkup operation on their end, Calvin and his people would have total access to all levels of the Intel Wing Archives.

He gave instructions to his analysts to begin processing and studying the data they’d just acquired, and then Calvin sent a request to Kalila for additional security to be provided, particularly to the Adalia Facility where his forces had met resistance, and lost three men. After he’d finished, he got word that the third linkup had been established. The archives were ready to be mined.

The software experts, professional analysts, cryptologists, and others were the ones who would extract the most meaningful secrets from the secure Archives, but Calvin intended to do what he could—be it a little or a lot.

The first thing he did was to pull every file that made mention of Third Lieutenant Rafael Te Santos. Calvin ignored the useless documents—such as the man’s biography and family history, and focused in on the most recent documents. The paper trail wasn’t very complete and he made inferences where he found gaps, but after some time he was able to determine a few key things. Rafael, like the three other agents who’d gone with him from the Nighthawk to Capital World, had undergone an intense interrogation and psychological analysis to vet his fitness for duty and test his loyalty. He and two of the others had passed the tests with flying colors, one was dismissed. Rafael then had been returned to duty. The list of his assignments seemed limited and incomplete and there was a report from a “trusted asset” that suspected Rafael and the others from the Nighthawk as being an intelligence leak back to “the still at large Calvin Cross.” An investigation followed resulting in the arrest of Rafael and the other suspects. After that the paper trail went completely dead and Calvin could find no information.

Calvin tapped his desk and thought of what to do next. He now knew for sure that Rafael had been taken and was not in hiding of his own volition. Calvin’s hopes were dashed but he wasn’t surprised, this was what he’d suspected. At least the Phoenix Ring—or whoever had taken Rafael—hadn’t seemed to identify him for sure as Calvin’s mole, since they had two other suspects. But Calvin wasn’t naïve to think that meant they were treating Rafael well. Or that they wouldn’t eventually get it out of him that he was working for Calvin. Perhaps they’d even flipped Rafael and he was now sharing everything he knew about Calvin. Whatever the case, the sooner Calvin found Rafael and got him out of their hands the better.

Calvin did a bit more digging and identified the officer who’d been sent to make the arrest and bring Rafael into custody. Merrill O’Reilly. Military Police. It wasn’t unheard of for Intel Wing to use the muscle of the military to perform arrests and other aggressive operations, but for solo arrests it was rare. Intel Wing would typically use their own people to make a secret arrest. But, because they’d used a fairly non-descript and obscure military police officer—and whatever support he’d brought—to make the arrest, Calvin had nearly overlooked that detail. On his first few passes over the intel it looked like there was no information about the arrest itself. He was sure that the military police had been involved for that exact reason, most analysts would probably have missed the subtle detail that had pointed Calvin to identify the arresting officer—namely that there was no other place he could have been, and what he’d officially been assigned to do, his cover assignment, was not possible because it was too far away and he couldn’t have been in two places at once. Calvin smiled at his work and counted the finding as a stroke of luck. “Looks like I’ve still got it,” he whispered.

“What was that?” asked Nikolai. The large bodyguard still followed Calvin like a shadow. He was so quiet that Calvin had forgotten he was even there.

“Oh, nothing,” said Calvin. He put in an order for the military police officer to be taken into custody and brought in for questioning. If nothing else, he should be able to give Calvin the names of his superiors. He could also reveal where he’d taken Rafael after the arrest, and once Calvin knew where that place was, he’d tear it apart looking for clues.

Calvin didn’t want to depend solely on this lead, however. So he put out a general order in the name of the King, Office of the Executor, to all low-level members of Intel Wing—he was sure Phoenix Ring couldn’t possibly have recruited all of them. He sent descriptions and photos of the three people who’d been arrested—including Rafael but not drawing extra attention to him—and ordered anyone with knowledge of their whereabouts to report immediately. Failure to do so would be considered a treasonous act.

“We about done here?” asked Nikolai. He normally didn’t complain but Calvin knew him well enough by now to understand that the large man preferred to be in the thick of the action rather than watching someone read computer screens.

“Not yet,” said Calvin. “There is one more thing that will not wait.” He’d been thinking about Anand lately, wishing to have his best friend again. Wishing he was there at his side, the same person he used to be. Adding his insight and intelligence to Calvin’s and encouraging him every step of the way. Sharing in the struggles and frustrations. Anand’s friendship had meant everything to Calvin back when they were students at Camdale, and for the brief period they’d served together on the Nighthawk it had been like old times. But now Anand was gone. And somehow, for some reason, Anand hated Calvin. Blamed him for the loss of his family. He’d most recently tried to kill Calvin and everyone aboard the Nighthawk back at Remus System. And very nearly succeeded. Calvin intended to find out why. Could it be his friend had been replaced by a replicant? He hoped so. That was certainly an easier thing to face than the possibility that his friend truly did hate him, and had sincerely tried to kill him.

Calvin dug and dug. Spent over an hour pulling up documents, police reports, and anything he could get his hands on. Fortunately he knew the Datar family well—when he’d been around them they’d treated him like a second son. He knew their situation and their aliases, so even though they were mostly off the radar, Calvin knew where to find information about them. Unfortunately news wasn’t good.

“Good god,” Calvin said as he scanned through the morbid details, disgust and curiosity rising.

“What is it?” asked Nikolai. “Did you find something?”

“You could say that…” From what he could tell, the Datar family—except for Anand—had all been killed. They’d illegally immigrated to Capital World many years ago—which Calvin knew and had helped to keep secret—but apparently an official named Calvin Cross outed them to the police. And when police arrived to take them into custody, they resisted arrest and were slain in the altercation. Apparently he had been the one to blow the Datars’ cover, even though he was light-years away when it’d happened. “Nothing subtle about this,” he whispered to himself. They’d framed him. Framed him and fooled Anand into believing it. Although Calvin couldn’t be sure exactly who was behind it, or why; his gut told him it was the Phoenix Ring who was responsible.

It was no accident the family was killed, Calvin was sure. But it was still strange, and quite surreal to read the details in black and white. It wasn’t like the Datars to resist arrest or try to physically fight authority. They might do something that was legally grey, out of necessity, but physically they’d never hurt a fly, less yet get into a gun battle with police like the reports claimed. No doubt this was merely the cover for what was probably a very sick and dark execution. Damn them. Damn them all…

From the reports, Calvin was able to get the identity of the two policemen who’d gone to arrest the Datar family and ended up killing them. Michael Evans and Samantha Salas. They would answer for this, he promised himself, and he would make them lead him to those behind it all. The conspiracy was vast and deep, but its days were numbered. Calvin vowed that the Datar family would have justice.

He looked into Michael Evans and Samantha Salas more and discovered that Samantha had moved off-world. There was no record of where she’d gone. Apparently she’d chartered private transport and did not submit a flight-plan, despite regulations requiring that she do so. Chartering private transport was not cheap, certainly outside the salary of an Imperial police officer, so Calvin pulled Samantha’s financial information. Like he’d expected, he found that a large deposit had been made into her three accounts. Someone had made a small effort to disguise the bribe, but it was fairly obvious to the trained eye, and the day it had been deposited was the same day she and Michael had gone to arrest the Datars. Calvin cross-checked Samantha’s financial information with Michael’s and found that he’d been paid the same day in the same amount. On the surface the sums looked different, and the payout scheme was not the same—an effort had been made to disguise the bribe—but the amounts were the same in total. And paid out during the same day, both from anonymous sources. Now the question was, who would bribe two police officers to murder a civilian family and cover it up?

Normally an investigation into an incident like this would still be ongoing, and Samantha shouldn’t have been able to jump planet, but someone had closed the book on it and ruled the officers’ lethal actions as lawful self-defense.

Calvin was glad to see that while Samantha had jumped planet, Michael Evans was still around on Capital World. He gave the order for him to be brought in for questioning.

Michael Evans, you will tell me everything.

***

“They took the Archives,” said Celeste Ortega-Gasset. He looked at her pretty face on the monitor in one of the private rooms in his estate.

“I know,” he said calmly. The moment the Executor’s people had stormed the three separate facilities, Zane had been told. It wasn’t a move he’d anticipated, much bolder than he’d expected from Calvin Cross, but it wasn’t exactly a damning blow either. His people were in place when it went down, and they’d been vigilantly aware that such a thing might someday happen. Zane had given them protocols. And, from what he could tell, the truly important data had been purged in time. His people had managed to hold Facility Adalia long enough. Of course there were still breadcrumbs, a small thin trail that might eventually lead the Executor’s investigation here, to the Martel Estate, and other places. But Zane doubted they would be able to piece together what was happening in time. There were already forces in motion, forces stronger than the Executor’s wildest dreams, and the storm that was coming would not be stopped.

“You aren’t worried?” asked Celeste. “What about Donovan and the others?”

“Rita Donovan and the rest of those cowards are not to know anything about it. All they would do is panic, and panic is the last think we need,” said Zane. “Trust me when I say that everything is completely under control.”

“I trust you,” said Celeste. “But there is more news.”

He perked up. Celeste was one of his best informers so he never ignored anything she had to say. “Go on.”

“The Executor has put out arrest orders for certain people. He intends to question them. Already his people are looking for them, and they will be found soon.”

“People we know?”

“Yes. A Military Police Officer named Merrill O’Reilly.”

Zane smiled. Just a name. Not a real man. An identity that had been used to lend credibility to the arrest of Rafael Te Santos and two other prisoners—they’d since been deemed worthless and killed. Rafael was making swift strides down that same path. “Merrill O’Reilly is no threat to us.”

“What about Michael Evans and Samantha Salas?”

Again Zane smirked. “Those two are long gone. Mister Cross will have trouble finding them.”

“Samantha Salas left the planet weeks ago, like you said. But Evans remains.”

“What?” asked Zane. As a condition of the bribe, Zane’s people had given both Salas and Evans explicit instructions to leave the system.

“He is still here. His address isn’t current; he moved. But I tracked him down in less than two hours. That means the Executor’s people will be able to find him. And when they do they’ll bring him in and he’ll start talking. He’ll spill everything.”

Not everything, Zane thought. He made sure to limit the knowledge his pawns had to a need-to-know basis, but certainly this idiot Michael Evans—who’d proven too big a fool to leave the planet as instructed—would give the Executor more information than Zane would like. And, in a worst case scenario, those who’d bribed Evans might be able to link the bribe to MXR, if Evans identified the people who’d contacted him. And if MXR was in the Executor’s crosshairs, that meant Zane was too. And the whole Martel family.

“I think you should take care of this, before it becomes a problem,” said Celeste.

“Don’t worry, I will,” he said. He deactivated the call and the screen winked off. He shook his head, thinking perhaps he’d underestimated the new Executor of the Empire.

There was only one way to deal with this. Blackmoth. No loose ends.

Chapter 17

“We’ll be dropping out of alteredspace in ten minutes, Commander.” The voice of Jay Cox filtered over the speakers. Summers reached over and tapped the comm switch.

“Thank you, Mister Cox.” She stood up from the chair in her quarters and brushed smooth her uniform, thinking that since she’d taken command of the vessel, discipline had indeed improved. She left and headed for the elevator. There wasn’t time now, but she’d originally intended to go visit the infirmary after she’d rested up, ever since the chief physician had informed her that Iwate Shen had nearly been lost. The former White Shift ops officer was currently stable but Summers knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be paying her respects. Pity too. Iwate Shen had proven to be one of the most resourceful people on the ship. The chief physician was more optimistic, but that red-haired firecracker was optimistic about everything. And Summers knew no amount of hope changed the facts. If it did, her life, and this ship, would be very different.

The Nighthawk was stealthed and silently carving its way through Polarian space. On course for Titan Three, just like Calvin had ordered. Summers used the elevator ride from deck four to the bridge to mentally review what Calvin had told her. The informant he’d talked to on the cantons of Tybur–the one who’d happened to also be his estranged father—had told him that the isotome weapons had been manufactured at Titan Three. And that a human woman who was involved in the Phoenix Ring was also the one overseeing the process of converting the unstable isotome into the deadly, star-destroying weapons that now plagued the galaxy. Calvin hadn’t been sure what they’d find there—and his father apparently hadn’t told him—but Calvin had asked Summers to go there all the same. And gather whatever intelligence she could before the Phoenix Ring, or the Rahajiim, or the Polarians—or whoever—had time to bury the evidence. And, true to her word, Summers had come as quickly as she could. Taxing the beat-up Nighthawk for all it was worth.

The elevator door slid open and she stepped out onto the bridge.

“Captain on the bridge,” said Jay from the helm.

Miles spun the command chair to face her. He was slouched in the command position with what appeared to be a can of beer in his right hand, he raised it when he saw her. “I kept her going safe and sound in your absence,” he smiled.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Summers. Her eyes combed the room and she noticed there were beer cans by all of the officers. Some were open. And some were even empty! With every indication that they’d been drunk by officers on duty! Even Midshipman Ford, the newly appointed defense officer, had a spent beer can at his side. Only Cassidy at ops seemed to have abstained from the shenanigans, though an untouched beer can sat awkwardly next to her.

“ETA six minutes,” said Jay.

“I want an answer to my question,” said Summers. She looked at each of them in turn. “Now.”

“Morale has been shaky, especially with Calvin gone, so…as the XO,” said Miles, “I instituted the first of many programs I plan to implement to get everyone back in good spirits. I call this one, Beer on the Bridge!” He flashed Summers a big, toothy smile. It was disgusting.

“You,” she pointed at him. “Take this refuse,” she glanced at all the trash and the alcohol. “And get out.”

“Out?”

“Off my bridge,” she said sternly.

“What?” he looked at her like she was crazy, like she was joking. She folded her arms and gave him an icy stare. Daring him to challenge her.

“What’d I do?” he asked.

Summers didn’t want to play his game. Now more than ever she was certain that Miles’ buffoonery was a deliberate tactic to upset her. She wouldn’t stoop to his level. But neither would she tolerate his idiocy.

“You were imbibing alcohol while on duty,” she said. “And even worse, you were encouraging your fellow officers to do the same.” She looked at him and then at Jay and Midshipman Ford. “I will not have my ship piloted by drunken loons.”

Miles raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug and his face turned right red. “What? No one is drunk. No one is gonna get drunk. It’s three-percent beers. Practically water.”

Summers shook her head. “I’m disappointed in all of you, there will be consequences for this.”

“Hey it was the XO’s orders,” said Jay.

“It’s true. He ordered us to have the beer,” said Midshipman Ford. “No one wanted it. It was just orders.”

“Which reminds me,” said Miles. He stood up and pointed at Cassidy. “This one is guilty of insubordination.” Now he was trying to deflate the situation with a crass attempt at humor. Summers wasn’t about to let him off so easily. “There will be disciplinary action, Missy,” said Miles.

“Yes there will,” agreed Summers. “Against you, Mister Brown.”

He looked at her defiantly. She had neither the time nor the patience to deal with this.

“Snap to it!” Summers barked. “On the double! Get your bulbous ass, and all of your refuse, off my bridge immediately.”

Startled and embarrassed, Miles did as he was told and collected the remaining pizza and beer.

“And don’t come back,” said Summers. “You’re not allowed on the bridge again until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”

Miles nodded. He entered the elevator with the expression of a sad puppy and then disappeared down to the lower decks.

Summers took her place at the command position and sat down, all the while mumbling, “beers on the bridge, honestly…”

“Dropping out of alteredspace in thirty seconds.”

“Defense status?” asked Summers.

“Shields are down, semi-operable, half our armor is gone. Most of our ammunition reserves are depleted. The beam weapon is semi-functional. It has power but is not charged,” said Midshipman Ford.

“And the stealth system?”

“Active. They shouldn’t see us when we drop into normal space.”

“Make sure they don’t,” said Summers. If they were seen and warships moved to intercept them, the Nighthawk was in no condition for a fight. “Monitor that system closely, let me know if even the slightest problem appears.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Dropping into normal space in two… one…”

Stars filled the window.

“Position?” asked Summers. Her eyes immediately flicked to the 3d display which showed industrial ships in close orbit around the planet. Another ship, one she couldn’t identify on sight, hung back in open space. Seeming adrift.

“We’re pretty deep, about two point three million mc’s from the planet. Burners at five percent,” said Jay.

“Can they see us?” asked Summers. From what she could tell none of the ships had reacted to their presence. Hopefully that was a good sign and not a trap.

“I doubt it,” said Midshipman Ford. “We’re not leaking any heat and there is no defect in our system. Unless someone’s peeking out a window and spots us with the naked eye, we should be fine.”

Summers nodded. There had been other times, most recently in Remus System, when the Nighthawk’s stealth system had been “running fine” yet they’d been spotted anyway. She doubted the locals here had the kind of detection technology that Nimoux and his squadron had, but Summers also wanted to play it safe. “Jay I want an escape vector calculated at all times. At the first sign of trouble, take us back into alteredspace.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Now bring us about. Midshipman Dupont, begin scanner surveillance of the planet, its facilities, and the ships present. Crosscheck the images of the ships with our computer and see if we can find a match. Identifying those ships is a top priority.”

“Yes, sir.” Cassidy got to work. Summers barely understood a fraction of the technological and scientific considerations of the ops position, but she knew enough to understand that their scanners were limited while stealthed, and that their best data would be collected by maneuvering close to the target. The trick, of course, was not to go too close.

“Mister Cox, lock heading to that ship—the one in the distance—and commence flyby maneuvers.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Bring us to within one-hundred and fifty thousand mc’s at the closest point. If the ship changes position, adjust heading accordingly and inform me.”

“Understood, Commander.”

The ship turned and the planet became visible out the window. It looked small from this distance, but the local sun was bouncing enough light off its white icy surface for it to be seen by the naked eye. And just beyond it was a tiny green light, it looked like a star except for its color. Summers was sure that was the ship she wanted to investigate first: the one that looked nothing like the others.

“Project the target ship on the 3d display.”

Cassidy acknowledged and manually changed the image. It became a lot clearer and more focused, much of the detail was now noticeable, but Summers still could not identify the ship’s make or origin, despite her defense officer training. She considered that her fault. Even though she hadn’t been a defense officer in years, such was not an excuse to let everything she’d learned slip out of her head.

“Can anyone identify the origin of that ship?” asked Summers.

“It looks… Rotham to me,” said Midshipman Ford. Summers agreed, based on its angular features and sharp contours. Certainly there was nothing Polarian or Imperial that stood out about it. But guesswork wasn’t going to be enough. If a Rotham ship was in Polarian space, without being fired on, that implied a kind of cooperation that would likely prove extremely dangerous for the Empire.

“Can you identify the model?” she asked.

“No, sir. I’m sorry. The computer should be able to. I don’t think I’ve seen a ship like it before.”

Summers nodded. “Neither have I.”

The ship’s singular green light proved to be many green lights as they approached it. Once they were side by side with it and at their best angle, Cassidy scanned it full strength. “Okay, feeding the images to the computer now,” she said. There was a beep as the computer found a match almost instantly. “It’s a Rotham ship, you were right,” she said, staring at the output on her terminal. “It’s an XT-37 micro frigate.”

“Micro frigate?” She’d never heard of that classification. “You mean corvette? Or possibly sloop?”

“The computer says micro frigate,” said Cassidy.

“It’s a corvette,” Midshipman Ford chimed in. “I recognize it now. Definitely one of the older ships. They badged them as ‘micro-frigates’ to distinguish them from the smaller corvettes, but she’s a corvette all right. Not too many of these were ever made. Hardly saw any action during the Great War.”

“See if you can identify this exact vessel,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, alter course. It’s time to do a flyby of the planet. Let’s get a good scan of those orbiting ships and whatever’s on the surface.”

“Aye, sir.”

“It will likely take several passes, including some orbits of our own,” said Cassidy, “if we’re going to get all of the intel we can.”

Summers nodded. “Begin the first flyby, then alter course according to Cassidy’s instructions. I want to get images of every square centimeter of that planet. And I want to identify every one of those ships. If something sinister is going on here, like Calvin suspects, I want to find it.” In truth she didn’t much care what happened outside of Imperial space. But if this was indeed the spot where the deadliest weapons in the history of the universe were being manufactured, it would affect the lives of countless Imperial citizens. Uncovering the secrets here was an important task and she was happy to be doing it, but she’d rather be on Capital World with Calvin hunting down the corruption in the Empire to its darkest hiding places. Godspeed Calvin… be careful.

“From what I can tell so far,” said Cassidy, “there definitely is some major industrial infrastructure here. And a lot of it has been hastily disassembled. Some of it destroyed. Most of it still remains, though. I’ll get the best images I can.”

So they were trying to bury the evidence. Fortunately they hadn’t been fast enough.

“And there is some kind of residual product being dumped into the atmosphere of the planet. Looks like it could be the byproduct of a weaponizing process. I’ll know more once the computer and the lab have analyzed a sample. I wish I could launch a probe to scoop some up and begin studying it.”

Unfortunately a probe would be seen. Despite how small they were, the little bit of heat they gave off would likely trigger red flags on every ship here. “Don’t worry, we’ll retrieve a sample on our next pass,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, alter course on our next pass to comply. Cassidy will provide nav coordinates.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And whatever you do, keep that escape vector calculated and ready to go.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And Midshipman Ford, keep both of those eyes glued to that stealth system.”

“Yes, Commander.”

It might be a long process, but it was one Summers intended to do right. If the information they collected here meant the difference between a safe Empire and a corrupt and endangered one, she and her crew had to do the best damn job they could. Even though taking their time meant delaying their rendezvous with their away crew—and new recruits—and having to wait for resupply and repair. So long as the stealth system, life support, and engines held together, everything would be all right.

***

Blackmoth made his way casually through the city. Blending in with the hurried crowds. He moved with the flow and no one paid him any attention. He knew where he was going—and he knew what he had to do.

The false master Zane had asked for the deed to be a suicide. Blackmoth had prayed about it and asked the One True God—the One True God agreed. The target’s time to return to the darkness had come. And a suicide would be an appropriate final message from the soon-to-be-slain to his surviving friends and family. For a false master, Zane Martel was often in agreement with the One True God. More so than the other false master.

Blackmoth reached the apartment tower and went around the back. When no one was looking, he ran and leapt—an almost inhuman leap—and caught the railing of a lower balcony. He proceeded to free-climb all the way to the twentieth floor. Not because he had to. He could have reached the target’s flat by taking the stairs. But because it was divine Will. The One True God wanted him to work for this kill, so work he would. He moved cautiously, swift when no one was around and remaining still when someone might be watching. The One True God guided him. His arms and legs did not tire. There was pain but he ignored it. Pain was the One True God’s way of telling him he was doing what he should. And Blackmoth was grateful for the message.

When he reached the target’s balcony he found the sliding door unlocked. He’d come prepared to force the door but was grateful that the One True God had blessed him with this small mercy. It would make setting the scene all the easier.

Blackmoth silently entered the apartment and waited.

Chapter 18

Calvin’s people had hit a dead-end in the search for Merrill O’Reilly. From what they could tell he was either an alias or a scapegoat name. Whatever the case one thing was sure, Merrill O’Reilly seemed not to exist. So bringing him in for questioning was impossible. This forced Calvin to keep digging, he needed new leads that could get him to Rafael but nothing was panning out. No one from Intel Wing had responded to his order to report on the whereabouts of Rafael and the other prisoners, and Merrill O’Reilly obviously wasn’t going to be telling him anything useful.

The hunt for Michael Evans, at first, was having no more success. Calvin’s people had tracked him to his latest address and stormed it, only to find that he’d vacated the premises over a week before. Apparently after taking his bribe he’d decided to fall off the grid and disappear. At first Calvin feared that Evans had skipped world like Samantha Salas had—leaving him with no leads in the Datar family murder, but then one of his investigators had gotten a lead and tracked Michael Evans to the Ivory Tower Estates.

He’d ordered his people to surround the residential tower and capture him. Not wanting to sit idly on his hands back at his control center in the fortified Akira Estate, Calvin decided to race to the scene himself. Nikolai insisted on coming with him, of course, happy for the chance to get into the action. As the car rolled along the congested Capital World streets, the second-to-rear car in the motorcade—following the car that carried Calvin’s body double—Calvin spent the time going over his notes of questions he intended to ask Evans. He also kept thinking about how annoyingly slow it was travelling in a motorcade and how stupid and unnecessary it was that a Calvin-look-alike had to ride in the car ahead of him. The Akiras were sparing no expense in protecting their new Executor of the Empire but Calvin found the additional security cumbersome and ridiculous. He would have preferred to go everywhere in disguise, blending into crowds invisibly, rather than paint a target on his face by travelling in a convoy of armored cars. Still, he doubted anyone would actually attack an armored convoy flying the flag of the King in broad daylight on Capital World—the Akiras were right about that, they were keeping him safe—but Calvin still would be grateful to be rid of it as soon as he could and simply be a regular person again.

“We’re here,” said Nikolai. He sat next to Calvin and spent the time in silence cleaning his handgun.

Calvin looked out the window as his car pulled up next to a medium-sized apartment tower. The general décor was a bit more upscale than most flat towers and the grounds were vibrant with color and well kept. One of the security guards got out from the front of the car and opened Calvin’s door. The rest secured a perimeter around him as he exited the vehicle.

The scene that greeted him was not what he’d expected. Sure enough his people had surrounded the tower and their vehicles could be seen, as well as soldiers-in-arms, but there were local police here too. Emergency lights flashed and even medical personnel were on the scene. In the distance Calvin saw a man taking photos of the ground. It looked like a body was sprawled out. Calvin squinted and could make out some of the gruesome features—apparently the corpse had been brutally damaged by the impact with the ground. There was a large spread of blood, tissues, and broken bones.

“Don’t tell me,” said Calvin to nobody, “let me guess…” he felt his heart quicken and he jogged to the scene. A policeman moved to intercept him but, upon realizing who Calvin was he thought better of it and stood aside.

As Calvin approached the smashed corpse, the gruesome details were more pronounced and disgusting, the skull had been completely crushed on impact—apparently he’d fallen face first—and skull fragments and grey matter had been strewn in every direction.

“Mister Executor,” the detective who was taking photographs stopped and saluted. Calvin returned the salute. Calvin’s own investigators were on the scene too, collecting evidence and minor samples.

“Murder?” asked Calvin.

“We investigate every suspicious death as murder,” explained the detective. “But so far this is looking like a suicide. Apparently the man had had enough and decided to jump twenty stories and end it all.”

Calvin looked up, raising a hand to block the sun, and he spotted an open door on one of the balconies twenty stories above. Investigators could be seen taking photos and searching for evidence up there too, from this far away they looked like ants. Calvin glanced back down at the disfigured body and had a new understanding for what a sixty meter drop onto hard pavement could do. It was revolting and he looked away.

“Why do you think it’s a suicide?” asked Calvin.

“The victim left a suicide note. Additionally the door to his flat was locked from the inside and there was no indication that it was forced.”

“Is it possible the killer was invited into the flat—perhaps he was someone the victim trusted—and then after pushing his friend off the balcony the killer left, locking the door on the way out?”

“No. Not unless he chopped off the victim’s thumb first. The door can only be locked on the outside by the registered occupant. Additionally, we’ve interviewed some of the tenants on that floor and no one saw anyone go in or out of apartment twenty-thirteen.”

Calvin didn’t find that convincing, though it was persuasive. He could imagine a very talented free-climber could get up to the balcony that way, or could have been dropped off there by a flying vehicle—though one shouldn’t have escaped notice. He could also imagine if the murder was premeditated enough in advance, the killer could have rented the apartment below or above the victim’s and then climbed to the victim’s balcony that way—and used that same path as a means of escape. There were a lot of possibilities worth investigating.

“We’ve managed to ID the victim,” said the detective. “He signed the suicide note, but we’ve also tested his DNA.”

“Let me guess: Michael Evans,” said Calvin.

“That’s right, sir.”

Calvin nodded, certain this wasn’t a suicide. Someone had found out that Calvin had wanted to bring Evans in for questioning, and had decided it was better that Calvin not get the chance. He cursed under his breath, furious that another of his best leads had dried up, but he also counted it as a minor victory. He was on the right track. He just needed to be better about keeping his plans under the Phoenix Ring’s radar—if that were possible—and get his potential assets into protective custody a lot sooner. Before more incidents happened.

“I’ll have my department send you all of the photos and evidence we collect, including a copy of the suicide note, if you’d like, sir,” the detective said.

Calvin was sure his own investigators would do an equally good—if not better—job than the local police but there was no harm in getting as much information as he could. “Thank you,” said Calvin. He walked away.

Nikolai walked at his side. “So what now?” the burly man asked.

“Get me our investigative team on the radio,” said Calvin.

Nikolai complied and handed him the radio. His teams were exchanging information about the evidence they were collecting. He decided to interrupt the chatter. “This is Executor Actual to all teams. I am certain this was a homicide and not a suicide. Search everything. And don’t stop searching until you find something.”

They acknowledged him. Calvin wasn’t overly optimistic that they’d find anything so he decided to put it from his mind. His next best angle was to try to identify the Phoenix Ring leaders themselves. He had a few ideas where to search. MXR. The Martels. Anyone who might have been connected to the Beotan cargo. Anyone in the Assembly who’d opposed the Princess’s acquittal. Any corporations or entities who support suspicious members of the Assembly. Top admirals and leaders of the Fleet. Intel Wing’s top brass. Even Director Edwards. Calvin had leads, and he intended to discover all of their secrets. Swiftly and thoroughly. With no remorse and no quarter. Every skeleton in every closet would be found.

***

“Look at that,” said Vulture.

Ryker took the binoculars from him and pointed them at the pillars of smoke rising in the west. A large part of the urban center had been torched, and in the main streets mobs of angry people clashed with soldiers in riot gear. Countless batons came crashing down on the pushing crowd, their black metal surfaces gleaming in the firelight, but as people fell or were driven back, more seemed to rally. It was the strongest push against the government’s forward position that Ryker had seen.

“Looks like our actions are bearing fruit,” he said. He scanned the horizon and noted that Imperial flags had been torn down—many of them burned. A group of rebels stood in front of the nearest Imperial outpost and torched the flags in plain sight of the soldiers. A storm of rubber bullets was fired in response, but it did little to douse the anger raging in their hearts. These citizens—who had never been fond of the Imperial government—had seen their capital destroyed by what had looked like the Princess’s ship; they’d watched their homes be torched to the ground by the hands of what appeared to be Imperial troops, and in the violence and chaos they’d lost countless children and loved ones. They would not be stopped by a few batons and some rubber bullets. Ryker and his Black Phantoms had done well. They’d convinced the population that the Empire was to blame for all of these tragedies. Now it looked like all-out war.

“Lemme see,” said Tank. Ryker handed him the binoculars. An ugly, crooked smile spread across Tank’s face as he took in the carnage. “Well I’ll be damned…” he said. “They—”

He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Instantly Ryker, Vulture, Tank, and the other men who were with him dropped to the ground. Once prone, Ryker tried to get his bearings on who was shooting whom.

“Five-point-five-six mil,” said Vulture. “From the outpost.”

Ryker took the binocular back and gazed ahead. Vulture was right. By the looks of it the Imperial troops had actually fired on the rebels. There were a dozen or so bodies on the ground and plenty of yelling and screaming could be heard like a whisper over the crackling flames. A crowd of rebels had gathered and were moving toward the outpost, making what looked like a second attack on the base. They fired small arms, threw homemade explosives, and carried makeshift weapons. They didn’t have the discipline under fire that the troops had, but they were enraged and looked like they had little left to lose.

In response to the threat, the Imperial troops took aim again with their rifles. Ryker could faintly hear orders being shouted, probably a warning to the approaching crowd. They didn’t care. They brandished their weapons, threw their explosives, and charged the outpost. The soldiers opened fire.

It was a bloodbath.

***

“The actions taken by this King in regard to Renora have been violent and reckless,” said Caerwyn loudly. He stood on the floor of the Assembly, opposite Kalila, and he faced his fellow representatives. All of the balconies were packed. “I submit to you that an investigation is needed to consider the plight of the poor victims of Renora, citizens of this Empire, who now suffer at the hands of Imperial troops. Troops dispatched by the King against the recommendation of this body.”

“No one is more concerned for the welfare and wellbeing of the citizens of Renora than my lord father,” said Kalila, also addressing the Assembly. “Let us not jump to conclusions. I swear to you with all my honor that my father and my House have only the best interests of the citizens of the Empire in mind.” She stood in her family’s traditional place and represented the voting bloc that was loyal to House Akira. It would have been a breach of propriety for anyone but her to be there. This was her appointed station. She represented the Akira House before the Assembly. And her presence was proving to be a nuisance, but the fact that she was here in person, and not relying on a second or third to represent her, was a sign of desperation. Perhaps eventually the King himself would appear before the Assembly and show the entire Empire the weakness and desperation of his position. Until then it was Kalila who Caerwyn must contend with. And despite her capability, she couldn’t protect the Akiran claim to the throne forever. It was a vicious dance for now, but one day soon Caerwyn would have his throne.

“Words, Princess, meager words,” said Caerwyn. “Will words and good intentions feed the starving? Will they clothe the naked?” He looked at her and his eyes narrowed. “Will they bring back the dead?”

There was a loud response to this. Loyalists hissed and were dissonant but Martel’s bloc and their allies were noisy, too. It was the undecided Houses, which swung with the wind, who needed to be convinced.

Representative Tate, who acted as the Assembly Leader, crashed her gavel on her desk and called for order. It took several seconds for the Assembly Floor to fall silent.

“Right now the King has transports with food, supplies, and other cargo distributing badly needed resources to the citizens of Renora. Yes there are troops there too, but only to protect those giving aid, stop the looting and the violence, and restore order,” said Kalila.

“Your own documents show that you brought with you a cargo of one and a half billion tons of foodstuffs but there are over nine billion people. That’s not enough food for one day for a planet as populated as Renora.” Caerwyn smiled as he spoke, noting the reaction of many in attendance. Of course, in truth, only a fraction of the Renoran population was starving and in need of immediate assistance. Not all nine billion of them, not even close. But if he could make the King’s relief efforts seem meager, inadequate, and out of touch, he would. Before Kalila corrected him, he swiftly changed the subject. “And,” he said, “the King deposited an army on the surface in the hundreds of millions. Enough to occupy a hostile planet during war time. Tell us, Princess, does your father consider Renora—filled with his own citizens—a hostile planet?”

Again there was a fervent reaction to this in the chamber. Many of the Assembly members were personally offended that the King ignored their recommendation and sent troops anyway, and there was no question that the size of the army sounded heavy-handed. Representative Tate had to call for order once more.

“The number of soldiers dispatched was decided based on the strategic advice of the Knights of the King,” said Kalila. “The brave men and women in the armed forces whom we deploy are citizens too, and many of them are our brothers and sisters, our sons and daughters, and our fathers and mothers. To deploy an inadequate force puts them in unnecessary danger, and encourages attacks on them. My father’s priority is to keep all of his citizens safe, that includes everyone on Renora and all of the forces of peace he had to temporarily deploy to restore order.”

Forces of Peace… Caerwyn almost scoffed. No one would believe that. “And tell us, Princess, have your father’s efforts been successful? Are there signs that he is ready to withdraw his force of peace? Has order been restored? Are the citizens of Renora better off?”

Kalila hesitated for a moment. “It is too early to tell,” she said.

“I disagree,” said Caerwyn. “I submit to you all, fellow Representatives, that the situation on Renora has only worsened. Based on these images collected by Intel Wing, since His Majesty’s troops touched down there has been a ten percent increase in starvation, ten percent. A thirty percent decrease in access to water. Nine percent of the remaining buildings and infrastructure have been razed to the ground, including civilian homes. There have been over two million citizens displaced since the troops arrived. And yet that’s nothing when you consider the last statistic,” he paused for dramatic effect. “Since the arrival of His Majesty’s forces, there has been a ten-thousand percent increase in the number of violent deaths happening on Renora per day.”

The chamber met him with stunned silence. Caerwyn kept his face even as he looked them over, from left to right and back. Judging their reactions. Knowing he’d won a few of them over. Putting him that much closer to the throne. Of course he didn’t know if any of the statistics he’d reported were accurate, Zane had furnished them, but he thought they were as likely as anything else. And the Assembly members seemed to find them plausible. Even the Princess had difficulty rebutting them. She tried. And those who still supported her raised their objections and made their arguments in her favor, trying to invoke images of patriotism and pro-Akiran sentiment, but most of it fell on deaf ears. And Caerwyn knew he’d won the day.

Chapter 19

Raidan hesitated before signing the order. He didn’t enjoy hurting people. But he’d do it if he had to, if that’s what it took to save the Empire. He’d do anything. But there was a delicacy to his operation and it required a lot of consideration.

“She’ll be expecting you to sign it,” said Mira Pellew over the screen. Raidan was in the privacy of his office on the Harbinger and was communicating with Mira over kataspace. The paper before him, with instructions on where and when to deploy the weapon, was meant to be deployed against someone else.

“I know,” said Raidan. “But White Rook trusts me to make the right decision, and I intend to.”

“Right decision?” asked Mira. “This is war. Don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft.”

“It is war,” Raidan agreed. “But it’s also complicated. And the target we’ve selected… they haven’t been involved in this war. They’ve taken no part in it.”

“Collateral damages,” said Mira. “We are only taking the game to the same level as the enemy. They’ve already proven they’re willing to go for the jugular—just look at Renora. If we aren’t willing to do the same, we may as well throw in the towel. And start learning to speak Rotham.”

“I know,” said Raidan. He’d worked the logic through his head a thousand times. “I just wonder… if we’re willing to do this, then what separates us from them? What is the difference between us after that? Is there one?”

“The difference is this time it’s not our people getting hurt, it’s theirs. They have made Imperial citizens bleed and suffer; it’s time to repay the favor.”

Raidan nodded. It was true. This was the ugliest, dirtiest sort of war and the side that wasn’t willing to do what it took to win, wouldn’t. He wrote an amendment to the order, allowing for the weapon to be moved into position and prepped for deployment but insisting it not be fired without his go-ahead. Then he signed the paper.

“You made the right choice,” said Mira. The screen winked off. Raidan leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. It was a dangerous gambit. By inciting this attack, if all went well, the human element of the Phoenix Ring would be blamed. Certainly there was enough evidence for MXR to be implicated. And that corporation, more than any other, seemed to be at the heart of Phoenix Ring operations. The danger was, should the Imperial government be implicated, and not the Phoenix Ring, then that risked war with the Republic. And war was that last thing the Empire needed. In truth it was already at war, on the inside, it didn’t need enemies abroad to catch the death stink and help it along. The Rotham and even some of the Polarians were like vultures, circling patiently, waiting for their prey to die. Coveting the Empire’s vast territory. They had to be stopped. Something had to be done. Letting things continue on course was unacceptable, Renora was fast becoming a disaster and the King only barely clung to his crown. Replicants had spread far and wide and the Organization’s resources were shrinking, many of its key assets being killed or vanishing into thin air. The Empire’s days were numbered and Raidan knew he had to act. Someone had to. And he was one of the only people in a position to do something.

If all went well the Rotham element of the Phoenix Ring would blame the human members of the Phoenix Ring—and not the Empire—for the attack. The seeds of distrust and discord would be sown. Ending their cooperation and weakening their influence. Perhaps creating a war between members of the Phoenix Ring. At the very least, funds flowing out of the Empire and to god-knows-where in the Republic would be cut off. Maybe the breaking of ties between the Rotham conspirators and the humans would be enough to weaken the element that was steering the Republic toward a course of inevitable war with the Empire.

Raidan silenced his thoughts and tapped the intercom. He summoned Tristan to pick up his handwritten order. And wondered if, when the time came, he’d be able to do what was necessary.

***

So far no one had come forward with information about Rafael or either of the other two former Nighthawk officers that’d been seized. It made him anxious and concerned, but also all the more determined to get to the bottom of it. And expose the Phoenix Ring.

Calvin did as much of the investigative grunt work as he could stomach, but the Intel Wing archives, as well as the public network, contained so much data that it would have taken him many lifetimes to comb through it properly. So he instructed his teams on how to focus their investigation, and they undertook the daunting task.

He identified corporations that had even the most remote—but still plausible—link to the Phoenix Ring and had all information on them pulled. He put key corporate officers under surveillance, had computer hard drives seized and searched, and used the executive authority of his new office to tap into communication lines.

He hated that someone, even himself, had the power to invade the privacy of others so thoroughly and unilaterally, but with the fate of the Empire on the line Calvin intended to do everything he possibly could to root out the lead conspirators and arrest them.

Most angles of the investigation were slow to produce leads, or did not produce leads at all. Many of the people they brought in for interviews proved to be very tightlipped. Calvin’s best lead, he believed, was to crack the nut that was MXR. That corporation was clearly linked to the Phoenix Ring. He was sure of it. After all, they’d been behind the intended purchase of the Beotan Cargo—the replicants. Unfortunately Zane Martel and his high ranking corporate officers ran a tight ship and no one in their confidence was willing to talk.

Calvin also investigated the individual members of the Assembly, with a special interest in Caerwyn Martel. He hadn’t found anything on him yet, but he had a suspicion that the Martel family was involved in the conspiracy, and not just because they owned MXR. It was also because Caerwyn was one of two likely challengers to King Akira should the king lose his throne.

An especially difficult angle to investigate, but an important one, was that of tracking the movements of the Empire’s military leadership. The very top levels of the Fleet and Intel Wing were scattered throughout Imperial space. And of the ones who were headquartered on Capital World, many had jumped system since Calvin was put in as Executor of the Empire. He noted their names, ordered investigations into them and their recent behavior, but he didn’t quite have the authority or the means to drag them back to Capital World for interviews. Of those who did remain, none had revealed anything useful.

It was an exhausting and frustrating enterprise, but slowly and surely Calvin’s teams were putting the picture together. A clue here and a clue there, bits and pieces of information that hadn’t been fully whitewashed or buried. Not enough to go after the big fish, like Zane Martel, but there were plenty of minnows. Calvin’s teams identified a list of several individuals, mostly low-level politicians and mid-level corporate officers, who were likely to be associated with the Phoenix Ring. Probably as seconds and thirds, each representing one of the top members. If true, it was an enormous breakthrough. Calvin dared to be hopeful.

He put out an order for each of the names on the list to be brought in for questioning. After what’d happened to Michael Evans, Calvin made sure that this time every person he’d ordered brought in was to be granted protective custody immediately. Hopefully it would be enough. Especially since Calvin now knew he had a leak in his organization—someone had shared that he’d wanted Michael Evans brought in—and that meant this list of names would probably be leaked too. He was aware that he was probably painting targets on these peoples’ heads, but he hoped his people would find them first. Before the Phoenix Ring decided to erase them.

***

“What is this?” asked Zane. As pleasant as Celeste’s face was to look at over the secure comm screen, Zane was not happy to see her. She’d interrupted his bath and now he stood wet in one of his private chambers wearing only a lavender robe.

“I forwarded you a list of names, did it go through?” she asked. There was a surprising amount of alarm in her voice and it made Zane wonder what had gone wrong now.

He touched the computer panel and discovered that yes, Celeste’s list of people had arrived. He scanned over a few of the names and recognized them immediately. “Some of these are our people,” he said. Many of the names on the list were inferior members of the Phoenix Ring, including Zane’s own third.

“The Executor has ordered these people be brought in for questioning.”

Zane felt his heart quicken. There were enough people here that, under aggressive interrogation, at least one would crack. And that might give the Executor all the cause he needed to swoop in and put a stop to everything, possibly even before the Ascension.

“Does he have any of them in custody?” asked Zane.

“Not yet. His organization is making security preparations to avoid another Michael Evans type incident before he brings them into custody. There are also several on that list whose locations haven’t yet been uncovered by the Executor’s people.”

That was good. At least it gave them some time. “Tell the others—” said Zane. To his surprise Celeste interrupted him.

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to tell them yourself. I’m jumping planet. I’ll be in touch again when Ascension comes.”

The screen winked off. Zane almost couldn’t believe it. Had she hung up on him? And interrupted him? He’d have to discipline her later, but for now there were far more important matters.

The Executor of the Empire had just proven himself too meddling to be left alone. The boy wasn’t just a thorn in Zane’s side, now he was a legitimate threat. So Zane decided to deal with it. He reached out to the organizations that might be persuaded to act against the Executor—though this were merely a precautionary fallback if Blackmoth wouldn’t take the job. This list included CERKO, which Zane contacted with some hesitation. There were several professional, well-operated cells within CERKO but most were too disorganized and unprofessional for his liking. One of the less competent groups had already botched one targeted hit on Calvin earlier on Aleator. Zane now wished he’d paid more money and hired Ryker and his people for that operation. At the time, though, Calvin was a name on a piece of paper and not someone Zane expected to become a key player. He’d ordered the hit almost as an afterthought, believing that if the officer pursuing Raidan were brutally murdered and news of that reached the public, it would damage Raidan’s reputation and put additional pressure on his organization.

If Zane had known then that Raidan would recruit Calvin and that Calvin would become the biggest threat to Ascension just as the hour was nigh, Zane would have made certain to eliminate him. Hopefully it wasn’t already too late. He moved significant liquid capital to see that the matter was taken care of.

Then he made the truly important call.

***

One of the two false masters contacted him.

“I need him dealt with. Immediately,” the false master said.

Blackmoth closed his eyes and considered it. He could see the Executor in his mind, a man Blackmoth had never met or previously interacted with, but his connection to the targeted soul made no difference. All that mattered was the will of the One True God. So he opened himself up and asked if Calvin Cross’s time had come.

The One True God answered him.

“So will you do this?” asked the false master.

“No,” said Blackmoth calmly. “It is not the will of God. His time will come, and come soon, God has told me, but the hour of his soul’s liberation is not yet upon us. There is more he must do before he is thrown into the void.” It was the will of the One True God, Blackmoth knew, and as the sword of the One True God, he would obey.

The false master offered him riches and lands and titles and women, but it was empty. Such treasures meant nothing. They added no life to a man’s body. And they added no worth to a man’s soul. They were distractions. Red herrings. Temptations even. But Blackmoth would not be tempted.

“Anything you want,” said the false master.

“There is nothing that I want that you can give me,” he said simply. He would take money from his false masters from time to time—he needed to survive to do the will of the One True God—but it held no worth to him otherwise. He existed for only one purpose—to be an angel of death. Nothing more. And as he watched the great consumerist society surrounding him, countless people obsessed with the pursuit of material gain, and lust, and avarice, he pitied them. Pitied them and yet cared nothing for them. They were lost, strayed souls that would be thrown into the void soon enough. Blackmoth knew the time of their deaths was coming soon. For the One True God willed it. And no material treasures could appease the just and merciful wrath of the One True God.

“I understand,” said the false master, finally accepting that Blackmoth could not be persuaded to send Calvin Cross to his maker. At least not while the One True God forbade it. “In that case I have another request for you.”

The false master gave Blackmoth more names. He conferred with the One True God and found that this request was in harmony with the Will of the Divine.

“I will do as God demands.”

Chapter 20

“It’s about time I heard from you,” said Raidan. He sat in his office on the Harbinger and stared at the very tired looking face of Lieutenant Masterson. Masterson stood at attention while Raidan thumbed through a pile of documents that’d been placed on his desk.

“I apologize, sir,” said Masterson. “We did our analysis as thoroughly as we could—we didn’t want to miss anything—and as such it took longer than my original estimate.”

“No matter,” said Raidan. At least he’d finally be getting some answers regarding the Arcane Storm. It was still a mystery how the ship had been lost in the first place. Raidan’s personal theory was that Zander—the previous captain of the ship and the Group Leader before Raidan—had fallen victim to mutiny and his rebellious officers had defected to the Phoenix Ring. Certainly it was a lot more pleasant to imagine that than the very real possibility that Zander himself had been a traitor.

“Is there anything else, sir?” asked Masterson. He looked eager to leave. Raidan wasn’t finished with him yet, though.

“Walk me through the basics,” said Raidan as he flipped through the pages. The complete report was the size of a small almanac and he didn’t have time to waste reading all of it.

“What do you want to know, sir?”

“The end of the story. What was the Arcane Storm doing adrift in open space with all of its systems operating but no crew aboard? And no isotome weapons.”

“Our best theory is that the ship was already understaffed when it jumped to the deadspace coordinates where it was discovered. There the entire remaining crew, which was only a handful of people, escaped in the one missing shuttle. Any cargo it was carrying, including any isotome weapons, was flushed out into open space for safe keeping. Probably for later retrieval. The missiles themselves, based on the description of their dimensions provided by the Nighthawk’s people, would be small enough to avoid notice by most sensors. Especially if they were designed to be stealth weapons.”

“Which means the weapons might have been there and gone unseen,” said Raidan. “In which case they might still be there.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

Raidan nodded. He’d have to dispatch ships to the deadspace zone immediately. If there were isotome weapons sitting there, waiting to be picked up by whomever was passing through, that was priority one. More important even than Renora. As loath as he was to admit it. “Why would they dump the cargo rather than leave it on the ship?”

“It’s likely the crew believed they would be followed and that the ship would eventually be taken, no doubt they were preempting the inevitable and making certain that whatever hostile force captured the ship wasn’t also getting the isotome weapons as a bonus.”

“Why abandon the ship there?” asked Raidan, almost more to himself than to his officer as he considered the possibilities.

“As a deadspace zone it’s an unlikely place for anyone to pass through and notice the weapons. Our theory, sir, is that the understaffed crew was having difficulty piloting the ship and believed they would eventually be overtaken. So they dumped the weapons, which would prove almost impossible to detect in open space, and then it didn’t really matter if they lost the ship. The precious cargo could still be reclaimed by someone who knew where it was.”

Raidan nodded. Based on Tristan’s report, it was likely that the crew of the Arcane Storm expected to be followed by the Rotham fleet that had gone to Remus System. That force might already have tracked the Arcane Storm to the deadspace zone and claimed the isotome weapons, or perhaps the Arcane Storm’s people were depositing the weapons there for the Rotham fleet to find. If Masterson’s theory was true, however, and the crew of the Arcane Storm was trying to protect the isotome weapons from the Rotham fleet, that would be a very interesting development indeed. Perhaps the human and Rotham pieces of the Phoenix Ring were already more fragmented than Raidan guessed.

There were other possibilities for why the human part of the Phoenix Ring would want to keep the portion of the weapons the Arcane Storm was probably carrying. For instance leverage, or a bargaining tactic, or perhaps it was insurance against misuse of the other isotome weapons by the Rotham. Like a countermeasure.

“Was that all, sir?” asked Masterson.

Raidan dismissed him and then used his comm panel to hail the Arcane Storm. Tristan answered the call, now wearing a full captain’s uniform.

“I see you gave yourself a promotion,” said Raidan.

Tristan nodded. “It’s only fitting. Now that I finally have command of the Arcane Storm.”

“And now I’m giving you your first mission as Captain Tristan,” said Raidan.

“Go and resupply the Nighthawk, yes I know,” said Tristan.

“Actually the plan has changed. I need you to jump as swiftly as possible and go to the deadspace coordinates where you found the Arcane Storm adrift. New intelligence suggests that the isotome weapons might be there after all, afloat in open space. Trawl every cubic meter of the region. If they’re there, I want them found.”

“Aye, sir. And, if I may ask, what about the Nighthawk? It’s in bad need of repair and resupply, and the arrangements have already been made.”

Raidan let out a sigh. He wanted to dispatch the Mary Gale to deal with it, so the Harbinger could continue its protective watch over Renora, but the Mary Gale lacked the capability of a deep space repair. That meant the Harbinger would have to do it. “I’ll take care of it,” said Raidan. He’d have to adjust the arrangements so that the Nighthawk would rendezvous with the Harbinger closer to Renora, ideally within striking range in case things went poorly. Though it would have to be far enough that the Nighthawk was not seen.

“I’ll leave immediately,” said Tristan, and the call terminated.

Raidan drew up new plans for resupplying the Nighthawk, and returning its original crew along with some fresh replacements, and he selected the ideal coordinates for them to meet up. When he tried to transmit the message to the Nighthawk over secure channels, he found he was unable. He went to the bridge and discussed the issue with his operations department and found that the problem was on the Nighthawk’s end and not theirs. That meant the Nighthawk would still be heading to the original rendezvous coordinates.

“Oh well, they can sit and wait there for a while,” said Raidan, folding his arms.

“I’m not sure they can,” said Commander Mason, the 2O. Raidan went to his position to see what he was talking about. “New report from some of our Polarian allies. One of their listening posts detected the ISS Phoenix entering Polarian space.”

“And?” asked Raidan.

“I think it’s got a fix on the Nighthawk’s position. The Phoenix is heading straight for Titan Three.”

Raidan remembered hearing Tristan’s report about how the Phoenix had gone berserk on the Nighthawk—it was responsible for most of the damage to the ship—and how the deranged commanding officer had obsessively tried to destroy Calvin and his crew, despite orders from Nimoux, his squadron commander, not to.

If the Phoenix overtook the Nighthawk at Titan Three, and somehow could detect the ship, perhaps the Nighthawk’s injuries were causing its stealth systems to fail, then the Harbinger would never get there in time. “What is their ETA to Titan Three?” asked Raidan.

“Over two hours. The Nighthawk will have already left by then, but the Phoenix could conceivably catch up to the Nighthawk and ambush it at the rendezvous point. At best estimation… it would get there about the same time we would.”

Damn you Calvin, if only you’d met up with me like we’d planned. Your ship would be fixed and this problem would never have arisen. And I could have told you…

“Set course for the rendezvous point and jump immediately,” barked Raidan. “One-hundred percent potential.”

“Aye, sir,” his crew acknowledged.

“Relay instructions to the Mary Gale to maintain protective posture around Renora. It is to intercept any convoy and defend the planet at all costs.”

“Yes, sir.”

He knew he shouldn’t be leaving the Mary Gale alone to protect Renora. It wasn’t strong enough. But, with any luck, he’d be back before his enemies noticed his absence. A part of him reasoned that the loss of the Nighthawk was an acceptable casualty when compared to what was likely to happen at Renora, but Raidan still felt compelled to rush to the Nighthawk’s aid. True, perhaps a little bit of his driving motivation was knowing that Summers Presley was on that ship. But that wasn’t all. He still had important plans for the Nighthawk…

“Sir, is it wise to abandon Renora?” asked Commander Mason, giving him a concerned look.

Raidan frowned and stared out the window. “No it isn’t wise,” he admitted. “So let us hope to god that our enemies don’t notice our absence.”

***

“The Harbinger has withdrawn,” said Ryker. “Mister Martel just told me it jumped into alteredspace a few minutes ago. His people have been watching it.”

“How long before it comes back?” asked Vulture.

“Don’t know,” said Ryker. “Which means--”

“Phase Two,” said Micah with hungry eyes.

“That’s right,” said Ryker. He took a moment to stare up at the blood-red sky. The light of a thousand fires bounced off the ashes that choked what had once been clear and blue. The planet was already in turmoil. But it hadn’t yet learned the meaning of the word suffer.

Micah rubbed his palms together. “When?” he asked eagerly.

“Soon,” said Ryker. “Raidan left behind a lone ship to protect the planet, the Mary Gale. It will have to be dealt with first. But don’t worry, without the Harbinger’s help it won’t be a match for the convoy.”

Micah grinned.

“And what are our orders when this happens?” asked Vulture.

“Same as always, fan the flames.” His men knew what that meant. Continue enraging the populace against the King; keep destroying and harassing Imperial military equipment, weapons stockpiles, and supply-lines; and perhaps most importantly, distribute relief supplies to the populace under the label of the Rotham government.

Vulture nodded. “I’ll get word out to the other cells.”

“Tell them all hell will rise on Renora soon.”

***

“Final pass complete,” said Jay from the helm. He looked very tired. They all did. Even Summers felt her eyelids getting heavy, and she wasn’t able to think on her feet as quickly as she was accustomed. With few options for relief, Summers had had to keep the on-duty officers on continuous watch while they surveyed Titan Three. A process that had taken over twenty-hours. The only person missing was Miles Brown who’d spent the entire time sulking in his quarters. No loss there.

“Very good,” said Summers, stifling a yawn. “Midshipman Dupont, can you confirm that our survey mission is complete?”

“Yes, sir,” said Cassidy. “It will take some time to analyze, but we’ve mapped the entire planet and all of the relevant space. We’ve also collected all the information we possibly could on the local ships.” While they’d been in the system, the local convoy ships and the Rotham ship had hung around, working together to help dismantle more of the industrial facilities on the planet’s surface. Summers was glad they’d gotten what images they could and not chosen to arrive later.

“In that case set course for the rendezvous point. Deepest safe jump,” said Summers.

“Thank god,” whispered Midshipman Ford from the defense post.

“Aye, sir,” said Jay. “In our current condition, I’d say seventy-percent is the deepest we can go.”

“Execute jump as soon as we’re clear,” said Summers. “And once we’re in alteredspace notify Mister Vargas and the crew of the Arcane Storm that we are en route and looking forward to resupply and relief.” The ship’s systems were acting up more and more, its armor was all but gone on the port side, its ammunition reserves were effectively empty, and a host of new technical difficulties had arisen. It didn’t help that the engineering staff, as well as every other department on the ship, was so understaffed that everyone was worn to the bone.

“Unable sir,” said Jay.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there seems to be a problem with our kataspace connector.”

“Cassidy?” Summers looked to the ops chief.

“I confirm that,” said Cassidy. “We can neither send nor receive kataspace messages. I’ll contact Mister Cowen and begin coordinating a repair right away.”

Summers nodded. “Let me know as soon as the communication system is restored. In the meantime, Mister Cox, continue on course for the original rendezvous. The Arcane Storm and a convoy of supply ships should be there waiting for us whether we hear from them or not. Once we’re stable and clear, I’ll order a shift change. That way we can get a little bit of rest before we get there.”

***

Calvin stared out the window. He watched the buildings seem to pass by, gliding along. Swarms of pedestrians too, thousands of citizens in the hurried hustle and bustle of Capital World.

He stared at them, thinking how removed they were from all of the many dangers of the galaxy. Safe and secure, worried more about the price of food and rent than Rotham fleets, or hordes of Remorii, or a conspiracy within the government itself. Calvin envied them. And yet he knew he could never be one of them. Not truly. He had to be involved and in the know, as much as possible. If things were bleak and hopeless, he had to be there on the front line, giving all he had, struggling and fighting to the bitter end. It was his calling. It was who he was. But it also filled his life with anxiety and concern. And as he’d tried to do all he could to spearhead the investigation into the Phoenix Ring, it was thoughts of his mother that kept him up at night. He’d been burning the candle at both ends, and in the interim, when he did try to catch a few hours of sleep, he awoke often, seemingly every half hour. He tossed and turned. Feeling either too hot or too cold. And, in the blackness, realized how alone he actually was.

He missed his crew. Lighthearted Miles who always put a smile on his face; graceful and unshakable Sarah who was clutch whenever he needed her; Shen whose brilliance and cleverness were the true story behind the Nighthawk’s many successes; and even good-old uptight Summers. He missed Rain too, with crazy untamable red hair. He hadn’t known her for long, yet her stubborn optimism and penchant for philosophy had swiftly grown on him. What he wouldn’t give to have her next to him, encouraging and supporting him, all while questioning the ethical implications of everything they did. He smiled as he thought of her and imagined the things she’d say. He even missed their daily visits they’d shared when she gave him his treatment dose of equarius. Those trips to the infirmary had always embarrassed and annoyed him, or so he thought, until they were gone. Rain would be proud of him though, he’d been good and followed her schedule exactly. He intended to be rid of equarius forever. Even though the relief it provided was as tempting now as it had ever been, and Calvin felt a need for its soothing calmness—this investigation was making him pull out his hair—but even more importantly he wanted to be free. And wanted Rain to be proud of him.

Most of all he missed Christine. Yes, she was gone. He knew that. And he accepted that—at least as best he knew how—but he pined for her all the same. When she’d been with him he understood how sincerely beautiful and wonderful and worth-the-investment life was. He felt like the luckiest man in the galaxy and knew that, whatever would come, he had been given the most precious gift that could ever be given—a companion to face the tempests with him. To help him weather the storms. And to multiply the joys of the good times. And then, as sudden as waking, she’d been ripped from him. And he was alone again. Just himself. True he’d been given the chance to play a major role in saving the Empire. A chance he would not squander. But even as he toiled and worked to fulfill his duty to the maximum degree, he wondered what he was doing it for.

Not for myself, he thought. If his entire life experience was simply an enterprise of collecting all the wealth, comforts, power, and resources that he could, he’d just as soon end it now. We all die, he thought. If we live a hundred years collecting treasure or are stillborn from the beginning, what’s the difference? In the end it’s the same outcome. We decompose into nothing. And if we are destined to be forgotten and the whole universe is destined to keep expanding until everything is so far apart it freezes and all life ends, then why is anything important whatsoever?

He could hear Rain’s voice in his head as he imagined what she would say. Something about the value of life being in the journey and not the destination, it wasn’t the final outcome that mattered, it was the story of how it got there. The beauty of a song was not confined to its final note, it was the composition of all the many notes that contributed to the end that made it worthwhile. That gave it its value. Just like life. But Calvin still couldn’t help but wonder what was the point of any of it if there was no one to share it with? And the only person he wanted to share it all with was gone forever…

He stared out the window at the pedestrians again. The hordes of people. And, as he continued to ponder, he no longer saw nameless masses and instead saw the individuals. And the families. A husband and wife with an infant son here, an old man and his children there, a young child being led by the hand by his grandma, a pair of young teenage sweethearts kissing on the walkway…these were all stories, so many, many stories, his life would scarcely brush them. Perhaps he would never know any, but that didn’t matter. His choices would greatly affect their lives and influence their stories. He sacrificed and struggled and gave everything, possibly even his own life if that’s what it cost, to restore the Empire for these people. It seemed counter intuitive to him to find purpose in something that didn’t directly benefit him—how did that promote his own survival?—and yet it worked. And he felt a measure of peace.

“You okay?” asked Nikolai. The fierce-looking man broke his usual silence and gave Calvin a look of concern. Calvin wondered how long Nikolai had been watching him as he’d stared out the window with a frown on his face.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Calvin, clearing his throat. He opened up the binder of documents he’d brought along and resumed prepping himself for the interrogations he was going to conduct. The security preparations had been made and his people were maneuvering into position to make the arrests he’d ordered—though some of the people on the list had yet to be found. Calvin had confidence in his teams, however, and wanted to be prepared. Despite how much work there was to do, Calvin had difficulty focusing. He ran a larger organization than he’d ever imagined he would, and he was always surrounded by people, yet feelings of loneliness persisted like never before.

“It’s your mum, isn’t it?” asked Nikolai.

“What?”

“That’s why you’re so down,” his eyes narrowed and he looked at Calvin knowingly. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m a total momma’s boy myself. No shame there.”

Calvin wouldn’t have described himself as a momma’s boy. He loved his mother, of course, and would try to call her and write to her whenever he could—and he thought to do it—but he often forgot, could never remember her birthday, didn’t usually spend holidays with her, and saw her probably only twice a year. Not because he had ill feelings toward her, truthfully she was the only family he valued, but his lifestyle growing up on Capital World, especially with a working mother and no father around, had taught him to be independent. And he was used to not having her around. But now that she was gone, he’d give anything to have her back. He wished he hadn’t forgotten to call her on her last birthday, and he swore to himself he would find her, somehow, and that she’d be safe. The trouble was, he didn’t know where to begin.

“Take it from me—” said Nikolai. He was interrupted by the screech of brakes and burnt wheels as the car swerved suddenly and came to a stop.

“What the hell?” asked Calvin. He couldn’t see through the front of the car, the panel separating him from the driver was shut, and he couldn’t see much out the side window. A crowd of on-lookers was gathering and then, like a herd of animals catching sight of a predator, they scattered. Fleeing every which way. Some people trampling over others.

Calvin drew his pistol and reached for the door handle. Nikolai stopped him.

“I’ll find out what’s going on, sir,” he said.

Calvin nodded.

Nikolai opened the door and, the instant he did, he lurched back in pain and grunted. Blood appeared on his left shoulder and soaked through his coat.

“Get down!” Calvin yelled. He reached out and pulled Nikolai down into cover just as another bullet whizzed by, this one sinking deep into the upholstered bench. It’d been aimed for Nikolai’s head. Together, they forced the door closed. A third bullet crashed into the bullet-resistant window but failed to penetrate it. Calvin looked at the spent bullet, trapped in the armored glass like it was a museum piece in a display case.

“New plan, stay here,” said Nikolai. He pressed his right hand firmly down on his left shoulder, trying to stall the bleeding as best he could.

“Are you hurt bad?” asked Calvin. He searched the car for something to dress the wound

“First aid kit, under the seat,” said Nikolai through gritted teeth.

Calvin found it and flipped it open. He recalled his Intel Wing training and, though his medical knowledge was nothing beyond a basic emergency technician, he knew he had to do all he could to help Nikolai until they got him to a higher echelon of care.

He placed a sterile pad firmly over the wound and wrapped it thickly with bandages. Nikolai closed his eyes tightly but bore the pain without a sound. Next Calvin checked for an exit wound, it would do no good to treat only half the injury.

“Bullet… struck bone,” said Nikolai with difficulty. “No exit…”

Calvin checked him over anyway, just to be sure. Nikolai seemed to be right. “Now we wait here until the police take care of it, then we’ll take you to a hospital. Just hang in there a bit.”

Nikolai grunted. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve had far worse.” He looked out the window and the expression on his face changed for the worse.

Calvin looked too, wanting to see what had startled Nikolai. At first he didn’t see anything, and then he looked up and spotted a man on a third-floor balcony. He raised a large black object and pointed it down at the motorcade. “Is that what I think—”

A rocket roared to life, glowing bright red, and soared down toward the middle car—the one carrying the decoy Calvin.

“Oh shit!” said Calvin, scrambling away from the window. There was a deafening explosion and fire and debris flew everywhere.

“Go!” said Nikolai “Now!” he shoved Calvin toward the far door. Calvin didn’t argue. He fumbled with the lock and then opened the door. He knew that once he was outside he’d likely take fire from snipers but, compared to becoming a fireball, a bullet didn’t sound so bad.

He crawled out of the car and took cover, heart racing, and immediately scouted for where to go next. Nikolai followed him out. His left arm was clutched against his chest, where he was trying to keep it immobilized, and in his right hand he held his pistol. Between his handgun and Calvin’s, both of them knew they were heavily outgunned and flight was their only option.

Fortunately their enemies, all of whom seemed to be on the opposite side of the street, were focusing on the other two cars. The middle car was a smoking, burning ruin, and everyone that had been inside it was dead. Now the passengers in the front car, bodyguards equipped mostly with small arms, were fleeing out into the open to escape a second rocket attack—this one aimed at their vehicle. There was an exchange of gunfire and most of the bodyguards dropped to the ground. Calvin saw a high-caliber exit wound rip open one of their heads. Just then the second rocket struck the lead vehicle and it ignited like the middle car, throwing flaming debris everywhere.

“There,” said Nikolai. He nodded toward an alleyway not far behind them.

Calvin didn’t argue. The two of them stood up and bolted. Calvin was too afraid to look back. He breathed hard, feeling panic seize his throat; his heart pounded in his chest like a machinegun. He forced himself to focus on the alleyway. Must get there!

Somehow Nikolai managed to keep up. As they turned the corner, Calvin heard the ricochet of gunshots slapping the pavement and walkway. Peppering where he and Nikolai had just been. Another deafening explosion told them that the third car—their car—had just been blown up.

Knowing they weren’t in the clear yet, Calvin and Nikolai kept running. Not even slowing as they approached the fence that separated the alley from a cul-de-sac on the other side. Calvin helped Nikolai up onto the dumpster and from there the injured man was able to climb over. He dropped to the ground on the other side and rolled, landing on his injured shoulder. He yelped in pain but then got to his feet and kept going. Calvin followed closely behind.

“Where to?” asked Calvin.

“Government building,” said Nikolai.

The sound of emergency sirens in the distance, converging on their position, was comforting. All they had to do was survive a little longer. Calvin felt sick as he ran, but he didn’t stop or slow down. And most of all he tried not to think of all the people in his motorcade who’d died protecting him. Especially his body-double whose only crime had been looking too much like Calvin.

Chapter 21

“… it is not known at this time if the newly appointed Executor of the Empire, Calvin Cross, was slain in the attack. What we do know is that at least twelve people have been confirmed killed, and that number seems to be growing as new reports come in.” A news anchor’s voice could be heard while the Special Report featured video footage of the assault on the Executor’s motorcade. It had been recorded by a witness and was only a few seconds long. On the bottom of the screen flashed the words, Warning: Violent Images. May be Upsetting to Some.

In trembling hands, the camera recorded the sight of several men pouring out of a car and exchanging gunfire with assailants who were out of frame. As they started dropping, a rocket soared down and crashed into the lead car. There was a distorted sound of a loud explosion and then the camera about-faced as its owner raced for safety. The clip looped repeatedly, once in normal time and once in slow-motion, as the news anchor spoke. Zane sat on the edge of his seat and listened.

“Witnesses say the attack began at exactly three o’clock local time and lasted for only a few minutes. Police have since shut down the Riverside District, as well as the Capitol District, and are out in force. When asked if the attackers were still at large, they refused to comment. This reporter’s advice is to stay inside tonight, and keep your doors and windows locked.”

Zane was mesmerized by the violent images and tuned out the reporter as he watched the bodyguards drop and the car explode over and over. Brutal but effective, he supposed. It wasn’t his style to be so ostentatious and… obvious, but at least they’d gotten the job done.

“This just in,” the reporter said, the energy in his voice caught Zane’s attention again. “The Executor has survived the attack. I repeat, the Executor has survived the attack. The Akira House confirms Mister Cross is safe in an undisclosed location. His condition is listed as good but there has been no word on possible injuries. Authorities still believe Executor Cross was the intended target of the attack, and that his escape is largely thanks to the use of a look-alike riding in the main car as a decoy. This man,” the image of a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Calvin Cross appeared in the corner of the screen, “Ollie Jenson, aged twenty-six, was hired by the Akira House only days ago. Tragically, he was one of the many killed in the attack today. He leaves behind a wife and two daughters. A spokesman for the King has said the Akira House will make certain—”

Zane switched off the display. After all that expense and effort, Calvin had survived? Those dumbasses had reported a successful mission. Zane felt his blood boil. But, unlike his brother Caerwyn, Zane’s blood boiled cold. And his expression showed none of the anger he felt. Nor was it detectible in the tone of his voice as he called his people and told them to cut the Khan soldiers loose. Let them fend for themselves in the streets. They were inept. There was nothing connecting them to Zane, nothing the police or the Office of the Executor would uncover—even the Khans themselves didn’t know who they were working for— so there was no danger in letting them take the fall for their own mistakes. Zane would not protect people who didn’t deserve protecting.

He cursed inwardly and tried to decide what to do next. If only Blackmoth could have been persuaded to take the job. He certainly wouldn’t have been fooled by a decoy. And Calvin would now be dead and no longer a problem. Oh well… at least Blackmoth had taken the other job. A lot of people on that list. But what were numbers to Blackmoth? He could kill everyone on the planet if his “god” told him to. If only Blackmoth believed that Zane was his god, things would be so much easier.

***

“Are you all right?” Kalila burst into the room, flanked by two of her bodyguards. Calvin looked up from where he sat on the floor. He’d been staring at nothing trying to black out the images of the attack from his mind. Two of his bodyguards were at his sides but not Nikolai, he’d been taken to the hospital and it felt strange not to have him around.

“Yes,” said Calvin automatically. The screams, and the popping gunfire, and the glowing rockets followed by the terrible explosions… it wasn’t the first time that somebody had tried to kill him. But it was the first time that so many others had died in his place, including a man whose only job was to look like him.

Kalila approached him and, when she was only inches away, took his hands in hers. He looked down into her vibrant, searching eyes. Probably wanting to see for herself that he was telling the truth—that he was in fact okay. Unfortunately he wasn’t, not really.

“Listen to me,” she said. “We can’t stop now.”

Calvin didn’t say anything.

“I need you to be strong. We’re close. I can feel it. But time is running out. We have to soldier on. Can you do that?” she tested him.

“Yes,” he said evenly. He wasn’t about to abandon his efforts to unravel the conspiracy and save the Empire, but he would be lying if he pretended the attempt on his life hadn’t rattled him. Such a high-profile attack on Capital World was unheard of, and he’d been the target. Not the King. Not a Member of the Assembly. Him. And now that so many people had died for him—racing into the afterlife, or oblivion, or whatever-the-hell awaited the dead—so that he could persevere, it would dishonor their sacrifice not to keep going after the Phoenix Ring. Though Calvin doubted his meager life was worth the price that’d been paid. Why me? He wondered. Why me? Suddenly he felt so inadequate for the burden that’d been placed upon him. Of all the people in the galaxy that could be here, it had to be him.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” said Kalila. Calvin felt her warm hands, still not letting go of her, and resisted the urge to pull her in to a tight embrace. He knew it would not be appropriate, so he fought the instinct. Eventually she let go. “If you need anything, tell me. I’ll see that you have it immediately.”

Calvin nodded. His mind was still reeling from the shock of what he’d just experienced, but another part of him was already trying to disseminate all he could about the attack and fit this new development into his growing investigation. It gave him a headache and he wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere quiet for a while.

“I’m going to triple your security,” said Kalila with fire in her voice. But, at least for the moment, Calvin didn’t care about his own security. If he’d had triple the security today then maybe there would have been three times as many deaths. And for what?

“I need to lie down,” said Calvin. “Somewhere quiet.”

“Of course,” said Kalila. “My personal escort will see you safely back to your estate.”

***

She whispered in his ear. It sounded like the wind. He couldn’t make out the words. Her breath tickled him and he smiled. He turned over, reaching for her. Wanting to embrace her warmth.

His hands found something cold and he opened his eyes. A ghoulish face looked back at him, cold, blue, and dead. The sunken eyes stared through him and the mouth—a mouth that had once been so beautiful and inviting—was rotten and decayed. He lurched back in a start, letting go of the corpse lying beside him.

“Why?” the corpse asked him. It sounded like two voices were speaking. Christine’s and one that was deeper and darker. “Why did you let this happen to me? Why do you make me suffer?”

Panic seized him and he rolled backward, trying to get away. As he fell off the bed, he plunged face-forward into a swirling abyss. Images flashed by, haunting pictures of men being shredded by gunfire. Cars exploding. Rockets soaring, swirling all around him, dozens of rockets. Hundreds of them. All circling him, in faster and faster orbits, growing in number.

As the tornado of red rockets spinning swiftly around him became so numerous that he could see nothing beyond them, they transformed into the glowing red eyes of Remorii. A haunted horde of them, staring at him, reaching for him, ready to send him to Christine.

He embraced them. “Do it!” he yelled into the abyss. “I’m ready!”

A hand parted the sea of Remorii and reached out for him. He took it, not knowing who it belonged to, but it was warm and alive and human and welcoming to the touch.

The instant he did, everything changed. The chaos dissipated and he felt solid ground beneath his feet. He was now in a bright, almost blindingly white room. It felt clean and… safe. He looked at the stranger whose hand he held and saw pale blue eyes and fiery, untamed red hair. She smiled at him. And he felt peace.

***

Calvin awoke from the dream to find that an icy sweat had glazed his chest, and his sheets were tangled tightly all around him, like he was in a spider’s web. He blinked several times, trying to get his bearings, and then freed himself from the confining linens. He climbed out of bed and stood. It felt good to feel his feet touch solid ground, the dizzying feeling of free-fall had subsided but he still felt light-headed and weak.

His heart beat erratically and waves of anxiety coursed through him. He stumbled to the far side of the room and found a water bottle. He wrenched free the cap and drank, drank like he’d never tasted water before. It eased his parched throat but did nothing to sooth his upset nerves. He shivered. And then his eyes spotted the translucent orange bottle sitting on the nightstand.

There was one way he knew he could forget the nightmare of the attack on his motorcade, and silence all the sounds, images, and terrified feelings that swirled within his mind. He went to the bottle and picked it up, staring at the white pills inside it. They were of varying sizes, meant to be taken in a sequence to eliminate his dependence on the chemical, but he knew two or three of the smaller ones were roughly the right mass for the dose he craved.

With the bottle of pills in one hand and the half-empty water bottle in the other, he went to the adjoining bathroom and locked the door. Only then did he feel safe. Certain no one was watching him. Of course, he knew, he’d been just as secure in his private bedroom, but somehow this additional layer of security made him feel safer.

He set the water bottle on the sink and then opened the bottle of pills. With trembling hands he dumped out several of the pills and held them up in the light. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes and stubble on his face, but he didn’t care. For an instant he saw a glimpse of his father’s face in his own. But he blinked it away with a shudder. He wasn’t Samil. And how he looked wasn’t important. He needed to feel better. At whatever cost.

He opened his mouth and raised the pills, reaching for the water bottle with his free hand to chase them down once he swallowed. A part of him hungered for this—had never stopped wanting this. He shook his head and glanced at himself one more time in the mirror before swallowing the equarius and putting the terrible and violent images to rest.

What he saw startled him. In the mirror, standing behind him, he thought he glimpsed a flowing lock of red hair. He blinked and it was gone. He even spun to look behind him, just to be sure no one was there. It had been a trick of the brain, he knew. His delirious and tired mind seeing things that weren’t there.

He made a second effort to raise the pills to his lips but stopped, just shy of dumping them into his mouth. He wondered what it meant, what he was doing. Yes he’d feel quick relief, and for a little while he’d feel much better, but for how long? And at what cost?

He thought of everything equarius had done to him. How it had made him its slave since the Trinity Incident. How it had affected his health, worsened his sleep, given him horrible night terrors, and—most of all—how it’d nearly lost him the Nighthawk. And for what?

He shook away those thoughts, trying to think of the times when equarius had helped him. How it’d eased his pains, and lessened his burdens, and put him into a state of mind where he could embrace the inevitable—the sheer pointlessness of life and everything in it—and find serenity. He knew he wanted to take it. He burned to take it.

Calvin pressed the white pills up against his lips. And then thought of Rain. He thought of what he’d say to her when he admitted that he’d strayed from her treatment. He thought of her shame for him, and the guilt she would feel for trusting him with the drug. When, in all honesty, she probably shouldn’t have, Calvin knew.

He closed his eyes and shut everything out of his mind. Needing to decide what he wanted. What was best for him, no one else. No one else had to deal with his burdens and so no one else got a vote on whether or not he took equarius.

In an instant he made up his mind. It was something he should have done a long time ago. He dumped the pills into the toilet, watching them slowly float their way down to the bottom of the bowl, and then he poured out the rest. Emptying the entire orange bottle over the toilet. Without a second thought he flushed it. Flushed the quickly-dissolving white powder away. Flushed equarius out of his life forever.

Chapter 22

Mister Cox dropped the Nighthawk out of alteredspace. Summers watched him, noting how haggard and worn out he looked, despite the short relief she’d given him and the rest of the senior staff as they’d traveled from Titan Three back into Imperial space.

“We have arrived at the rendezvous coordinates,” said Jay. “Drifting in open space, one-thousand mc’s per second.”

“Thank you, Mister Cox,” said Summers. “Full stop.”

“Answering full stop,” said Jay.

Summers looked to Cassidy. “Midshipman Dupont, anything on our scopes?”

“The region is empty,” said Cassidy. “But there are several alteredspace signatures bearing down on this position from multiple directions.”

“ETA?”

“Varied. Shortest time… about a minute.”

“Looks like we won the race then,” said Midshipman Ford. “By a hair.”

Summers ignored him. “Begin preparations to dock with the Arcane Storm when it and its support ships arrive.”

“Aye, sir,” said Jay. He relayed her orders to the rest of the crew.

Summers tapped her direct line to SFHQ.

“Hello, Commander,” came Pellew’s voice over the speaker. Summers had never been comfortable around Pellew, his eyes followed her too eagerly and she didn’t trust him, Summers avoided talking to him except when absolutely necessary.

“Mister Pellew,” she said. “We are making preparations to dock with the Arcane Storm and support ships for resupply and repair. I trust you understand that anyone coming aboard this ship will need to be watched.

“Say no more,” he said. “I’ll have my people at the airlocks.”

“Sir, incoming ships,” said Cassidy.

Summers watched the 3d display as it adjusted to reveal a supply ship. And then another. And then two more. A final ship arrived, making it a convoy of five supply ships. They were long, narrow, boxy, and had limited defense capabilities. The convoy moved into a group and then adjusted heading.

“Supply convoy has changed course; now bearing on our position,” said Cassidy.

“We are being hailed by the lead ship,” said Jay.

“On speakers.”

“Well hello there, Nighthawk,” said an amiable, somewhat scratchy voice over the speakers. “We were told we’d find you here. Are you prepared to dock and accept our supplies?”

“Confirmed Convoy One,” said Summers. “We are prepared to comply with docking instructions and begin transfer.” She didn’t like the seedy, less-than-legitimate feel of this exchange. And she didn’t like accepting charity from Raidan—especially since anything he gave them was probably ill-gotten in the first place. But these were Calvin’s orders. And the Nighthawk was in dire need of supplies and repair, and certainly in no position to acquire such things legitimately. So, Summers supposed, this would have to suffice.

“Now just to remind you,” said the Convoy Commander who—Summers noted—had yet to identify himself. “This is kind of an… off-the-books exchange. So don’t make a note of this in your logs or file any official paperwork regarding these requi—”

Cassidy shouted over him. “Sir, incoming ship.”

“The Arcane Storm?” asked Summers.

Cassidy shook her head. “Too big. Attack Cruiser class.”

“Attack Cruiser?” asked Summers. That certainly hadn’t been anywhere in the rendezvous instructions they’d been given. Was Raidan providing additional security? No, he would have told them… but who else could it be? This was a random point in space, no one could simply stumble upon it—the odds were astronomically small—Summers knew, she could calculate them. That left only one likely explanation. One of the ships had been tracked.

“General Quarters,” said Summers. “Alert condition one.”

Midshipman Ford adjusted the alert status and raised what he could of the shields. Jay activated the sublight drives and got the ship moving. Angling into a defensive posture against the incoming alteredspace signature.

“What’s going on there, Nighthawk? What are you doing?” asked the Convoy Commander, still connected to them via hail.

“Incoming warship,” said Summers, realizing that the paltry sensor technology on the supply ships likely couldn’t detect inbound alteredspace signatures. “Likely hostile.”

The Convoy Commander let loose a string of panicked curses. Summers winced at the unprofessionalism, nearly ordering Jay to cut the line. But she didn’t want to increase the civilian commander’s panic any further. She had to keep him calm.

“We’re here to help you, Nighthawk,” said the Convoy Commander. “You have to help us.”

“And we will,” said Summers. “I recommend you scatter your vessels and withdraw immediately.”

“Copy that,” said the Convoy Commander. “It’ll take us a few minutes to prep for jump.” With that he cut the line and Summers noted the supply-ships began to change posture on the 3d display.

“We don’t have a few minutes to give them, do we?” asked Summers, almost rhetorically.

“Shields at eleven percent, no armor on the port side, nearly all of the ammo for the main guns is depleted… but the beam weapon seems to be working at full capacity,” said Midshipman Ford. Summers sized him up, the newest acting member of the senior staff. She had no idea what his skills were manning the defense post and she had half a mind to relieve him and take the station herself.

“Mister Cox, notify the Acting XO to get up here immediately,” said Summers.

“On it.”

She almost couldn’t believe she was asking for Miles’ tortuous presence… but she’d seen his skill at the defense post during the Abia action. And she doubted anyone was better at that one thing—at everything else in life Miles was the worst, but Summers could concede that he had one single use.

“Cassidy, ETA?”

“Incoming ship will arrive in less than a minute.”

“And the supply-ships?”

“They have moved into a scattered formation and have commenced jump procedures… probably going to be another four minutes at least.”

“Dammit,” Summers cursed under her breath. It didn’t help that she felt extremely tired and now, with her heart racing and adrenaline shooting through her, she felt more like an animal than an officer.

“Your orders, sir?” asked Midshipman Ford.

“The supply-ships are vulnerable,” said Cassidy. “They can’t take any kind of a beating.”

“Neither can we,” added Midshipman Ford.

“Move us between the supply-ships and the attack cruiser’s exit point,” said Summers. As crooked and shady as the crews of the supply-ships were, they were likely Imperial citizens, and she wasn’t simply going to watch as civilians were slaughtered.

“Aye, sir,” said Jay. He had the look on his face of someone who’d just signed his own death warrant.

“Show them our starboard side,” said Summers. If they were about to take flak, might as well take it on the side that still had most of its armor.

“Ship arriving,” reported Cassidy.

An instant later the 3d display adjusted, showing a very familiar-looking attack cruiser. It was in an aggressive posture, dropping out of alteredspace at a swift velocity, and moving right toward them.

“It’s the Phoenix…” said Summers. The ship she’d once served aboard that now tried to kill them. It gave her waking nightmares. Haunting her like a dark omen, it seemed now to represent everything that had gone wrong in her life and the Empire.

“Yes, sir, I confirm that,” said Cassidy. “The Phoenix is rapidly closing on our position. Weapons range imminent.”

“Standby to intercept any incoming missiles,” said Summers. “Restrict fire to defensive—”

She stopped abruptly when she heard the elevator door slide open and the sound of heavy footfalls behind her.

“Oh shit… the Phoenix again?”

“Take your station, Mister Brown,” said Summers, without looking at him. “Mister Ford, you are relieved.”

The younger officer stepped away from the defense post and Miles took his place. “Okay, what’ve we got…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“The Phoenix is in weapons range,” said Cassidy. “Missiles incoming.”

Miles used the beam weapon to intercept all he could before it overheated and needed to be cooled, at which point he switched to the guns. They took out two more missiles—fired sparingly—but ran dry after that. Summers watched him like a hawk, knowing their very lives were in his big clumsy oafish hands. Yet, despite his general mind-blowing stupidity, he used their limited weapons as wisely and optimally as possible. Unfortunately it was not enough.

“Weapons are dry,” said Miles.

“Two more missiles incoming,” said Cassidy.

“Tactical withdrawal,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, fire up those engines. Let’s outrun those missiles as long as we can. Maybe the beam weapon will have cooled enough—” Summers knew she was grasping at straws. Still, her crew complied.

I’m sorry, Calvin, she thought as she stared at the desperate faces around her. I’ve lost you your ship.

“New alteredspace jump signature detected!” shouted Cassidy. “Bearing down close on our position. Entering normal space in five seconds.”

Summers felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. It had to be the Arcane Storm! And although it was true the Arcane Storm was no match for the Phoenix, it might be enough to keep the Nighthawk and the supply-ships alive. At least long enough for everybody to jump to safety.

A massive starship filled their window, it entered normal space so close to their position that only a fraction of it was visible—dark grey with harsh features. Jay had to adjust course immediately, and hard, to avoid a collision. The ship was far more massive than the Arcane Storm. It lit up the blackness with its countless beams and guns firing practically the instant it left alteredspace.

“Incoming missiles have all been destroyed,” reported Miles. “The Phoenix is in full retreat.”

Summers’ eyes flicked to the 3d display. “Is that—?” She paused. It was just as she’d suspected. The Harbinger had arrived.

“The Phoenix has jumped into alteredspace,” said Cassidy.

“Is the Harbinger pursuing?” asked Summers.

“Negative. It has adjusted course and appears to be commencing docking procedures.”

“The Harbinger is sending us new instructions for the resupply and repair operation,” said Jay. “We are requested to dock with the Harbinger for immediate transfer of personnel; afterward our ship and the supply convoy are to follow the Harbinger to coordinates near Renora System where the repair operation will take place and the supply ships will transfer supplies. The Arcane Storm is no longer a part of the operation.”

“What happened to the Arcane Storm?” asked Summers. She knew that Vargas had been given specific instructions from Calvin to return to the Nighthawk with the Arcane Storm in hand, along with the rest of their absent crew.

“The instructions don’t specify,” said Jay. “Shall I comply?”

Summers took a deep breath and, somewhat begrudgingly, ordered him to comply. She wasn’t sure what Raidan was up to, showing up here himself, but she would keep a sharp eye on him.

***

Pellew cleared the newcomers entering the ship one by one. Most were returning personnel, and they looked almost as tired and run-down as the crew that’d stayed behind. But there were some fresh new faces too. Four crewmen, a medic, and an entire detachment of new soldiers to replace the Polarians. These fighting-men looked green and inexperienced. Pellew stopped one of them at random.

“You there,” he said. “Where do you come from?”

The man looked at him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m your commanding officer,” said Pellew. “And you will address me as sir or I will throw you off this ship. And I promise you, that is not a metaphor.”

The man stared at him, perhaps testing him, but eventually submitted. “I’m from Capital World,” he said.

“And your name?”

“Rodriguez.”

“You ever served his Majesty’s military, Rodriguez?”

“No, sir. Can’t say ‘at I have.”

“So what’s your fighting experience?” Pellew pressed him.

“Mercenary, mostly.”

Pellew was not surprised. This man Rodriguez, and all of the rest of them, had looked exactly like hired guns. Sure they had a kind of toughness about them, and they’d probably killed people before, but none of them had the steel in their eyes that came from real military service. None of them had any of the trained habits that came from years and years of drills. And none of them showed the kind of camaraderie that came with fighting in uniform side by side with the best and the brightest. These were civilians who happened to be in the business of soldiering, but they weren’t actual soldiers. Not one of them.

“Is that all, sir?” the man asked.

Pellew sent him on his way. Like the others, the man carried two bags of personal possessions, both of which had been searched for weapons. Until Pellew trusted these men, and believed them capable of seeing action, he was not going to arm them. When they finally were ready to carry weapons, they would be standard issue and would come from the armory. But for the near future Pellew intended to keep the weapons lockers secure.

One familiar face that Pellew did not expect to ever see again belonged to Rez’nac. The large, fiercely muscular Polarian stepped through the airlock, having to duck to enter, and then greeted Pellew with a proper salute. Everything about his demeanor, the way he stood, and even his scars and injuries were all tributes to his great strength. All except his eyes, which were sad.

“Welcome back,” said Pellew. Though, in truth, he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for the Polarian to return. His special forces detachment had yet to get the closure they needed regarding Staff Sergeant Patterson’s death. And Pellew worried that they might take their retribution out on Rez’nac. Who, despite his toughness, was no match for the Special Forces by himself.

“I am honored to be back,” said Rez’nac. “I would like to see the captain right away.”

“Calvin isn’t on the ship right now, so Summers Presley has command. I could take you to her if you’d like.”

“Is Calvin returning?”

Pellew shrugged. “Who knows? I imagine so. But right now he is working for the Akira House on Capital World.”

“I see…” said Rez’nac. Pellew expected more surprise from Rez’nac than the Polarian showed. Pellew himself had been quite shocked when he’d heard the news. “In that case I would take my matter to you,” said Rez’nac.

“Go ahead.”

“I know that Grimka—my son—is the one who committed the injustice against your officer.”

“And?” asked Pellew, folding his arms. “Was justice done? Did Grimka answer for his crime?”

Rez’nac glanced away for an instant. It was hard to tell on an alien face, but he looked pained. There was no trace of pain in his voice, however. “No,” he said. “Grimka did not pay. And justice is not done.”

“That’s not what I was hoping to hear…” said Pellew. Knowing that, if Grimka had died for his murder—as was customary in Polarian tradition—that might have been enough to appease some of his angrier men.

“I cannot stand an injustice,” said Rez’nac. He knelt down on the ground and raised his head high. Pellew wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing.

“I offer my throat to you,” said Rez’nac. “It was one of mine who slew one of yours. You have the right of blood for blood. The Essences are good, let all things be in harmony with them and unity be one.”

Pellew wasn’t quite sure what to do. Some of the crew had stopped in their tracks and were looking at them now, trying to make sense of this strange display. “No,” said Pellew. “Get up.”

Rez’nac opened his eyes and looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Pellew. “Now, on your feet.”

Rez’nac stood and bowed his head. “My life is yours. I will serve you alive or dead as you see fit.”

Pellew decided he was going to let this be Calvin’s problem. So long as Rez’nac was willing to work for him, and help him train his new troops, Pellew would welcome him. But he wasn’t sure it was safe here for Rez’nac—and he didn’t know what to make of all of this Polarian ritualism and self-sacrifice. Pellew had studied the Rotham in detail. The Rotham made sense to him. But the Polarians, aside from their warrior tendencies, were a complete mystery to him.

***

Rosemarie watched the new reports come in.

At first it was unknown who’d been responsible for the attack on the newly appointed Executor of the Empire. Now the police were saying they had suspects in custody, and the rumor mill spun furiously. The attack had been a statement by Khan gangsters—news commentators were saying—against tighter restrictions on controlled substances throughout the Empire and stiffer criminal sanctions. Whether these rumors, which spread like wildfire, were created by the government to spread misinformation, or were simply the product of poorly informed news commentators speaking out of their asses, Rosemarie was uncertain. One thing she did know for sure, however, was that this attack on the young Executor’s life had clearly been the work of The Phoenix Ring.

If it was true that the enemy of her enemy was her friend, then she needed to reach out to the Executor and help his investigation.

When she’d first heard the news that the position was being created, and that Kalila Akira had appointed a former Intel Wing officer to the post, Rosemarie hadn’t been sure what to think. She supported the Akira House, and certainly would do her duty to sustain the King and his interests, but were his interests and his daughter’s in line? That had been the question. And, for that matter, was the new Executor, this Calvin Cross, playing Kalila for a fool? Perhaps he was a puppet of the Phoenix Ring. Such thoughts had weighed on Rosemarie’s mind when the networks had first lit up with gossip, rumors, and buzz about the development. In hours billions of people, who’d never heard of Calvin Cross before, were scouring the public databases for anything they could find on him. Rosemarie too had found what she could, but ultimately none of it had been enough to convince her that Calvin should be trusted. Until now.

Today gave her proof—beyond a doubt—that the Phoenix Ring was targeting Calvin and wanted him out of the picture, so she could be sure he was on the right side of all of this. Which meant she needed to reach out to him, even if it meant coming out of hiding.

Ever since she’d informed Raidan of the replicants bound for Capital World, purchased by MXR, and Raidan had intercepted and destroyed most of them, the Phoenix Ring had swept its organization looking for the leak. It didn’t take them long to figure out it had been Rosemarie who had compromised them. By then, however, she’d changed her appearance, adopted an alias, and moved to the other side of Capital World. There were still Phoenix Ring operatives looking for her, she was sure, which was why she hadn’t been able to reach out to the Organization and contact them. But through extreme measures of caution, and a bit of luck, she’d managed to elude capture and keep herself alive.

Now, though, it was time to put it all on the line once more. She would throw her fate in with Calvin’s, and the Akira House, and hope for the best. If she had even the most remote prayer, it was the hope that Kalila had known what she was doing when she’d picked Calvin Cross to be her Executor of the Empire. Would he be a match for the upper echelon of the Phoenix Ring? Only time would tell. But Rosemarie knew Calvin’s best chance was with the information she had, so she had to get it to him. And the surest way to get his attention was to leak a message through a trusted source letting Calvin know that Rosemarie had information regarding Calvin’s missing man. Rafael Te Santos.

Chapter 23

Summers heard the door to the CO’s office slide open and close. She glanced up from the desk to see Second Lieutenant Vargas enter. His brown skin looked paler than usual and his eyes bore a look of disappointment and shame.

“It’s about time you got here,” said Summers.

He saluted. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Commander.” He looked around, as if expecting to find something that wasn’t there. “Is Calvin indisposed?” he asked.

“Mister Cross is not on the ship and, until he returns, I have command,” said Summers. “You will therefore make your report to me. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” she said. “Now tell me, what is the status of our people we sent aboard the Arcane Storm?”

“Healthy and fit for duty, sir. At least the humans are. The Polarians have abandoned us, all but their leader, and he seems not right in the head. Might be best for Rain to take a look at him. Make sure he’s stable.”

Summers made a note of that. “And where are our people now?”

“They have all returned to the Nighthawk, I just finished overseeing that. In addition we’ve brought aboard a new analyst, two engineers, an ops officer, a medic, and twelve soldiers.”

“And did you properly vet these newcomers?” she looked at him. She’d gone over the records they’d sent her, which gave her a cursory idea of who they’d taken aboard, but the Nighthawk was a sensitive ship—and had already been plagued by at least one enemy informant and a murderer. She didn’t want to take an chances.

“Yes, sir,” said Vargas.

She’d have to take his word on that for now, but she intended to do a more thorough background check on her own. “And will the returning staff, as well as the new engineers, be ready to assist in repair operations in a few hours?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Vargas. Currently they were in alteredspace, following the Harbinger and the convoy of supply ships to coordinates Raidan had given them. Summers suspected that Raidan wanted to keep an eye on Renora—perhaps he was waiting for something—and as such didn’t want the Harbinger to be too far from the scene as it repaired the Nighthawk in deep space. “Additionally,” said Mister Vargas, “our returning staff is rested and fully prepared to resume normal watches.”

That, at least, was some good news. Summers’ crew, which had remained on the Nighthawk with her, had been worn to the bone. The chance to return to three shifts: White, Red, and Green, would be welcome news for everyone. “See to it that regular watches are instated immediately.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

“But first,” Summers leaned back in her chair and looked shrewdly at Second Lieutenant Vargas. “Tell me… what happened to the Arcane Storm?” She knew that Vargas had been given orders to return to the Nighthawk with the Arcane Storm in tow. Instead he and all of the others had been ferried back to them on board the Harbinger.

“Raidan and Tristan have taken it. I’m not sure where.”

“Did they take it from you by force?” asked Summers.

“Not as such…” Vargas stammered.

“Then why is it no longer in your possession?” She gave him a scrutinizing look.

“The werewolf… he made it clear the ship was his. I… didn’t want to challenge him. Those red eyes… I’m sorry, sir. I know my orders and I did not obey them. I accept the consequences.”

Summers nodded. Fortunately no lasting damage had been done. Calvin had ordered Vargas to retain possession of the Arcane Storm to use it as leverage to ensure the Nighthawk was resupplied and repaired. So long as the Harbinger and the supply ships were willing to provide those services—as planned—there wouldn’t be a problem. But Summers did make a note in her mind that Vargas was lacking spine and not entirely dependable.

“Was there anything else, sir?” he asked. “I have other matters to attend to.”

“You are not free to go until I tell you,” said Summers. “Now stand up straight.”

He straightened his posture and looked spooked by the bark in her voice.

“Did Raidan communicate his intentions to you?” she asked. She recalled what Calvin had discussed with her—about how Raidan had wanted to see Calvin urgently and claimed to have news he only dared share in person. Summers’ hope was that Raidan had shared that information with Vargas who’d met with him in Calvin’s place.

“No, sir.”

“Did Raidan give you a message? Or tell you something? Or share any information at all? Anything whatsoever, Lieutenant?”

Vargas shook his head. “No, sir. I spoke with him briefly and he didn’t tell me anything important. Nor did he share any intelligence with any of my crew or anyone who came with me, except possibly the werewolf. But he didn’t come back with us.”

At least that was some good news, Summers had never liked or trusted Tristan. He always seemed so smooth and condescending, like he was playing a game with them all. Not having him around was one less thing to worry about. But Summers was disappointed—though unsurprised—that Raidan had decided not to share his supposedly valuable information with the likes of Vargas and Calvin’s lower officers. She wondered if she might be able to get it out of him if she met with him in person once they stopped for repairs. She loathed the idea of seeing him, or being near him, but she also knew her duty to the Empire.

“One last question, Mister Vargas,” said Summers. “How is Lieutenant Winters?” Summers knew that Calvin had sent the helmsman away on the Arcane Storm as a chance to recover emotionally from the shock of what’d happened to Iwate Shen back on Remus Nine. Summers needed Sarah back at work as soon as possible, but also didn’t want to trust the stick to someone who was an emotional wreck.

“Sarah is doing all right,” said Vargas. “She’s been quiet, not very talkative, but she’s done her duty like all the rest. I think she has some stuff on her mind but she didn’t let it affect her judgment. Sure as anything, she’s still the best pilot on the ship.”

Summers nodded and dismissed him.

***

“That makes twelve of them,” said Calvin. He stared down at the list of people he’d ordered placed into protective custody for interrogation, and crossed off another name. “Santiago Florres, cause of death?”

“Santiago was killed by gunshot wounds. Forty caliber. Two in the chest, one in the head. Not a pretty sight,” Nia said over the terminal—she was one of his lead investigators.

“Our assassins are getting less subtle,” said Calvin. The first murders they found had been creatively done and had been made to look like suicides—like what’d happened to Michael Evans—but the most recent half-dozen had been brutal and swift. Stranglings, bludgeonings, gunshot wounds… very violent.

“And the victim was killed before our people moved into position?” asked Calvin, certain it would be the same story as the other murders.

“Yes, sir,” said Nia. “Mister Florres was found dead in his car.”

“Did the neighbors see or hear anything?”

“No, sir. The assailant used a silenced firearm and Mister Florres’ garage door was closed to mask the report. No one knew anything was wrong until our people were on the scene.”

“Time of death?” asked Calvin.

“Approximately twelve hundred hours Local Time, about an hour before our people arrived.”

Same old story… Calvin sighed in frustration. Despite all of his best intentions, and efforts, he couldn’t keep the people he wanted safe. As soon as he showed any interest in them, no matter how discretely he ordered their capture, they all seemed to wind up dead. The only silver lining to all of this mad bloodshed was that his people had managed to bring five people in alive before they could be assassinated. They were currently in protective custody. Hopefully that would be enough “Thank you, Nia,” said Calvin. “Triple our security on the prisoners we have in custody.”

“Right away, sir. We will also continue hunting for Katja Schmidt.” She was the last remaining name on Calvin’s list that wasn’t in custody yet—as either a prisoner or a corpse.

“Keep me apprised.”

“One final thing, sir. Your teams are ready and the rooms are prepped. Shall we begin interrogating the prisoners we do have in custody?”

“Yes,” said Calvin. “I want to be there for as much of it as I can, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t start without me. Especially since this may prove to be a long and difficult process.” He’d expressly forbidden the use of torture—not believing it would provide useful information—and he knew that if these people were agents of the Phoenix Ring, like he suspected, and they were worth their salt, none of them would be forthcoming. Persuading them might require patience and cleverness. Fortunately Calvin had the best resources at his disposal. Including Intel Wing trained interrogators who the Akira House vouched for, many of whom had come out of retirement to be a part of his taskforce.

“Understood, sir,” said Nia. The call terminated.

Calvin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. In his mind he saw phantom images of gunfire, rocket-propelled grenades, and men and women taking fire. He blinked it away. He was lightheaded and slightly nauseous—side effects from equarius withdrawal, he guessed. But he stood by his decision. And in a way it was liberating to have no equarius within reach, particularly when he’d been the one to make that decision. Rather than someone else forcing his hand.

His terminal beeped, indicating an unread message. He leaned forward to check it.

Arbor Café invites you, Calvin Cross, to join family and friends of Rafael Te Santos today in a birthday celebration at 0730. This certificate entitles the bearer to a free meal. Limit one. Print a copy of this certificate and bring it with you. See you there!

The message had been sent using Arbor Café’s automated coupon service, a rather common service offered by many restaurants on Capital World.

Calvin wondered who would be sending him a cryptic message in the form of a restaurant coupon bearing Rafael’s name. Had Rafael’s name not been on the ticket he probably would have assumed the message was junk mail and deleted it.

There wasn’t much to decipher. Someone wanted to meet with him. The message clearly indicated a time and place and Calvin understood that he was to go alone. Hence the “limit one” part.

This left two possibilities. Either someone was telling the truth and had information about Rafael Te Santos that he wanted to share with Calvin, and couldn’t contact him through direct means for some reason, or else this was a ruse to get him out into the open. Possibly luring him into a trap where he could be assassinated.

The latter possibility seemed at least as likely as the first, and Calvin was loath to expose himself to mortal danger so soon after his brush with the Khans. Since the attack, he’d remained holed up in his fortress of an estate and managed his investigation from here. Now though, he finally had another lead on Rafael’s disappearance—a trail that had grown cold long ago—and he’d sworn to himself that he would track down his friend and officer. It was the least he could do considering how much Rafael had put on the line for him. Calvin couldn’t simply ignore an opportunity like this. Even if his better judgment told him he would be making himself vulnerable.

“I have to do this,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. He didn’t plan on going without support, he’d have well-disguised backup nearby. But he’d have to make the approach alone, otherwise he might spook the potential asset. Which meant taking a risk and hoping for the best.

Because he was certain to be recognized, he decided to alter his appearance and dress as commonly as possible choosing neutral, bland colors that would not stand out. If the potential asset was an observant person, he or she should still be able to pick Calvin out from a crowd, but if he walked in there looking like himself, looking like the Executor of the Empire, he risked being surrounded by people and drawing too much notice. Any unwanted attention and his potential asset would split, Calvin was sure, assuming the asset was legitimate and not a planted assassin…

He began making the arrangements. It was already past 0730 so he assumed that time was referring to the next day. Which was more than enough time to set things up. He’d have people across the street, others in an unmarked car nearby, and still more in a gunship ready to swoop down on the street if the worst should happen.

Calvin decided not to tell Kalila about the message and his intention to follow its cryptic instructions. He knew she would disapprove and might flood the street with soldiers to ensure her Executor’s safety. Ever since his motorcade had been attacked, Kalila considered it her personal duty to surround Calvin with layers upon layers of protection. For this operation, however, he’d have to order his defenders away and slip out into the streets alone. It would be like old times, when he was coming up on the backstreets of West Central District.

“I’ve got this,” he reassured himself. Thinking about how he’d soon pluck Rafael safely from the clutches of the Phoenix Ring. “Just hang in there a little longer my friend. I will find you.”

***

Blackmoth finished with Katja and released her. The rest of her body dropped into the bathtub to join her melted face. He watched the corpse begin to disintegrate and then he swept away.

Originally he’d thought to drown her, but the One True God had wanted a more severe statement made, so Blackmoth—the weapon of the divine—had been forced to comply.

He’d abducted Katja and taken her bound and gagged, smuggled in his trunk, to a random ground-level flat. He’d broken in and made certain no one was home before dragging Katja inside. He’d taken her here, to this random place, to give himself enough time to honor the One True God properly He knew investigators were hunting for Katja. And had he made the sacrifice in her home, where people would be looking, Blackmoth surely would have been interrupted. Katja didn’t resist as he’d pressed her face into the tub. He’d given her the mercy of rendering her unconscious. It did not serve the One True God for Katja to have to suffer. At least, not too much.

He’d filled the tub with powerful acid and then pressed her face into it and let the One True God do the rest. Now she’d been taken care of. The last on the list. And Blackmoth had finished the work he’d been assigned.

The false master who’d asked him to do this would not be pleased, Blackmoth knew. He’d wanted all eighteen to be killed. And that would have been accomplished easily enough. Protective custody or not, Blackmoth could have seen to it. But that had not been the will of the One True God.

It was not yet time for five of the damned on the list to enter the void. It would have been take their lives. And the One True God wanted five of them to live. Five to represent the number of destructions he would reign down on Capital World, humanity, and the entire galaxy. Five was the symbol of the One True God. Four corners and one heart. Five.

Blackmoth knew the will of the One True God. And though he was an unworthy vessel, he followed and obeyed.

Chapter 24

Damn that Blackmoth!

Zane got word from his people that of the eighteen names on that list—people who were loose ends—only thirteen had been properly dealt with. Five remained. And those five, with too much knowledge in their heads and too much wind in their lungs, were now in the custody of the Executor and had become a credible threat.

Why had five lived? Zane knew Blackmoth too well, the assassin had certainly been capable of eliminating all eighteen. It wasn’t a matter of him being outclassed by the Executor’s men. No, Blackmoth had chosen not to slay the remaining five. He must have had one of his psychedelic “visions” and believed that ridiculous god of his had wanted these five to live.

“Damn. Damn. Damn.” He muttered to the quiet room. This left him in a predicament.

Depending on how effective the Executor’s interrogators were, and how tight-lipped the five co-conspirators decided to be, it was only a matter of time before the Executor was able to extrapolate leads that would take him to the senior members of the Phoenix Ring. He wouldn’t get their names, not from these pawns—Zane had known better than to work with them face to face—but they knew people, who knew people, who knew people, who would eventually lead the Executor right to his front door. And what was worse, these five knew the time and place of Ascension. And though the hour of Ascension drew near, it was not yet time. The Executor might put it all together before Ascension was complete.

Zane considered cancelling Ascension. Re-arranging it. Moving it. Something. Buy himself some time to get off-world and dodge the Executor’s hounds. But everything had been carefully architected to lead up to this moment, everything that’d been sacrificed, everyone who’d died, all the expense that had been paid, all of the delicate planning, all of it had been for Ascension. If Zane changed the plan in any way, if he gave his fellows any reason to doubt him or sense his panic, his support would vanish. All of the dark elements that had come forward to support him, that he’d coaxed and persuaded to lay it all on the line for him—for this—would disappear back down their dark holes into total obscurity. He’d never get another chance.

Ascension had to move forward. The rest of the Phoenix Ring expected it. Caerwyn expected it. He could not afford to deviate from it. If anything had ever been destined in the stars, if there was such thing as fate, this was it. It was so close Zane could taste the sweet savor in his mouth.

Ascension would happen. And when the hour came, Zane would make certain that he and all of his closest associates would be safe. There might have been wisdom in disbursing, in spreading out and making everyone as hard to find as possible, but Zane couldn’t risk the panic that might cause. Nor did he see any point in anyone being safe unless he was safe. So it would be best for them all to be together, when the hour came.

Ascension would be glorious. And once the government was theirs, the Empire would be reborn like a golden phoenix, restored to its youthful glory. At the head of this mighty newborn bird, Zane would lead humanity into a greater era than ever before. And no one—not the High Prelain; not the Rahajiim; no one—would stop him.

***

“Behold the fires of hell,” said Ryker. He grinned darkly as he stared up at the Renoran sky. It was swollen and red and bleeding. Tiny streaks of light pierced the dark clouds by the thousands, like a rain of comets.

“Are you sure we’re safe here?” asked Vulture. Ryker looked at him and noted the concern on his face.

“Relax,” said Ryker. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

“I mean, will the ships fire on this position?” he pressed.

Ryker looked at his men. They stood together in sparsely populated suburb, his entire cell of forty-seven people, weapons in arms and mouths agape as they watched the glowing lights descend. In the distance, deep booms and rumbles of destruction echoed. Vulture was not the only one who showed fear, though the others tried to mask it.

“Ryker?” Vulture stared at him.

“We’re perfectly safe,” said Ryker at last. He turned his eyes skyward once more and followed one of the deadly bombardment rounds as it descended over the horizon. “The strikes were all planned out, every single target. Every cell leader on the planet gave firing coordinates to me and I gave those to Mister Martel. I’m sure he gave them to his ships. After all, we want to fan the flames, not decimate the rebellion. Above all, this attack has to look like a poorly-designed suppressive action in the name of the King.”

“That was all I needed to know,” said Vulture, ostensibly satisfied.

“Phase Two…” said Micah. “Thank the many non-existent gods of atheism that I lived to see it.”

“Is it everything you were hoping for?” asked Ryker.

“I s’pose that depends on how hot the flames burn. But in a word? Yeah. It’s everything I was hoping for.”

Ryker nodded. Now it was time to see how the citizens of Renora reacted. If all went as planned, this would be the final straw. And they would push the Empire and the King’s troops off the planet completely—no matter the cost.

***

“I just received word, sir. Renora has been attacked. Planetary bombardment rounds from orbit like you suspected. I’m sorry,” said Mr. Ivanov over the comm.

Raidan closed his eyes and felt a deep self-hatred brew in his stomach. This was his fault. He never should have taken the Harbinger away from Renora. Not even to save the Nighthawk. He’d created the opportunity for them to strike. He felt a combination of heavy guilt, crushing despair, and intense anger boiling together in his blood. But he kept his voice calm and in control when he spoke.

“How far away are we?” he asked, tapping the line to the bridge.

“Still another couple of hours.”

Even at a jump depth of one-hundred percent potential, leaving the Nighthawk and the supply-ships to follow as best they could with the taste of the Harbinger’s dust in their mouths, it hadn’t been enough. He leaned back and let out a deep sigh, then reached down for the whiskey bottle on the floor.

“Shall I keep us on present course, sir?” asked Mr. Ivanov.

Raidan realized that now there was no point. Undoubtedly the Phoenix Ring’s ships would withdraw and disappear now that they’d attacked the planet and planted the false flag of the King. Renora would continue to bleed and suffer, and there would be violence aplenty on the surface, but there was no longer a point in keeping watch over it from space. The damage was done. And nothing Raidan could ever do would let him undo it. This was war to the most savage degree.

“No,” Raidan said at last. “Drop us into normal space and provide instructions to the Nighthawk and the supply flotilla to meet us there. We’ll finish the transfer of supplies and the repair operation as soon as possible.”

“Aye sir,” the comm clicked off.

Raidan unstopped the whiskey bottle and thought of the last message he’d received from the commander of the Mary Gale, the lone ship he’d left behind to protect Renora from attack from space.

“They think they’ve got us on the run. Those bastards. We’ve still got a few tricks up our sleeve. But all the same, you’d better get over here right quick.”

That had been only an hour ago. Raidan had hoped the Mary Gale would have been able to harass and disrupt the enemy force long enough for the Harbinger to arrive and assist. Apparently that’d been too optimistic.

He pressed the bottle directly to his lips and sipped straight from it, not even bothering with a glass, as his heart paid tribute to Commander O’Sullivan and his fighting crew aboard the Mary Gale. They were good people all, tried and true, and if Raidan knew the commander, the large, pot-bellied, hot-tempered man wouldn’t have gone down without a serious fight.

“Here’s to you, old friend,” said Raidan as he lifted the bottle. He took another sip and then set the bottle on his desk. I made a mistake, he thought. I made a mistake and my enemies will pay. An eye for an eye.

He immediately set to work drafting orders for his own weapon—one that sat in disguise circling a seemingly random Rotham world—to be fired immediately. If the Phoenix Ring was willing to be uncompromising and unforgiving in their strikes, he had to be as well. It was time for them to get a taste of their own medicine.

***

“The death toll is already in the millions,” said Celeste. She’d reached out to him from some hiding place off-system in order to give him this latest dispatch. “I’m told the entire eco-system is being affected. Those who weren’t hit by the biological weapon directly will still starve when the plant-life dies and the crops fail.”

“What percentage of the population on Cepheus has been affected so far?” asked Zane. He rubbed his hands nervously and tried to think of what he should do. In truth he didn’t care about the Rotham people or their suffering, they could all die and it would probably be a gift to the universe, but he did worry about the Rahajiim—and what they would think.

“Less than one percent,” said Celeste. “However, the local government has declared a state of emergency and the Republic is rushing aid to the system. The Republic has sworn they will get to the bottom of this attack, and that there will be a swift and decisive response.”

“I don’t give a damn about the Republic,” said Zane. “Let them rattle their sabers all they like. We both know they aren’t the true power in the region.”

“As to that…” said Celeste. “Our people in the Advent confirm… the weapons in the attack have been linked to MXR…”

A rush of panic seized Zane’s throat. “And the Rahajiim?”

“No one knows,” said Celeste. “But I’m sure they will come to the obvious conclusion. That the Phoenix Ring was behind the attack. They’ll probably think it was retribution for what happened with the Enclave.”

Zane knew she was right. And, while this kind of retribution was surely the stupidest strategy he and the Phoenix Ring could deploy, taking a vicious swipe at a stronger enemy like a hyena scratching a sleeping lion, he didn’t doubt that there were some in his organization who would have welcomed such an aggressive response. Many of his people—most who knew the situation—were upset that the Phoenix Ring had failed to recruit the Enclave. And many of those same people believed a statement had to be made. Believing erroneously that the Phoenix Ring could adequately protect itself against the Rahajiim. In time the Phoenix Ring would become the most powerful organization in the history of the galaxy, but for that to happen it needed total command of the Imperial Fleet. And that wouldn’t be possible until after Ascension.

“And…” said Zane, almost hesitant to ask the question. “Is there any chance that our people were behind the attack?” He hoped his associates weren’t that stupid. He also believed that for such a bold measure to be taken without his knowledge would have been impossible—but then again he also may have overestimated his hand. It could be that the entire situation was less in his control than he’d assumed, and that possibility terrified him.

“It’s still being looked into,” said Celeste, “but no. I don’t think there is any way this could have been us. Not without you ordering it, or me hearing about it.”

Zane nodded. That was good news, but not great news. Regardless of who was truly responsible, the Rahajiim—who were already distrustful of the Phoenix Ring—would certainly blame Zane’s people for the attack. This would further strain relations and now cooperation between the two groups was impossible. They would seek retribution. And when they did, Zane knew it would be total and severe. If it came before Ascension… then he was a dead man. But if he could keep himself and his people alive long enough for Ascension to be complete, then the Rahajiim would merely be flies before the might of his war-machine.

“Since we both know the attack wasn’t sanctioned by the Imperial government, and we didn’t carry it out, and the Rahajiim certainly didn’t attack their own people, there is only one group who could be behind it,” said Celeste.

“The Organization,” said Zane immediately. It was obvious. This was one of the only ways they could still hurt the Phoenix Ring. It was probably a response to him targeting and killing most of their assets on Capital World. Effectively cutting them out of the game. This was certainly the most brutal measure the Organization had ever taken, but they’d never been so desperate before. And he knew they were as willing to accept collateral losses as he was—so long as the ends justified it.

“Unfortunately the Advent—according to our spies—has not found anything to implicate the Organization. Whoever was behind the attack did a perfectly thorough job of connecting it to us,” said Celeste. “I don’t think there is any possibility the Rahajiim won’t blame us. So, we need to be prepared.”

The timing of the attack was about as bad as possible. Zane wondered if White Rook somehow knew that relations between the Phoenix Ring and the Rahajiim were strained and distrustful, or if she’d timed her attack so perfectly by luck.

“I think we need to focus on damage control,” said Celeste.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Zane. Though, in truth, there was little he could do. “I think it’s time to start bringing our forces home. Our interests in Capital System and the heart of the Empire must be protected. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“What about the An—”

“All of them,” said Zane. “I’m bringing all of them. Because now… it’s all or nothing.” He switched off the terminal and then began sending out his orders. There were ships, very important ships, that had to be diverted to the system. He also needed the Phoenix Ring bunker to be prepped and sufficiently defended so that he and the others would be safe when the hour of Ascension was upon them. Safe from the Executor, safe from the Organization, and most importantly—safe from the Rahajiim.

He was interrupted by a high alert call to his mobile. Only the most important people knew the number and he changed mobiles frequently, often destroying the mobile and replacing it after an important call.

“Go ahead,” he said after flipping open the phone. He knew that most communications were being monitored by the Executor’s people, which was why he insisted on only using secure lines.

“What the hell were you thinking?” screamed Rita Donovan. “Cepheus?!”

“Cepheus was not our operation,” he explained calmly. “It was a false flag planted by the Organization.”

“Regardless… the Rahajiim,” she struggled to get the word out.

She had every right and reason to be troubled by this news. And Zane knew, better than anyone in the Phoenix Ring, how truly dangerous the Rahajiim was, but he also couldn’t afford to let Rita go into a panic, or frighten the others. Their best hope now was to hide and await Ascension. If they started fleeing the system every which way, they would only be hunted down and eliminated one-by-one. “Stay calm,” said Zane.

“How can I possibly stay calm?”

“Everything is under control,” he assured her. “The Rahajiim will not be able to act before Ascension. And once Ascension is complete, there will literally be nothing that can stop us. All the might of the Empire will be ours and more.”

“And if they do strike before Ascension… It will be our heads for this!”

“They won’t,” said Zane in the most confident and reassuring voice he could muster. “Don’t forget, we have resources of our own. Enough to keep us safe. So long as we stick together.”

Chapter 25

Miles took his leave of the bridge and headed for the lower decks.

In truth he was glad to be out of there. He was getting tired of seeing Summers, despite how positively sexy she was. If she wore a bit less clothing, or something tighter, he could probably stomach being around her a little easier. But since she dressed as modestly and professionally as she could—not even cropping her uniform—there wasn’t much reason to have her around. She was a stick in the mud, and grouchy, and for some reason always on his case. He assumed it was because he was attractive to her. Why else would she give him so much more attention than anyone else—and hell, he didn’t blame her—but her way of flirting was confusing and tiring. And always left him in need of a good stiff drink and a long nap.

He liked being the acting XO. It gave him a sense of authority and importance that he knew he’d always deserved, but he’d happily go back to being just the defense officer—still the most important job on the ship—if it meant getting Calvin back. He’d been lonely these last few days and it was starting to feel like the band had broken up. But at least Sarah was back. Miles had welcomed her in his traditional way, by lambasting her with a tactical argument and then teasing her about her pansy-ass away mission on the Arcane Storm while the real warriors had stayed with the Nighthawk. She’d deflected his teasing with her own banter and even cracked a tiny smile at him, and that was when he knew she was going to be okay.

Miles meandered his way through the ship before eventually arriving at the infirmary. He wasn’t sick and he didn’t need anything, but Calvin had asked him to do something and, while Miles so far hadn’t had the guts, he decided to stop putting it off. If there was anyone in the galaxy he would keep his word to, no matter what, it was Calvin. Which meant he had no choice.

He stepped inside and immediately caught sight of Shen looking faint and… possibly even dead. He was strapped down tight on one of the medical beds with a soldier-in-arms standing attentively next to him. Miles slowly approached and stared down at his friend. Memories poured through his mind, and it seemed like only yesterday Miles had been coaching Shen on how to get with the ladies.

“Hang in there, little buddy,” he whispered. There was a burning feeling behind his eyes and it forced him to blink. It wasn’t a tear though—Miles was sure of that—just… an irritation.

“He’s a fighter, this one,” came a creamy-silk voice from behind him. Miles turned to see the chief physician. She was tall and pale, and had the deepest, reddest hair he’d ever seen. It was all in tangles, unkempt and untamable—just how he liked it—and the woman’s eyes were the prettiest, pales shade of blue he’d ever seen. He’d met her before, briefly, but only now did he realize just how beautiful she was. When he saw them, and noticed how candid they were, he glanced away immediately. Feeling his heart quicken.

“I—” he tried to talk but his words caught in his throat.

Rain stepped near him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were thin and long, and he wanted nothing more than to take them in his hand and feel their warmth. “It’s all right,” she said in a voice that was warm and soothing. “Don’t worry. He isn’t in any pain.”

Miles glanced down at Shen and saw the look of peace on his face and he knew that Rain spoke truly. It was almost as if the ops officer had passed into the great beyond already, and that what they carried with them—strapped to this medical bed—was merely a wax tribute. A statue of a great man who’d been by their side.

Miles felt something wet in his left eye and he quickly lifted a finger to wipe it away. “Damn allergies,” he said.

Rain gave him a small smile, then walked away and began checking several of the monitors attached to Shen. She wrote notes on her clipboard as she did.

“The important thing is that we don’t give up on him,” said Rain. He watched her. Unable to stop himself from tracing her long feminine figure with his eyes. It was hard to get a picture of her physique through her baggy medical scrubs. But there was enough there to fill Miles with a warm rush of excitement. Now this was a true woman, he thought. Lots of passion and personality, not to mention a kind of hardiness that made him think of the women back home. Strength and not just beauty. Summers was still better looking, but Rain made him melt in ways Summers did not. Miles stared at her. Rain was filled with heart. He could tell. And there was no substitute in the universe for a woman who was all heart.

“I know I certainly haven’t given up on him,” she said, now looking at him. Miles’ looked away from her.

“Me neither,” he said, suddenly remembering why he was there. “Tell me…” he struggled to find the words. “How… how is he?” Miles thought of what Calvin had told him. How he’d asked Miles to check up on Shen and make sure the man wasn’t suffering in vain. Calvin had said that if Shen was suffering—and there was no hope of saving him—it would be kinder to give him a gentle sendoff into the unknown. Miles had promised to look into it. But had put it off, dreading that he would find things were exactly as Calvin feared. And, as tough as Miles knew he was, he doubted very sincerely that he could be the one to end Shen’s suffering.

“Well…” said Rain, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “We had a scary minute not too long ago, but as you can see he got through it. The good news is that the virus has not progressed since we got him stabilized. It’s still frustrating our efforts to eliminate it but… I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”

“Really and truly?” Miles asked, suddenly beaming. He hadn’t let himself believe that Shen could be cured and now the doctor had practically told him so.

“No one knows exactly what will happen,” said Rain, suddenly sounding a bit more cautious. “But I think the best thing we can do now is to have hope. There is no scientific reason for this and the evidence is purely anecdotal, but I have noticed that in cases where the patient and his loved ones keep their hopes high there is a higher rate of recovery.”

“Okay, great,” said Miles. He patted Shen on the leg. “You hear that buddy? You’re going to be okay!”

He spent another few minutes in the infirmary. Mostly trying to chat with the beautiful red-headed enchantress that ran the place. He left in good spirits and made for his quarters, deciding to reward himself with a good stiff drink and a nap.

***

Rain hadn’t told the defense officer the complete truth. She didn’t fancy herself a liar, but when she’d seen the look on the man’s big childish face—and the sweet tears in his eyes—she hadn’t the heart to tell him how grim Shen’s condition truly was.

Rain still hadn’t given up on him. That was certainly the last thing she would ever do. If she wouldn’t give up on herself—even though she knew she was dying—how could she possibly give up on anyone else? Whether a person had a hundred more years to live or mere seconds, they were still entitled to life, hope, and happiness for as long as they could possibly cling to those things. And even here, where the ghastly picture of death was slowly creeping over the unconscious ops officer’s face, he was still clutching to life. His body hadn’t given up, and neither would Rain.

I will save you, she thought, perhaps trying to reassure herself more than him. I will.

For every puzzle there was a solution, just like for every question there existed an answer—somewhere—she had to believe that. And as she puzzled over the strange biological processes going on in Shen’s body, as his immune system fought the contagion while other whole systems seemed to be surrendering to it, Rain could think of nothing in medical science that she’d ever heard of that was like it. In a way it was a marvelous and curious thing, probably the most fascinating phenomenon she’d ever witnessed. And yet she would fight it with everything she had. With everything she could possibly think of. Because, if there was a such thing as objective evil, this disease certainly qualified. The toxin, and what it was doing to this poor man, was an unforgivable wrong. And Rain was not about to stop fighting.

Unfortunately the clock was against her, she knew. And while Shen seemed relatively stable for now, she knew his condition was deteriorating and it wouldn’t be long before things took a permanent turn for the worse. Which meant she had to come up with another treatment fast. At her most optimistic, she guessed Shen had mere days—at best a week—before fatal, irreversible damage was done.

***

“This was an attack, sanctioned by the King, on our own sovereign soil against subjects of the crown!” Caerwyn’s voice boomed. He stood on the Assembly Floor and felt sweat drip down his face as he squinted against the bright lights. Princess Kalila stood opposite him.

“I assure you, Lord Representative, that the attack on Renora is a tragedy and was not sanctioned by my father or His Majesty’s Imperial forces,” said Kalila. The feeling in the Assembly Floor was tense and there wasn’t a vacant seat to be found. Every member of the Assembly was there, and all of them knew that the citizens of the Empire demanded an explanation—and a response—for the recent bombing of Renora. Heads would roll, everyone knew it. And everyone was anxious to make sure his or her head wasn’t one of the ones that did.

“A fleet of ships from orbit rained down a torrent of military-grade bombardment rounds onto the civilian populace—destroying hospitals, schools, and homes—and you claim this was done without the knowledge and permission of our military? Who else could have done it? I ask you. If not the King, then who? I’ll tell you who,” said Caerwyn, clearing his throat. “No one.” He paused. “No one but the King’s military could have waged war like this. But understand this isn’t war, this is savage butchery. And the people of the Empire demand justice!”

“I remind the honorable Representative, and all the noble Lords and Ladies of the Assembly, that there is no convincing proof that this attack was an action by our military,” said Kalila. “Our best intelligence indicates that it was a terrorist attack. Perhaps an action by a foreign state.”

“Don’t blame the Republic for the blood on your hands,” said Caerwyn, cutting in abruptly.

“I didn’t specifically blame anybody,” said Kalila.

“Because no one else is guilty,” said Caerwyn.

“Mister Martel makes an extraordinary claim, but extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence,” said Kalila.

“There is evidence,” said Caerwyn. “And more evidence is mounting all the time. I don’t raise these allegations lightly. I weep for my Empire, and I am the King’s loyal servant. But higher even than the King is the sanctity of this Empire and the sovereignty and dignity of its people. As a member of the Assembly I must fight for them, and for their safety, and so it is with the heaviest of hearts that I expose the government for the abusive regime that it is, it has misused our military and violated the peace, the honor, the safety, and the dignity of our noble citizens. I regret having to make these accusations, but I have a duty not just to the citizens of our great Empire but to the truth.”

“Please, by all means, present your evidence,” said Kalila. Her words were calm and well composed; she shared her father’s gift for seeming to have command of any situation no matter how dire, but this was one battle she would not win. Caerwyn was certain of it.

“The fleet that entered orbit and began bombing the planet—war criminals who would slaughter civilians—did so unopposed. If it was not a military operation, why was there no military presence there to stop them?” He wanted the question to linger on his fellow Representatives’ minds but he did not want an answer stated, so he continued speaking. “The attacking ships were unopposed. The weapons they fired were of military grade—only our military could possess such weapons. And witnesses on the ground say that the ships flew under the King’s own banner.”

Caerwyn finished and then looked at his opponent. Unable to read from Kalila’s neutral expression what she was thinking.

“With respect, Representative Martel,” said Kalila slowly, after a few seconds. “The evidence you present is anecdotal. The attacking ships moved in unopposed because we had no warning of the attack. Why there was no military presence protecting the planet is a question to be put to the Lord Admirals. That decision was not made by my father or indeed anyone from my House. The weapons might have been supplied by a foreign military in an effort to undermine the strength of our Empire—a threat that should be at the forefront of our concerns. And the sighting that the ships flew the King’s lights and broadcasted under the King’s frequencies might have been done by anyone. Anyone who would have wanted the King to be blamed for the attack would have motive to act under our banner.”

“My Lady Princess,” said Caerwyn, fighting a smile, “you are grasping at straws. You ask us to accept these weak explanations, rumors of conspiracies for which there is no proof, whilst our people suffer and bleed and die because of mismanagement by our highest executive authority? Every hour of every day, new accounts are whispered across the Network of brutality on Renora by the King’s soldiers.”

“Rumors only,” said Kalila.

“Rumors perhaps, but not lies. There is no question that the King’s decision to fill the streets of Renora with troops—against our official advice, I would add—has been a mistake that has cost the people of the Empire in terms of its most valuable treasure, the lives of its citizens. And now the people demand action, they demand change, and so should we as their representatives.”

“What are you saying, Lord Martel?”

“I am calling a motion. It is high time for the Assembly to execute the Sovereignty Clause of Article One of the Imperial Charter.”

Surprised and eager voices filled the Assembly Floor, causing Representative Tate—who was presiding over the session—to smack her gavel and call for order.

“You are calling for the throne to be recalled back to the people and a new monarch chosen?” asked Kalila.

“I am,” declared Caerwyn, knowing this bold challenge to Akiran authority would be carried by the news across the Empire far and wide.

“Is there anyone who will second the motion?” asked Representative Tate.

“I will,” said Representative Conroy. Caerwyn squinted at the second row balcony and saw Lord Conroy standing. Caerwyn had expected him to be the one to support the challenge to the Akiras, no doubt he believed his House had a fair shot at claiming the throne. He was wrong of course, but so long as he served Caerwyn’s interests, Caerwyn would welcome Conroy’s misplaced support.

“Representative Akira, your response?” asked Representative Tate.

Kalila called for a recess, just like Caerwyn would have done in her position. She would meet with her faction of support and arrange for Caerwyn’s motion to be blocked before it could come to a vote. He knew that Kalila’s effort would succeed—for now—she had just enough votes supporting her to block him. Loyalty to the Akira House went deep, after all they’d always controlled the monarchy. But as the situation across the Empire became more chaotic, and more news of bloodshed and mismanagement spread far and wide—and the citizens of the Empire demanded answers—Kalila’s support would erode. And the Empire would demand a change in leadership.

The Conroys and Sabels no doubt had their own ambitions, their own dreams of sitting on the throne. But there was an answer to that too… once push came to shove. And in the ashes, once the dust settled, Caerwyn knew he would be the one wearing the crown. Ready to lead the Empire into its next era of glory. All he needed now was patience.

Chapter 26

Calvin sat in the Arbor Café and waited. He took a corner table, so no one could surprise him from behind, and sat away from the window. There were only a few patrons here: an old woman, two old men, a mother with children, and a young disheveled man who sat nursing a black coffee. None of them struck Calvin as his informant, but he kept a watch on them all the same. While pretending to stare down at the display screen on his table and read the news.

“Would you like anything, sir?” asked one of the baristas as she approached him with a notepad and pen.

“Sure,” he said, knowing that if he sat there and didn’t order anything he would draw unwanted attention. “I’ll take a coffee with milk and sugar.”

The barista made a note and left. She returned a moment later with his drink and he thanked her.

“If there is anything else you need, please let me know,” she smiled at him.

He nodded and she left. When she was gone he made a show of sipping his coffee but he did not actually drink. He didn’t trust it. And he wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. He set the mug down and checked his watch, discovering that his mysterious informant was now officially late—by one minute. He would wait five minutes, he decided. If no one came by then Calvin would leave. No reason to sit here exposed. Especially if this was some kind of setup.

“Tell me you’ve got something for me,” he whispered. His concealed earpiece had an excellent microphone so he barely had to make any sound.

“Still nothing, sir,” said one of his observers. His people were keeping watch on the streets, giving him the heads-up of any suspicious activity that might be heading his way. In addition he had forces ready to swoop down on the Café and come to his aid, should the Khans or some other would-be assassin make a play. Calvin did not want a repeat of the motorcade incident.

He scanned over the top stories while he waited and found that new details had been released concerning the latest attack on Renora.

The planet, which was already in a major state of emergency and chaos, had been bombed from orbit. The newest buzz throughout the Network was that the ships that’d participated in the attack had flown the colors of the King. Calvin knew the King would never bomb his own people, but what mattered more at this point wasn’t so much what the facts were but rather what the citizens of the Empire believed the facts to be. And these rumors certainly didn’t bode well for the King, or for Kalila, or for Calvin for that matter—now that he was tied to the Akira family.

He was sure this attack had been a false flag operation, probably done by the Phoenix Ring, to further weaken the Akiran throne. He tried to take some small comfort in knowing that, once he’d done his job and tracked down the conspiracy’s leaders and exposed what they were doing, that this would all come to an end. But, as he imagined the death and chaos, the displaced families, the orphaned children, and the general slaughter that was going on… he wondered if this was partially his fault. Had he been more efficient, had he tracked down the conspiracy leaders sooner, perhaps he could have prevented this…

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. When he opened them again he discovered that there was a new top story. This one was coming out of the Republic; for once it wasn’t Imperial citizens but rather the Rotham who’d been affected. Apparently one of their planets, Cepheus, had been the victim of a brutal and unprovoked attack. The Republic was rushing ships and aid to the planet. The details were still sketchy and no one had been identified as the culprit. However, the Republic seemed to have ruled out the Imperial government and was calling it an isolated terrorist attack. Possibly done by “disenfranchised human radicals.”

From the initial reports, it looked every bit as dirty, and savage, and bloody, as the Renora attacks had been. Countless deaths, mostly to civilians. But the Cepheus situation had the potential to keep getting worse in a way the Renora situation didn’t. Once the ships had stopped firing on Renora, the rainfall of planetary bombardment rounds had ceased. Giving the survivors the chance to pick through the ashes and lick their wounds. But on Cepheus… the entire ecosystem was being affected, and food production on the planet was expected to decrease by over ninety-percent in the next year, possibly leading to mass starvations. There was even the chance that the planet, which was home to billions of people, would become uninhabitable. A massive planetary evacuation had never been attempted in all of history, but people on the Network were writing about what it would take to achieve if the worst should happen on Cepheus.

It was difficult, at this stage, to sort through all of the rumors and identify which ones were plausible and which were exaggerated or false, but one thing Calvin knew for sure… this had been a sick, and revolting action against innocents who’d had no skin the game. They weren’t the enemy. So why attack them?

This was Raidan’s work, Calvin realized. It seemed too dark, and too savage to be something Raidan would have done. But Calvin remembered the report Grady had given him not long ago, about how Raidan had likely stolen materials from Aleator that were components for extreme biological weapons. Calvin had intended to confront Raidan about it when he saw him, and demand answers, but he hadn’t gone to Raidan. He’d chosen to meet with the princess instead…

Damn me… He wondered if that meant he shared in some of the blame for this outrage. Was some of the blood of Cepheus on his hands too?

No, he couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t let himself become a martyr for others’ choices. He’d never wanted this attack to happen, and certainly never would have ordered it himself, so he wasn’t guilty… but if he wasn’t guilty, then why did he feel so… dead inside over this?

“We’ve got something for you,” said a voice over his earpiece. He snapped to attention and watched the door.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Female, about thirty-five years old, short brown hair, purple hat, lavender coat. She did a full perimeter sweep and is now heading directly for the café. She does not appear to be armed.”

“I see her,” said Calvin as a woman matching her description entered. She looked around the room for a moment, as if searching for something. Calvin watched her, careful not to stare. He had no intention of drawing attention to himself until he got a better sense of who she was and what she wanted.

“We’re running the photos we took through the computer system now, so far no matches,” said the voice in his ear. “Probably because she was too covered.”

The woman wore a scarf and sunglasses in addition to her coat and hat and, taken together, the outfit did a good job of making computer recognition analysis difficult—if not impossible. Calvin doubted this was a coincidence.

As the woman glanced over the room, her eyes eventually fell on Calvin. She walked very casually up to his table and took the seat opposite him.

“Nice hair,” she said. No doubt a comment on his altered appearance.

“Thanks,” he said, deflecting her sarcasm. Despite what she, and Rain, and others thought, he pulled off the dark hair look very well, as far as he was concerned. And it must have been authentic enough because it managed to fool the barista and everyone on the street into thinking he was someone else.

“I’ll get right down to it,” she said, taking off her sunglasses and meeting his gaze with vibrant chestnut eyes that matched her smooth, flawless skin. “I know who you are, I know you’re looking for Rafael Te Santos, and I know where you can find him.”

Calvin’s eyes scrutinized her. Wondering just who she was and how she knew any of this. Perhaps she was a Phoenix Ring operative who was trying to defect. “What do you want?” he asked her.

“Sanctuary,” she whispered. “I’m tired of running. I want sanctuary, and I want to help you take these bastards down.”

“And who are you?” he asked. Still not convinced of her good intentions.

“My operating name is Ice—my real name is Rosemarie—I work for the Organization.”

Things were beginning to make a lot more sense. “Why come to me?” asked Calvin. “Can’t the Organization protect you?”

“I haven’t been able to contact the Organization since I went dark, and—from what I can tell—most of our operation on Capital World had been removed, possibly even eliminated.”

Calvin knew that was true. The Organization’s presence on Capital World was being excised by someone, and the body count was not trivial. Even the rich and influential, people like Yanal Kemmer, were turning up dead.

“All right, I think a deal can be made,” said Calvin. “But first you have to give me something.”

“Anything,” she said.

“A weapon was recently deployed by the Organization on Cepheus, what can you tell me about it?” In truth he wasn’t sure if this former Organization operative, this Rosemarie, would know anything about it. It would make sense for her to only have information relevant to her mission, but she also struck Calvin as the type of person who made sure she was in the know. And he reasoned that there was about a half-chance that Rosemarie knew something about it.

“There is a weapon,” said Rosemarie. “And I have been following the news. The weapon that was deployed on Cepheus was definitely one of ours.”

“One?”

“Yes, one. There are at least three others. They were originally made as a possible response to a rumored super-weapon the Phoenix Ring was developing. That is all I know. If we fired one, and I’m sure we did, that could only mean they fired first.”

Calvin knew about the Phoenix Ring’s super-weapon, it was the isotome weapons. And, aside from the test firing that had resulted in the collapse of the TR-301 star, no isotome weapons had been fired. Which meant this attack on Cepheus was motivated by something else. He searched Rosemarie’s eyes, trying to decide if she was holding something back, but ultimately decided that she was being honest and forthcoming.

“Consider yourself in my protective custody,” said Calvin. A look of relief washed over Rosemarie’s face. “We are going after Rafael first thing. You said you knew where I could find him, so I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I don’t know exactly where he is specifically,” she admitted. And then quickly added, “but I know the locations of a series of secret prisons the Phoenix Ring uses. He is likely in one of them… if he is still alive.”

Her comments didn’t instill a lot of confidence in Calvin but he had what he wanted, another lead. He could finally resume the hunt.

“I also know that the Phoenix Ring has a primary bunker. A secure facility where they will await their transition into power, once they believe the government is about to fall into their hands. The easiest time to catch them all is to corner them there, once they’re all together.”

Now that was something Calvin could work with. “Where is this bunker?”

“Unfortunately I do not know,” said Rosemarie. “Even when I had infiltrated the Phoenix Ring at the very deepest I could go, they never trusted me with its location. But I do know that it exists.”

At least that was something. Perhaps Rafael could tell them more.

“There’s something else,” said Rosemarie. Calvin looked at her curiously. “One of the top members of the Phoenix Ring—I don’t know his real identity but his seconds and thirds always called him Duke–I believe he could be turned. If we separate him from all of the others, and make it clear to him that they’ve lost, he’ll spill everything. I’m sure of it.”

Calvin nodded. That man, this Duke, was what he could take to the Assembly. His testimony and Calvin’s evidence should hopefully be enough to stop the vote against King Akira, if such a motion ever got through.

 “All units converge on my position,” said Calvin to his earpiece. “I’m taking the informant into protective custody immediately.”

***

“I need you to get results.” Though he couldn’t be sure through the comm display, Calvin thought he saw fear in Kalila’s eyes as she spoke.

Every time that he’d seen her before, she’d always been composed and in control, and even now she still radiated a commanding presence, but there was something different today. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days, and he saw something else too—dread.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, feeling warm concern. They’d had only occasional contact since he’d started his investigation. Kalila had to see to the needs of the Assembly, but Calvin still thought about her. And still relished every moment he had with her.

“I’m fine,” she said abruptly. “But our time is running out. I cannot stress that enough. I need you to complete your investigation—and soon.”

“I’m getting there, My Lady,” said Calvin. “My interrogations are making progress. I have new leads I’m following. Even as we speak, I’m even planning a mission to rescue my lost operative; I’m confident that we will get to the bottom of this. I just need more time.”

“I’ll give you what time I can,” said Kalila. “But don’t count on much. A vote has been called in the Assembly, they want to revoke my father’s crown.”

Calvin’s eyes widened. He’d known this was coming, they all did, but still… speculating about something and hearing it aloud were very different things.

“I have rallied my supporters and managed to block the motion… for now. But I know I can’t stall the Assembly forever, especially as the endless tides of bad news keep pouring out of Renora. If I lose the support of even one House—one—then my power in the Assembly is finished and the Martels, the Conroys, the Sabels, and all the rest of them will have their way. I need to bring allegations of my own before the Assembly. I have to expose this conspiracy, Calvin. And I have to do it soon.”

He understood now. She wasn’t ordering him to accelerate his investigation, she was pleading with him. Begging him to do all he could. Time really was of the essence, then, he realized. He’d always known that it would be better for everyone if he unraveled the conspiracy as fast as he could, but he never would have guessed the Akiran position would become so frail so soon.

“I promise you,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “I will get to the bottom of this as fast as I possibly can. I won’t let them steal your father’s throne.” If King Akira lost his throne, Calvin was sure it would spell doom for the Empire as it split into weakened factions while the Rotham and Polarians would sweep in and claim what they liked. A chilling thought. And one that didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

“Thank you,” said Kalila. “I cannot stress the urgency enough.”

The call terminated.

Chapter 27

“She has blocked my motion in the Assembly, and so long as she retains her supporters, there will be no Ascension,” said Caerwyn. As usual his pudgy face flushed red and he could not hide his frustration.

“All things are moving along according to plan,” said Zane in his most reassuring tone. “Patience.”

“Not good enough,” said Caerwyn. “I need to know that there is some kind of plan, some kind of action you are going to take, to make certain my challenge to the Akiran throne becomes effectual. If we wait too long and the situation on Renora were to stabilize, for instance, that might backfire and demonstrate to the Assembly members that the King is a capable leader. I might be the one losing support from my political faction!”

“You have nothing to fear,” said Zane. His older brother was able to manage himself in public but in private, especially when he was only among family, Caerwyn could be an emotional loose cannon. It was one of many weaknesses he had, but Zane was grateful for those weaknesses—despite the liability they sometimes presented. Because manipulation of those weaknesses would be how Zane would control the Empire after his brother had assumed the throne.

“It is a simple thing to tell me I have no cause for fear—but it does nothing to reassure me.”

“Renora is going to get worse, not better. Already the planet is in a total state of rebellion and the King’s troops are on the retreat. My people will continue their efforts and soon the King’s soldiers and his Prefect will be forced to abandon the planet. It will be seen as a spectacular failure.”

Caerwyn looked pleased to hear this, but not entirely reassured. “Who knows how long that will take. We need something else, something more. We must strike while the iron is hot. All I must do is convince one House to abandon the Akiras.”

Zane agreed with his brother, though for slightly more complex reasons. Caerwyn did not know how close the Executor was to uncovering all of their plans and unraveling all their hard work. Therefore Ascension could not be postponed or delayed. If anything, it needed to be accelerated. Fortunately Zane had planned for this, and had an ace up his sleeve—two aces, really.

“I was thinking you could create another incident,” said Caerwyn. “Something to further shake support from the King. Possibly a terrorist attack on Capital World itself—”

“No,” said Zane. He did not usually interrupt his older brother, but he had no time to humor fruitless plans of terrorist attacks on Capital World. “The wheels are already in motion,” he said. “You will have the Assembly dancing on your palm very soon.”

Caerwyn looked at him curiously. “How?”

“There are two ships—two very important ships—they have been ‘missing’ but they’re about to be found. Even now they are on their way to Capital World. When they arrive, you must summon their captains before the Assembly to testify.”

“What for? I don’t want to distract the Assembly with an investigation into missing ships.”

“Trust me,” said Zane, flashing a crooked smile, “you’re going to like what they have to say.”

***

The comm panel beeped multiple times, indicated a secure, encrypted, high-priority source was hailing him over kataspace. Raidan tapped the panel and input the command prefix and security codes to connect the call.

Tristan’s face appeared on the small display, he still wore the uniform of a navy captain.

“Did you do it?” asked Raidan. It was the first he’d heard from Tristan since he’d dispatched the Arcane Storm to the deadspace coordinates.

“We trawled every cubic inch of the coordinates you gave us, like you asked,” said Tristan.

“And?”

“No isotome weapons,” he said.

Raidan wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or panic at this news. Hopefully his information had been wrong and there hadn’t been more isotome weapons—but more than likely they did exist, and they had been hidden in the region like his people suspected, and had since been retrieved.

As if reading his mind, Tristan confirmed Raidan’s suspicion. “We did find something though. Jump signatures. Pretty faded but not so faded that we didn’t see them. Between the time that the Nighthawk and the Arcane Storm left and my return to the region, someone was here. My guess is they came, took possession of the isotome weapons, and then left.”

“How long ago?” asked Raidan.

“A day or two at the most,” said Tristan. “We just missed them.”

“Were you able to identify the ships?”

“We took the best scans we could but the computer on the Arcane Storm isn’t good at that kind of thing. I suggest we send the data over to the Nighthawk and let its computer crunch the math.”

“I agree,” said Raidan. “Send everything you have to the Harbinger and I’ll see that it gets distributed to the Nighthawk. I’ll also forward it to White Rook and she can get one of the other groups working on this. As far as I’m concerned, those missing isotome weapons are threat number one.”

“I’ll see that it’s done,” said Tristan. “Now, what are your next orders for the Arcane Storm?”

“I have a feeling things are about to get very hot near the DMZ. I need eyes over there. Go to that region of space and keep tabs on things. Let me know if you see any… unusual border crossings. But be careful not to engage any incoming ships.”

Tristan saluted. “I’ll go immediately.”

“Very good,” said Raidan and he terminated the call.

Once the Arcane Storm had uploaded all of its data to the Harbinger via kataspace, Raidan had it sent to the Nighthawk and to White Rook. He included a note to Summers Presley to begin investigating this new information immediately, stating that it concerned isotome weapons that were likely in enemy hands. He also included a note to White Rook explaining the threat and requesting specific assistance in analyzing the data. He also asked for another group to be positioned near the DMZ. Their ships should be prepped and ready for an interdiction operation just as soon as they could identify the ships thought to be carrying the isotome weapons. The operation would be of the succeed-at-any-cost variety, and the captains of those ships needed to be prepared to lose their lives if necessary to eliminate those weapons.

Commander Presley acknowledged him and said that the Nighthawk’s computer and analysts would get to work on the data immediately. But she also made the unusual request—no demand—to meet with Raidan in person. Summers had her charms and Raidan welcomed the chance to see her again, they had worked as a command team for a long time after all. But he was suspicious of Summers’ motives.

“Very well, I agree,” he said, transmitting his reply to the Nighthawk.

While he awaited Summers’ arrival, he received word back from White Rook. She acknowledged his request and said that she would do everything she could. Raidan understood that the Organization’s resources were pressed thin, and that their reach had been significantly reduced, but he took White Rook’s message as a positive sign. White Rook also provided him with an update on what was happening on Cepheus. Raidan scanned through the documents with some hesitation. It was like staring at a gruesome accident, revolting to look at and yet too fascinating to avert one’s eyes from—except made worse because Raidan knew he’d been the catalyst behind all the destruction.

The death toll was high and rising, the planet’s eco-system was struggling, and there were panicked riots across the surface. The Rotham Republic was having to divert considerable resources to deal with the problem. Relief ships by the thousand, and even troop transports. The Republic was even considering the logistics of a planet-wide evacuation, though Raidan knew it wouldn’t come to that.

“What have I done?” he whispered as he read through the unapologetic, unflinching reports. They were cold statements of fact about the suffering of very real people—in numbers he could scarcely imagine. And still there remained weapons to be fired. Hopefully… it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did… he knew what he had to do. “May our children forgive us,” he whispered.

The important details were all positive. The Republic was not blaming the Empire for the attack, which was good—Raidan’s greatest fear had been that he would accidentally trigger a war between the Republic and the Empire—and by all accounts the Rotham investigators had recovered the evidence the Organization had planted to implicate the Phoenix Ring. All the hushed talk was about MXR and its involvement in the attack, and things looked very positive that the Rotham element of the conspiracy was breaking ties with the human conspirators. If they were very lucky, this would lead to the Phoenix Ring’s collapse.

Eventually he closed the reports and tried to clear his head. He took a sip of whiskey and waited for Summers Presley to arrive. He considered greeting her the instant she came aboard, for old time’s sake, but decided that she should come to him instead.

***

When Summers boarded the Harbinger, she did so with mixed feelings. Everything about it from its haunted grim-grey walls to its cautiously-secretive staff—whose voices all dropped to whispers around her—felt wrong and out-of-place. This giant metal beast, this behemoth, was like a great statue that soared the stars in tribute to Raidan, and his lies, and his deceit, and everything that was wrong and illegitimate about the galaxy.

But it also served a purpose. And, in so far as Calvin believed that cooperating with Raidan would help them to restore the Empire, Summers was willing to play nice and make things work—but she had every intention of seeing Raidan brought to justice when this was through. For that matter she was ready to stand and account for her actions as well, and accept the consequences.

Her escort took her through the ship and up several decks until they arrived at the bridge. It was probably the largest control center she’d ever seen, aside from a starbase, and she was amazed by the number of people who attended to so many terminals and coordinated with other staff throughout the ship. There was so much foot traffic, and so many people coming and going, that no one paid her any attention. Her escort led her to an adjoining office and pressed a button, announcing her arrival. The person on the other side of the door buzzed her in and Summers took a moment to steel her nerves before entering.

She was greeted by a blank office with almost no décor. On the far side was an old-fashioned cedar desk with a whiskey bottle on top of it. Raidan sat in his chair, head resting on his hands, and he watched her enter in silence—almost studying her. She felt uncomfortable and seeing him, and his striking eyes, sent a flurry of emotions through her.

“Hello Captain,” she said, in the most neutral voice she could. The door slid closed behind her.

“Commander,” said Raidan. “I take it you have some kind of concern about the ongoing repair of your ship?”

“No, the repair and resupply is going fine,” said Summers. “That is not why I’m here.”

“Well then, what can I do for you, Commander?” He leaned back in his chair looking very comfortable, very in control. Summers wasn’t about to let him phase her. She cleared her throat.

“I’m here for one reason, and one alone,” she said. Noting a look of curiosity come over Raidan’s face. He did not interrupt her. “I know that you contacted Calvin, back when we’d just taken control of the Arcane Storm,” said Summers. “And I know that you told him you had something urgent to tell him, something that you would not trust to kataspace. Calvin sent Second Lieutenant Vargas in his place to meet with you, as his representative. And Vargas had instructions to hear what you had to say. I also know that you didn’t trust Mister Vargas with knowledge of this urgent matter, for whatever reason. I am here to find out what it is.” She folded her arms.

A slight, crooked grin spread across Raidan’s lips. He looked humored, not threatened. Summers got the impression Raidan wasn’t taking her seriously.

“Well?” pressed Summers.

“Technically Calvin contacted me, I didn’t contact him,” said Raidan.

“And?”

Raidan stared at Summers for a moment, meeting her eyes with his piercing, cunning orbs. Almost disarming her. It took everything Summers had to meet his gaze and not look away. She reminded herself why she was here, and what Raidan had done—and what Raidan was capable of—and that helped her find her innermost steel.

“Mister Vargas wasn’t Calvin. I see no reason why I should share classified information with him that was meant for Calvin’s ears, and Calvin’s ears only,” said Raidan at last. “Especially when Calvin specifically told me that he would meet me, as arranged, and instead he sends a lesser officer in his place. And breaks our arrangement.” Raidan allowed no emotion to inflect his tone, he spoke so matter-of-factly it was as if he were a robot, but Summers knew him better than that. She could tell he was personally offended by Calvin’s decision to snub him and meet with Kalila instead.

“Calvin had other business to attend to,” said Summers. “Otherwise he would have met with you as agreed. He and I, together, made the decision that the other matter was more urgent.”

“And what was this other matter, I wonder,” said Raidan. “Something that somehow resulted in Calvin’s appointment as Executor of the Empire,” he said. “Clearly Calvin met with the princess and made some kind of deal with the Akira House,” said Raidan, as if it were as plain and simple to him as a child’s puzzle. “But it does beg the question… why did Calvin choose not to trust me with this information?”

“Calvin was commanded not to trust anyone with it,” said Summers automatically. “I’m sure he would have told you if he had been at liberty to do so.”

“And yet he told you,” Raidan raised an eyebrow.

Summers wasn’t sure what to say. Raidan was right, Calvin had violated his orders from Kalila to inform Summers—for which Summers was grateful—but there was no denying that it showed Calvin trusted Summers more than he trusted Raidan. A wise choice, but a hard one to explain to Raidan himself.

“It weakens an alliance for trusted allies to withhold information from each other,” said Raidan. “And to arrange secret deals under the table without the other’s knowledge. Makes one question a man’s loyalty,” said Raidan. Summers felt eerily like Raidan was playing a game with her, as if testing her in some way. She shrugged it off.

“The situation is what it is,” said Summers. “We all want to see the Empire purged of corruption and restored to its proper order. Calvin did what he had to do to get into a position where he could combat the corruption directly, and he is hard at work on Capital World going after the most rotten core of the conspiracy. You, of all people, should be able to respect and understand his motives.” Now it was her turn to challenge him. Her eyes narrowed and she watched him closely.

“As it happens, Commander,” said Raidan, “our interests do align, and so I am not upset with Calvin. Nor do I see his actions as a personal betrayal. I’m proud of what he’s doing; his efforts might be the thin line that protects us from the darker elements of this conspiracy—which goes far deeper than you can imagine. In fact, I intend to enable and assist Calvin in every way that I possibly can. However, I cannot tell you what I was going to tell him. I’m sorry.”

Summers wasn’t pleased. “I’ll have you know that I have Calvin’s full trust and confidence. And I command his ship, and his crew, in his absence. If there was something you needed him to know, or something you wanted him to do, you should tell me. And perhaps I will do it in his stead—so long as it’s in the best interest of the Empire.”

Raidan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commander. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know it was something for which you gave him a twenty-four hour timeframe,” said Summers, recalling her conversation with Calvin. “A time period that now has already lapsed. But I still want to know what it was, and whether or not it’s a consideration that is still in play.”

“The time period has lapsed,” said Raidan. “The opportunity is not nearly what it was, but it’s still in play.” He looked at her squarely. “And if Calvin wants to know, he’ll have to come tell me that himself.” There was no compromise in Raidan’s eyes, nor did he seem willing to negotiate. Summers wasn’t sure whether this refusal was Raidan’s way of punishing Calvin for breaking their rendezvous, or if he simply did not trust Summers enough to tell her. Perhaps it was both.

“Fine,” said Summers, realizing there was no longer a point in prolonging this discussion. “But don’t take Calvin’s support—or mine—for granted. I’ll be watching you.” Her eyes narrowed sharply.

Raidan grinned slightly. “I hope you do.”

Chapter 28

All of the military channels were abuzz with the news; Calvin followed the developments closely, wondering whether it would prove beneficial or detrimental to his cause. He couldn’t see how it was bad news, but on the other hand there was a strangeness to the timing. Almost like this was part of some kind of plan, some kind of design.

The Andromeda, which had been officially missing since the action at Abia, had returned. Only hours ago it’d dropped out of alteredspace in Capital System and docked with one of the orbital outposts. From the images Calvin had found of it, and the reports he unearthed, the ship was intact and undamaged. With no scars or signs of the fierce battle it’d taken part in at Abia. Calvin hoped Vice Admiral Harkov was still in command of the mighty vessel, if she was she could testify to the Assembly of the betrayal that’d happened in Abia—further strengthening Calvin’s case that a conspiracy was afoot. During the fight the Andromeda’s own flotilla had fired on itself, battleships turning against the flagship and the destroyers. Within minutes the flotilla had been shredded to space dust, all but the Andromeda. Which had narrowly escaped destruction. If Harkov told the Representatives of the Assembly, and everyone else, about the carnage that had happened in Abia. About how human ships had fired upon other human ships, and how brothers had slain brothers in a pointless bloody slaughter…it might be enough to shake free some of Caerwyn Martel’s supporters. And bring them over to Kalila’s side. Maybe then Calvin would have more time to round up the conspiracy’s leaders and expose the Phoenix Ring. And the Empire would be saved.

But, as hopeful of a sign as the Andromeda’s return was, troubling thoughts persisted. Why had the ship gone missing? Why had it mysteriously returned—and chosen this moment to do so. And perhaps most curious of all, how had the ship been repaired? Who had arranged for and paid for those repairs? And why were the Intel Wing archives and the military databases silent on the matter. How had the Empire’s best resources and information gathering agencies been kept in the dark?

Calvin wondered if perhaps this Andromeda was not the real Andromeda. Kalila’s extremely powerful dreadnought, the Black Swan, had been effectively cloned and built by a foreign power. Was the same thing possible for the Andromeda? It seemed hard to believe. The Andromeda was an alpha-class ship, much like the Black Swan, but I seemed far too expensive and ludicrous an undertaking for someone to build not one but two alpha-class ships without word getting to Intel Wing. But… Calvin couldn’t rule it out. He supposed he would know for sure whether this ship was legitimate once members of its crew went aboard the orbital station and were seen. It was one thing to clone a ship. But it was quite another to clone an entire crew. Sure, there were replicants here and there who’d replaced some critical personnel—Calvin knew. But there was no way the Phoenix Ring had made a thousand unique replicants to replace the entire crew of the Andromeda. It was impossible. Calvin was sure.

There was other interesting news, the Andromeda hadn’t been the only high-profile ship to appear in Capital System in the last several hours. The Desert Eagle had come as well. And though that ship hadn’t been missing—and its presence shouldn’t be too shocking or inexplicable—Calvin still found it strange. Last he’d known, Nimoux had been tasked with hunting him down. And, while Calvin was no longer a fugitive and the order to capture him had been rescinded, the order to capture the Nighthawk was still in play. Calvin had assumed that Nimoux and his taskforce of ships had been hunting after Summers and the others. A concern that had heightened his anxiety and made sleep difficult. The Nighthawk was in no condition for a fight and Summers and the others weren’t truly a match for Nimoux and his unparalleled skill at deduction and intelligence gathering. Calvin had only managed to comfort himself with the memory that Nimoux wanted the Nighthawk taken alive and intact—he’d prevented the Phoenix from destroying the ship after all.

But, now that the Desert Eagle was here, clearly not pursuing the Nighthawk, it meant one of two things. Either the Nighthawk had been captured or destroyed—which Calvin would have heard about—or else Nimoux had been pulled off the hunt.

It made Calvin wonder what mission could possibly be more important to the Phoenix Ring. How did they plan to use Nimoux, the most brilliant operative in all of Intel Wing, to further their depraved agenda? He had no clue. Maybe, if Calvin was lucky, Nimoux was here for his own purposes. Maybe he’d taken Calvin’s warning seriously and, after spying the Rotham fleet in Remus System, Nimoux had put two and two together and was now doing what he could to get to the bottom of things and save the Empire. Nimoux was certainly smart enough to realize things were amiss and Intel Wing had been compromised. Hopefully that was exactly what had happened. Perhaps he’d come to Capital World to warn the Assembly in person that a Rotham fleet had crossed into Imperial space. Calvin knew that Nimoux had gone before the Assembly before, and that his reputation carried considerable weight, so if Nimoux was willing to testify of the things he’d seen—and Calvin believed him to be a man of integrity—it would go a long way toward convincing the Assembly that there was an imminent threat. Which should, if there was any logic to the universe, convince more of them to support Kalila and the monarch. So it was difficult for Calvin to see how this was bad news. Though the strangeness of the timing, both for the Desert Eagle and the Andromeda, did give him a haunted sense of foreboding.

He continued to keep tabs on these developments as he resumed work on his investigation. With Rosemarie’s help Calvin was able to pinpoint where the Intel Wing prisons were—the interrogation houses that were completely off the books—and he was making arrangements for a simultaneous raids on all of them. Nearly every piece was in place now, and soon—he was sure—he’d find Rafael. Hopefully alive. But Calvin knew better than to assume all would be well.

His concentration was interrupted by a high level message. Kalila warned him that he would be called before the Assembly in very little time. That he should prepare himself. And, before Calvin could process what it meant, he received the official summons. He was ordered before the Assembly immediately. He gave the order for the raids to begin. Then he headed for the door without taking even a minute to adjust his appearance or put on nicer clothes. If the Assembly wanted to see him immediately, he decided it was best to get there as soon as he could.

***

After being sworn in, Calvin took his place on the Assembly Floor next to Kalila on one of the witness tables. He noted that several people sat at the opposite table, chief among them were Vice Admiral Harkov and Captain Lafayette Nimoux. They wore their military dress uniforms and showed none of the signs of wear or fatigue Calvin would have expected. He wondered why they were here, and supposed that the Assembly had called an emergency session to uncover the mystery of the Andromeda’s disappearance.

It wasn’t every day that one of the flagships, and one of the most powerful vessels in the entire Imperial war-machine, vanishes for weeks and then inexplicably resurfaces. So it only made sense that Harkov would be summoned. Nimoux’s presence was a little harder to understand, but Calvin guessed that the Assembly had asked him to attend in order to gain his insight. He was a trusted person here, and none of the political factions—no matter how diametrically opposed they were—had anything but respect for Nimoux. Though it did seem strange that Nimoux had been seated with Vice Admiral Harkov…

“This isn’t going to be good for us,” whispered Kalila. “I can feel it.”

Calvin too felt pessimistic and concerned, though he didn’t know why. So far there wasn’t anything so strange that it defied explanation, and he couldn’t think of any motives that would lead either Harkov or Nimoux to testify to things that would hurt Calvin’s investigation or Kalila’s influence in the Assembly. Perhaps this was merely a red herring to delay Calvin’s efforts and slow down his investigation. If so, it wouldn’t work; he wouldn’t let it. Even now his people were raiding Intel Wing’s secret prisons, making arrests, and—if the universe was kind—liberating Rafael.

“This session of the Assembly has been called to investigate the disappearance of the Imperial Military Starship Andromeda, and to consider sworn statements and testimony of Vice Admiral Harkov, Captain Lafayette Nimoux, and Lieutenant Commander Calvin Cross who is also the Executor of the Empire,” said Representative Tate, presiding. She sat on the centermost platform with the two other members of the Defense Committee at her sides, Representatives Lekovic and O’Neil—both of whom also sat on the committee on Internal Security. Calvin wondered why his name was being included, and what the Assembly wished to glean from him. He was more than happy to cooperate, but the amalgamation of his testimony along with Harkov’s and Nimoux’s seemed like a strange, almost suspicious combination.

“The Members of the Assembly have been provided with copies of the sworn statements,” continued Representative Tate. “And everyone here should have had ample time to review them.” Calvin wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

He gave Kalila a confused look and the princess tapped the table, using its electronic interface to pull up pictures of several documents. Calvin gave them a cursory scan and found what appeared to be affidavits by the senior officers of the Desert Eagle and the Andromeda. They confirmed that the Desert Eagle had been hunting the Nighthawk, mostly unsuccessfully, the details were sketchy. There was no mention—that Calvin could see—of anything that’d happened at Remus System. Nor was there any mention that the Desert Eagle had followed the Nighthawk into the DMZ. As for the Andromeda, the documents relating to it were more interesting. They went into depth and were quite long but, after skimming through several of them, Calvin gleaned that they were a report of events leading up to the Andromeda’s disappearance and a record of what had happened during its mysterious absence. Calvin was sure it would make fascinating reading.

“The Committee on Defense, representing the interests and authority of the Assembly, call Vice Admiral Harkov as a special witness to the matter at hand,” said Representative Tate.

Harkov bent the microphone in front of her and moved it closer to her lips.

“Admiral,” said Representative Tate. “You have already risen and taken the oath, so you should consider yourself under oath until these proceedings are complete. Do you understand?”

“I do,” said Harkov. Calvin recognized her voice. And remembered how the Vice Admiral had refused to speak up on his behalf during Raidan’s trial on Praxis One.

“You may take five minutes at this time for an opening statement if you so choose, Admiral. You may also submit a longer opening statement for the record if you wish.”

“I would like the Assembly to consider the materials I have already provided to be my official statement,” said Vice Admiral Harkov.

“Duly noted,” said Representative Tate. “The Committee on Defense also recognizes Captain Lafayette Nimoux on the witness stand. Additionally the Committee recognizes the presence of Lieutenant Command Calvin Cross who is also serving in the capacity of Executor of the Empire. However the matter before us today is not regarding his work as Executor but rather his record as the commander of the Intelligence Wing starship Nighthawk. Mister Cross he will henceforth be referred to as Lieutenant Commander or Mister Cross and not Mister Executor for the duration of these proceedings. Do you understand, Mister Cross?” Tate looked at him.

“Yes,” said Calvin. In truth he didn’t understand why he was here, or why his record as an Intel Wing CO was at issue, but perhaps this would mean an opportunity to expose some of the darker parts of the conspiracy rotting away the soul of their government, dark things that he and his crew had witnessed. As had Harkov and Nimoux.

“Both of you have also been sworn in and read the oath, so you should both consider yourselves under oath until the conclusion of these proceedings, do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Calvin and Nimoux in sequence.

“Do either of you have a prepared opening statement you would like to give or else submit for the record?” asked Representative Tate.

“I would like the documents I have already submitted to be considered my official statement,” said Nimoux.

Calvin wondered why Nimoux and Harkov had had advance-enough knowledge of this meeting to prepare official statements while Calvin hadn’t known a thing until he’d been summoned. “I do not have a prepared statement,” he said, once he realized all eyes were on him.

“So noted,” said Representative Tate. “I will now proceed directly into questioning.” She cleared her throat. “Admiral, please give us your account of events leading up to the disappearance of your vessel, the ISS Andromeda.”

“It’s all in the record,” said Harkov. “I have nothing to add.”

“I see. And you maintain that your ship was hunting the IWS Nighthawk on special orders when everything happened?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Harkov. Calvin looked at her, wondering if she would go into details about what had happened at Abia or if he’d have to bring it up. “The Andromeda was part of three separately assigned taskforces that were given orders to capture the IWS Nighthawk,” said Harkov. “There was a flotilla of ships pursuing the Nighthawk, led by the ISS Avenger, and the Andromeda was of course pursuing the Nighthawk, and lastly the IWS Desert Eagle led by Captain Nimoux was pursuing the Nighthawk.”

That wasn’t true. Calvin knew for a fact that the Desert Eagle hadn’t been assigned to chase after him until later—Rafael had sent him a warning once it was fed through Intel Wing channels that Nimoux had been assigned to take on the Nighthawk, which had been after the Andromeda disappeared. Also, there had been no mysterious other flotilla of ships assigned to capture the Nighthawk; the only flotilla has been under the Andromeda’s direct command. And they’d flown as a group.

“The Nighthawk was coordinating with the rogue vessel ISS Harbinger—which is still at large,” said Harkov. “Along with several other ships. The flotilla chasing the Nighthawk was led into an ambush and destroyed by the Nighthawk, the Harbinger, and other vessels—”

“WHAT?” shouted Calvin, unable to believe what he was hearing. Did the Vice Admiral just accuse him of destroying the flotilla? Firing on Imperial starships and slaughtering thousands of people? The same starships that had, in fact, fired on the Andromeda while Calvin and his crew were prisoners on a Rotham battleship.

“Out of order, Lieutenant Commander,” snapped Representative Tate. She gave him a harsh look then turned back to Harkov. “Please continue, Admiral.”

Calvin tried to make sense of this. And he immediately came to the conclusion that either the Vice Admiral was being paid off, that she’d somehow been recruited by the Phoenix Ring, or else the person who sat before him was in actuality a replicant. He didn’t know how it was possible. But he couldn’t fight the nagging suspicion that it was true. If only there were some way for him to force a senior admiral to take a dose of equarius… but there was none he could think of.

“By the time the Andromeda arrived on the scene, the flotilla was already destroyed—like I said. We weren’t sure what to make of it, so we began investigating the debris trying to determine what had happened. We followed a series of alteredspace jump signatures and were able to identify that the Nighthawk, the Harbinger, and several other ships—all of which are identified in the report I submitted—had in fact been on the scene. We followed the trail for jump signatures and debris across Imperial space and into Polarian territory. Eventually the trail ran cold and we returned to Capital System.”

“You claim that the Andromeda was missing for weeks and during that entire time you were pursuing the Nighthawk and the Harbinger, according to orders?” asked Representative Tate. She seemed to think it was plausible, but seemed not entirely convinced.

“That is correct. The Andromeda was unable to jump to a depth exceeding seventy-percent and we traversed a large swathe of space, it took a great deal of time,” said Harkov.

Calvin wasn’t sure what was motivating Harkov to tell this lie to the Assembly. He clearly remembered seeing a beaten and battered Andromeda leave Abia after fighting, and destroying, its own escorting battleships.

“Why did your ship fail to respond to communiques and make no reports during that time? Is it not standard procedure to maintain regular contact with the Fleet?” asked Representative Tate.

“It is standard procedure to do so, that is correct,” said Harkov. “However we had been given special orders to maintain complete radio and kataspace silence. At the time it was believed that any transmissions sent from our ship would lead to the Nighthawk or the Harbinger being able to determine our position.”

Calvin had made a similar lie when he’d been forced to justify his communications lockout to Major Jenkins. According to Shen, whose technical expertise was unmatched, such a threat was not plausible. A ship’s location could not be determined in alteredspace from kataspace transmissions.

“If you had been given orders to maintain silence, Admiral, then why did the Fleet report the Andromeda as missing?” asked Representative Tate.

“There was a miscommunication between different branches of the Fleet and the one who gave us the order, Fleet Admiral Tiberon, did not communicate our mission to the rest of the Fleet.”

Calvin doubted that was a believable story. He knew the Fleet better than that—it didn’t make these kind of massive mistakes and miscommunications. Losing track of the Fifth Fleet’s flagship in such a way was far too sloppy to be believable. Calvin was sure Representative Tate would see through the flimsy lie… but she didn’t challenge it except to say that Admiral Tiberon, once he returned from Atria Prime, would be called before the Assembly to verify the story. This was only a formality, however, since his office had already forwarded a statement that corroborated Harkov’s ridiculous claim. Calvin made a mental note to add Tiberon to his list of people to investigate.

“What about Abia, Admiral?” asked Calvin, interrupting Representative Tate as she thanked Vice Admiral Harkov for her service.

“Once again, you are out of order, Lieuten—”

“I will speak,” said Calvin, cutting in. It was a breach of protocol but to hell with protocol. He couldn’t let these lies go unchallenged. He glanced at Kalila, wanting to make sure he had her support. She nodded.

“Mister Cross, you may not—”

“What about Abia, Admiral?” asked Calvin, interrupting Representative Tate again. He looked at Harkov, challenging her with his eyes.

Harkov cleared her throat, then leaned into the mic. “What Mister Cross is referring to is a system inside the Empire—it’s the location where the Nighthawk, the Harbinger, and the other rebel ships ambushed the Imperial flotilla and destroyed it.”

“That is not true,” said Calvin. “When my ship arrived at Abia it was captured by a Rotham squadron.” He looked away from Harkov and stared at each member of the Defense Committee in sequence, making eye contact. “A Rotham squadron. Deep inside Imperial space. The Andromeda arrived with the flotilla, as its command ship, and prepared to engage the Rotham ships. Before they could exchange fire with the alien vessels, however, the battleships from the Imperial flotilla opened fire on the Andromeda and the destroyers. The Andromeda returned fire. All ships, except for the Andromeda, were destroyed. The Andromeda then fled the system and that is when it disappeared.”

There were murmurs throughout the room. No doubt his claim was a bold one. It was, however, the unequivocal truth.

“If your ship was captured by a Rotham squadron,” said Representative Lekovic, speaking up for the first time during this session, “then how did it and you escape? And why would such a force, which mysteriously evaded all of our detection systems, be inside Imperial space?”

“I cannot speculate as to the motives of the Rotham squadron. However, I have some evidence that high-ranking members in this government, including some inside this very Assembly, are part of a large conspiracy and are cooperating with foreign agents—including, most likely, the Rotham squadron.”

His words created an uproar and the chamber filled with noise. Representative Tate had to call the Assembly Floor to order. Those in attendance sounded with such dissonance it was as if Calvin had personally accused each and every one of them of treason.

“And you escaped this Rotham force—which was never seen or heard from again—how exactly?” pressed Lekovic.

“The Harbinger and other renegade ships did arrive on the scene and participate in the battle, but only after the Andromeda had fled and the Imperial flotilla was destroyed. The Harbinger and its squadron defeated the Rotham squadron—of which only a few ships escaped, which is probably why it wasn’t seen or heard from again—and then the Harbinger sent troops aboard the ship we were imprisoned on and liberated us.”

“At which point the Harbinger simply let you go?”

“Yes,” said Calvin, though that wasn’t entirely true. Raidan had asked Calvin to come to Gemini—which Calvin had done willingly—but had he refused… it was likely Raidan would have forced him to come to Gemini anyway.

“Quite the fanciful tale,” said Lekovic and laughter filled the chamber.

“It’s the truth,” said Calvin. “I swear upon my sacred honor.”

“The honor of a renegade,” said Lekovic.

The chamber reacted with “ooh’s” and curious intrigue. Was a member of the Defense Committee, and the Internal Security Committee, accusing the Executor of the Empire—whose name had been cleared by the King’s authority—of sedition and disloyalty to the Crown? Perhaps Lekovic was a member of the Phoenix Ring, Calvin thought.

“Watch your tone,” said Kalila, finally speaking up. Her words carried a commanding tone. “I remind you that Mister Cross has been appointed by the Crown and serves the Empire loyally. You would do well to remember that.”

“I apologize, Your Grace,” said Lekovic in a speedy backpedal. “I meant only that, at the time of this alleged incident with the Rotham squadron, Mister Cross was a renegade. Officially being pursued by agents of the Fleet and Intel Wing. That is an indisputable fact.”

“He was being pursued under false pretenses and for unjust reasons,” said Kalila, fire in her voice. “Because of that his name has been cleared, not just for the present but also the past.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Lekovic.

“Admiral Harkov,” said Representative Tate, “would you care to respond to Mister Cross’s allegations? Did your ship exchange fire with the Imperial flotilla?”

“There is not a shred of truth to these allegations,” said Vice Admiral Harkov. “The flotilla was destroyed by the Nighthawk and the Harbinger and other renegade warships. The flotilla had been given the assignment to capture or destroy all of those vessels, so they had motive in ambushing it. Certainly there was no friendly-fire. What would possibly motivate commanders from my own fleet, the Fifth Fleet, to fire on one another? It makes no sense. Surely this honored Assembly can see that the truth—that the Nighthawk and Harbinger destroyed the flotilla before the Andromeda arrived—is far more plausible than Mister Cross’s claim that we destroyed ourselves, in the presence of an alien, and probably hostile, force.”

This seemed to win a positive reaction from the crowd. Calvin could tell from the timber of the noise that people seemed to be assenting and sympathetic, and when put like that—Harkov’s version of events did sound more believable. But that didn’t change the fact that it was completely false. Calvin looked at the Admiral, and remembered how he and other commanding officers, including Harkov, had dined together while awaiting the verdict of Raidan’s trial on Praxis One. Harkov had seemed so normal then, certainly she hadn’t struck Calvin as a player in the conspiracy. Yet here she was, spinning lies before the Assembly. Attempting to discredit him—and through him Kalila, and through her, the King himself.

“Mister Nimoux,” said Representative Tate, “your reputation is one of high-esteem in this body and your record has proven you time and again to be a servant of the Empire. I ask you now to weigh in on these claims. As a representative of the intelligence community, but also as a trusted friend of the Assembly and a proven servant of the Empire.”

It sickened Calvin a little to see that the Assembly held Nimoux and his reputation in such light, while they were so suspicious of Calvin. His record had proven him too to be a servant of the Empire. He had two silver stars. But even Calvin had to admit that, when compared to Nimoux’s record, his was nothing to talk about. And Nimoux was easily the most effective and well-known operative in all of Intel Wing. It made sense that his words would carry weight here.

“My ship, the Desert Eagle, arrived on the scene at Abia after the fact,” said Nimoux. “However we did find a great deal of debris. All of it was from Imperial ships. No debris was found of alien origins. The most likely explanation is that the Harbinger and other renegade Imperial ships fired on the Imperial flotilla, like the Admiral said.

The room listened in total silence. Hundreds of people, and each hung onto Nimoux’s every word like some kind of pure gospel.

“I would also point out that the Andromeda has no battle damage. And so, unless a very rapid repair was done to restore the ship—which is unlikely—then the Andromeda cannot have participated in a battle against our own battleships, which surely would have scarred the Andromeda’s hull, like Mister Cross claims. And finally, I would say that according to the best knowledge of Intel Wing, there is not a Rotham military squadron in Imperial space, nor has there ever been since the Great War. Any large force of ships attempting to cross the DMZ would be detected by our listening posts.”

His words were damning. And, as Calvin glanced throughout the room, he knew the Assembly had decided. Nimoux’s reputation was legendary and his word would be interpreted as the unimpeachable truth. It sickened him that the greatest Intel Wing agent would speak out against him like this. And deceive the Assembly. Calvin stared at Nimoux, recognizing him from the many thousands of times his image had appeared in Intel Wing files. Everything was there, every flaw, it was exactly him. And yet… Calvin wondered if the Nimoux before him was a replicant. He already had his suspicions about the Admiral. It was a chilling thought, that such high-profile and powerful people could be replaced seemingly on a whim—if that was indeed what had happened.  “I would add, however,” Nimoux continued, “that I believe Mister Cross is operating with the best of intentions, and I believe he is sincerely convinced of his version of events—but perceiving something and having it be reality do not always align. I believe that undue hardship, stress, and other factors are affecting Mister Cross’s mental capacity.”

It was cold, vicious character assassination. As Calvin looked once more throughout the room, keenly attentive to the whispers and murmur of voices, he could tell that their confidence in him was shaken. His colorful claims, his conspiracy theories, his witch hunt… clearly, to them, he must have seemed at least a little out of touch and paranoid.

Calvin had to know if Nimoux was a replicant. And so he thought of the only way he could test him. He leaned into his mic and asked, “Captain, tell us about Remus System. About how you tracked the Nighthawk there and what happened.”

“The Desert Eagle tracked the Nighthawk and attempted to ambush it,” said Nimoux. “However, the Nighthawk gave us the slip. We never caught up with the ship again. Nor did we enter the Remus System at any point for any reason.” His words were spoken plainly, coldly, and as a matter of fact.

“What about the Rotham fleet that swarmed Remus System just minutes after the Nighthawk escaped?” asked Calvin. “Tell them about the Rotham fleet!” He knew that the real Nimoux must have detected the Rotham fleet as it was inbound for Remus System. He also knew that the real Nimoux would never endanger the Empire by lying about such a matter. He would want the Assembly, and the military, and everyone else to know if a threat as serious as a Rotham fleet inside Imperial space existed.

“There is no Rotham Fleet in Imperial space and there never was,” said Nimoux, slowly and clearly. “Not at Remus. Not at Abia. Not at all.”

Calvin stared at him and Nimoux stared back. This convinced Calvin that Nimoux was indeed a replicant. Which made him wonder what had happened to the real Nimoux. Most likely he’d made himself a threat to the powers that be—probably he’d tried to warn the military and intelligence community about the Rotham Fleet he saw—which transformed him into a liability. Just like Calvin. And like Calvin, they’d tried to make him go away. Apparently succeeding. Calvin wondered if Nimoux was now space dust, floating somewhere in the greatest, blackest ocean. If so… then it was indeed a tragedy, and the Empire had lost one of its most valuable citizens. Certainly whatever fate had befallen the real Nimoux had befallen the Vice Admiral as well.

Representative Tate took a moment to confer with Lekovic and O’Neil at her sides, and then spoke into the mic in front of her. “This committee has no further questions. I thank the witnesses for their testimonies and hereby dismiss them.”

As Calvin left, eager to return to work and unravel the highest echelon of the conspiracy, he noted a worried look from Kalila. Her face was placid and calm but in her eyes he could see the anxiety and the desperation. She would do all she could here, but her influence was swiftly evaporating. Probably she could no longer block a motion for a vote to challenge the King. Now it was up to Calvin to get results. And soon. If he didn’t…

Calvin was afraid to imagine what it would mean if he didn’t. I’ll succeed, his eyes promised her. I have to.

Chapter 29

“Move along,” said a marine, giving Nimoux a shove forward. He stumbled but managed to keep his balance. He walked through a long corridor surrounded by a dozen or more armed guards until they reached the flight deck. He didn’t know where he was being taken, but welcomed the chance to be free of the brig.

Ever since his forcible capture on the ISS Wolverine, where he—an Imperial officer—was taken into custody by fellow Imperial officers, he’d been left to rot in the Wolverine’s brig with no explanation whatsoever. No charges had been preferred against him, and no senior officers had come to speak with him or answer any of the many questions that were swirling in his head by the hundreds. For that matter, no one had shown any interest in him. No explanation. No interrogation. Nothing. Just an empty cell, a force field, plenty of silent guards, and a little bit of food and water from time to time.

Nimoux had tried to make the best of it. He knew his XO would never abandon him, not after Nimoux had given him clear and specific orders to await his return. So Nimoux had waited patiently. Taking the time to meditate and reflect. Trying to organize his thoughts and push through the chaos—ever chasing his center. But minutes had turned to hours. And hours had turned to days. Nimoux lost hope that the Desert Eagle was still there waiting for him. And it made him wonder what exactly was going on. He’d asked the guards, trying to get even the most remote sense of recent events, but the guards wouldn’t so much as utter a peep to him.

And now they took him. Without explanation or warning. Dragged him from his sleep out of the brig, down the elevator, through the corridors and to the flight deck. Where apparently a shuttle was waiting. There was no one to greet him. No senior staff to explain what was going on or give him any clue. Just soldiers and pilots—all of whom must have been ordered to remain silent.

Nimoux took a deep breath as they forced him to board the shuttle and strap in. A part of him was afraid; he felt the tiniest waves of anxiety rise and fall inside him. Was he in danger? What did it mean that he, a high-profile Intelligence Captain, could be taken into custody like this? What did they plan to do with him? What did this mean for the Empire? He thought of the Rotham fleet, warships inside Imperial space. And thought of Calvin’s warnings about conspiracy and corruption.

With practiced calm he closed his eyes and quieted his mind with one of his meditation exercises. Here—in this confusing, confining, hostile environment—it was far more difficult than usual. And a distracting blend of anxiety and curiosity challenged his focus. Keeping him from finding his center. But the practice did help him soothe his nerves and collect his thoughts. He recognized that he didn’t have control of his current situation—something he could not blame himself for, nor expect himself to change at this time—and he accepted that, at least for now, what was happening was out of his hands. It would be as fate and destiny demanded. He was only a pebble floating on a tide. Riding the waves wherever they took him.

The flight deck depressurized and the massive jaws of the shuttlebay opened into space. Nimoux looked out the window and watched as the blackness enveloped them. The shuttle pulled away from the Wolverine and as it distanced itself from the great ship’s many lights, tiny stars began to appear. Nimoux looked at them, thinking they were a lot like people. So many, many of them. And yet, compared to the vast black ocean surrounding them, they were nothing. Burning with so much passion and concern, glowing furiously, and yet, in the grand scheme of things… barely even noticeable. Blinking out, one at a time, as their days came to an end, and yet the galaxy moved forward unflinching. Unaffected.

Despite all we do, despite all we feel, he thought, in the end we are but meager stars. We live, we die. Change remains the universal constant. What mattered so much yesterday means less today and is forgotten tomorrow. We are but flies in a whirlwind. Products of our environment. Taken by forces far mightier than ourselves to places we rarely dream of, and scarcely plan.

It helped a little. He was able to partially let go. Partially accept his situation. But, though he valued the Polarian philosophy, he was still human, and could never quite manage to separate himself from his concerns. His actions during the Altair Mission haunted him. The faces of the fellow officers he’d slain haunted his thoughts and dreams—whether he was asleep or awake—and though Nimoux did not believe in such things, he felt as if their ghosts walked beside him. Their spirits eternally tied to his. Waiting for his moment to come and then, once he passed away, they would be there before him. Wanting answers for what he’d done. Explanations for his betrayal. And Nimoux would have nothing to offer them. Only his unyielding, unweakening, undying regret.

If I die here, he thought, looking at the guards next to him—large stocky soldiers toting firearms, knives, and grenades—if their plan is to take me to some obscure place and kill me… I would deserve it.

They didn’t kill him. At least not yet. The shuttle changed course and descended upon a brilliant, white-and-blue planet. Like most habitable worlds, it was filled with seemingly endless stretches of ocean, but there was land too. He couldn’t recognize what world it was, not from this limited vantage point, but most of the land appeared undisturbed and undeveloped. No cities or mines or extraction colonies jumped out at him. Just nature in its untouched, unspoiled, unrefined state. He looked down on it from the heavens, enjoying the view out the window, gazing down on the trees, and the rocks, and the tiny dots of wildlife as if he were looking through the eyes of a god.

The shuttle landed at a small facility that—as far as Nimoux could tell—was the only settlement on the entire planet. He was forcibly escorted off the shuttle and into a large courtyard. The dirt was soft under his boots, almost like sand, and he had to squint to keep out the overwhelming brightness of the local sun. It was hot too, probably about forty degrees centigrade, and dry. He felt himself sweating profusely under the scorching heat of his black uniform.

“This way,” someone said, and he was poked in the back with a baton. He complied and allowed himself to be led across the courtyard away from the shuttle and to a small set of buildings. They were portable structures, he could tell. The mining industry used them extensively, they could be transported easily and deployed and set up, or taken down and packed, in less than a day. It was hard to tell how many there were, but he counted over twenty. The largest of which looked like it could house thirty people.

In the distance, all around, there was a massive fence. It climbed high into the air, at least ten meters, and—undoubtedly—reached down deep into the earth as well. Nimoux noted several of its features and concluded that it was electrically charged.

Am I in a prison camp? He wondered.

The guards led him out into the open, where Nimoux could see a lot of other people. Most wore blue one-piece jumpsuits, like prisoners, and a few guards patrolled in black-and-white. He imagined that he’d be getting his own blue jumpsuit and his first thought was that he’d welcome the chance for some fresh clothes. He’d been stuck in his same uniform for days, and now it stuck to him with sweat and grime.

The prisoners were distributed sparsely across the massive courtyard space. A few were in small groups, talking or playing a crude game with a cheap rubber ball and a wall surface, but most were alone.

There was a loud roar and Nimoux turned to see the shuttle lifting off. Headed back toward the sky above. Leaving him here abandoned. Marooned. He felt like an old-fashioned sailor stranded on a desert island. But he was not alone. As he looked around and tried to count the guards and the prisoners, he realized there were far too many to keep track of. And yet, despite their numbers, he felt alone.

After a few minutes there was another roar as another shuttle circled the compound and then landed on the far side. Nimoux squinted and watched as several people were escorted out of it. Many of them wore navy uniforms, one of them wore the black-and-silver of Intel Wing, like Nimoux, and others wore civilian clothes. After that shuttle departed, another landed. It too disbursing prisoners. And then came two more. Nimoux watched them all, and counted the new arrivals. Including himself there were thirty new prisoners. He wondered if they’d been held in mass and then transported to this prison site all at once, or if new prisoners arrived every day.

“Lafayette Nimoux,” he heard a familiar voice behind him. “I spotted your black-and-silver uniform from a mile away but I didn’t believe it ‘til just now. Damned if they got you too.”

He turned to see a creased, sweaty, sun-tanned version of Director Jack Edwards. He stood next to a familiar looking woman. It took Nimoux a second to piece together who she was. Her hair had been chopped short and her skin—like Edwards’—had been darkened by the sun. But her facial features were unmistakable. She was Vice Admiral Harkov, Commander of the Fifth Fleet.

“You were the last person I expected to find here,” said Edwards. “At first I was sure I was seeing a mirage.”

“Director,” said Nimoux, confused to see both him and the Admiral. “You’re prisoners?” he asked.

Harkov nodded.

“And so are you,” said Edwards. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But whoever’s in charge seems able to take whoever they want and throw them in here, and—so far as I can tell—no one has cared enough to come and find us.”

Nimoux found the whole situation strange and inexplicable. He searched his mind, trying to make sense of it while doing his best to ignore the scorching heat and the sensation of burning on his pale skin. Under his thinning hair he could feel the hot kiss of the sun.

“How long have you been here?” asked Nimoux. He’d known that Harkov was missing. According to the files he’d read, the Andromeda ship and every hand aboard had gone missing. But Edwards… he wasn’t listed as missing. In fact, Nimoux had spoken with him over kataspace not a week before. That man hadn’t been sun-tanned and thinned by poor prison diet and malnutrition. The man standing before him was skin and bones and bronzed like a statue.

“Hard to count the time,” said Edwards. “Don’t have any proof but the days feel longer here. Much longer than a standard day. Maybe it’s the planet’s slow turn. Maybe it’s just because there is nothing to do and every moment is tedious, hot agony.”

“Please, make a guess,” said Nimoux.

“Months. Four? Maybe five? Damned if I can remember,” he squinted and looked away for a second. Perhaps checking to see if any guards were coming to break them up.

“Months?” asked Nimoux, wanting to be sure he’d heard the Director right.

“Yeah. At least,” said Edwards, looking back at Nimoux.

“For me it’s been only weeks,” said Admiral Harkov. “But like Jack said, it’s hard to tell. Time stands still here.”

As Nimoux looked around, soaking in the dull barren emptiness, he believed her. It was as if the universe all around them, filled with all manner of events and goings-on, aged and died, while this place was an unchanging timeless wasteland. A kind of peace existed here in the static constance, and yet it was also a unique kind of hell.

“At least they seem to want us alive,” said Nimoux. Clearly it would have been easier for their captors to dispose of them then send them here. Which meant each of them still had some sort of value. He wondered what it could be.

“I don’t know why no one has come looking for us,” said Harkov. “The Commander of the Fifth Fleet, the Director of Intel Wing, and we’re not the only ones… there are captains, and commanders, and governors, and all sorts of leaders here. Even a couple Representatives from the Assembly.”

“She’s right,” said Edwards. “And now the legendary Lafayette Nimoux is here… the whole Empire should be scrambling to find us, every fleet on high alert, checking underneath ever rock, inspecting every nook and cranny. They should have come for us by now. They should be here. And yet… no one has come.”

Nimoux still couldn’t get past the fact that he’d spoken with Edwards recently, over kataspace, and yet there was no possible way—that he could imagine—for that Edwards to be the same man that stood here before him. Which left him confused.

“I may have some idea why they haven’t come looking for you,” said Nimoux. Both Admiral Harkov and Director Edwards looked hungry for an explanation, even if it was just speculation. “Admiral, you are still considered missing,” said Nimoux looking at her, then his eyes shifted to Edwards. “But you, Director, are not. In fact, I have been corresponding with you over kataspace and you’ve been giving me orders and assignments up until about a week ago.”

“What?” the Director looked confused.

“I don’t know how, but someone has planted a very convincing look-alike in your office and, as far as the Empire knows, you’re not missing at all. But rather hard at work. Fulfilling the interests of…” Nimoux looked around at the compound. “Well… probably the people who built this place.”

“Unbelievable,” said Edwards. And yet he believed him, Nimoux could tell. Trusted his every word. But seemed at a loss for an explanation of how it was possible. Nimoux didn’t blame him. He could hardly speculate himself how it was possible. And yet it was the truth.

“And me?” asked Harkov, looking sick. “They haven’t… replaced me yet.”

“As far as I know,” said Nimoux. “It could be that they don’t have a convincing-enough look alike for you, or that that isn’t their plan for you—it’s anyone’s guess. But if no one has come looking for the people here… it’s probably because the Empire hasn’t heard that these people are missing.”

“This won’t stand,” said Harkov. “It can’t.”

Nimoux nodded. “I hope you’re right, Admiral.”

“So how did they get to you anyway?” asked Edwards raising a curious eyebrow. “The legendary Nimoux, how did they trap you and take you away?”

“My ship was ordered to dock with the ISS Wolverine,” he said. “I followed orders and went aboard. There they took me away from my escort and tossed me in their brig. I gave my XO orders to await my return but for all I know they replaced me with a copy of myself then and there. Sent a fake Lafayette Nimoux onto the Desert Eagle. Or maybe the Wolverine forced the Desert Eagle to withdraw by firing on it. Who knows…”

“I see,” said Edwards.

“And you?” asked Nimoux.

“They came to me at my home. Broke in, dragged me off in my sleep. Gagged me when I woke up. Confined me when I kicked and screamed. They threw me into the back of a black car in the middle of the night. In the garage of my domicile. I don’t know what happened to my guards—probably paid off. I woke up in the ass-end of some cell and they shipped me here. Been here ever since.”

“Just before they came for you,” said Nimoux, “did you uncover something?” Nimoux asked because he wondered if they’d all seen things they shouldn’t have, and they were each taken to protect some kind of larger secret. It fit perfectly with Calvin’s claims, which seemed less wild and more plausible all the time.

“No I don’t think so,” said Edwards. “I was giving orders to have some financial accounts tracked. I was building a case to go after some corporate connections that were tied a little too closely to some members of the Assembly.”

Of course Edwards didn’t have to see something he shouldn’t have in order for the conspirators to have motive to replace him. Planting a puppet in Edward’s position, one of the most influential in the Empire, would grant them access to lots of power and information. “Which corporations and which Assembly members?” asked Nimoux.

“A few different ones. The biggest link I found was MXR and Caerwyn Martel. Nothing too shocking, his family does own the company and Caerwyn is one of the shareholders. But it seemed like there were a lot of gifts and bribes and that sort of thing flowing through the Assembly, all loosely and distantly connected to MXR. But I doubt that’s why they dragged me off to this hellhole.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” said Nimoux. “What about you, Admiral?”

“My ship had just escaped an action in Abia system. There had been a battle and during it several of the ships in my own flotilla fired on the Andromeda and the lead ships. I still can’t make sense of it. There was a fight and the Andromeda escaped damaged. We were en route to Capital System, and making repeated attempts to contact the Fleet and warn them. We suffered systems failures though and our alteredspace engines couldn’t take us very deep. Thanks to battle damage. Supposedly our communication troubles were caused by battle damage too but… I can’t help but wonder if it was sabotage.”

Nimoux found Harkov’s suspicion intriguing.

“Anyway,” Harkov continued, “we were tracked by a Polarian warship. It eventually overtook us and forced us out of alteredspace. There was a battle and it was a very even match. The Andromeda is a far more powerful ship than the Polarian vessel, but we were badly injured from our earlier engagement and many of our weapons were inoperable. As were our shields. And much of our armor had been destroyed. Eventually, when it looked like both vessels would be lost, the commander of the other ship, a Polarian by the name of Kaisar—I’ll never forget that name—offered to meet to discuss terms of a cease fire. Both ships stopped firing and I went to meet him on the flight deck with an escort of soldiers. He came aboard on a shuttle. It was a trap though. In the blink of an eye, a small army of Polarians stormed out of the shuttle and there was a standoff between them and my small escort. I still thought we had the better position, my men had come prepared to defend me and there were hundreds of other marines that could have stormed the flight deck in time. But one of my own people came up behind me, and pressed a gun to my head. And forced the rest of my marines to drop their weapons under threat that she’d kill me.” Harkov stared off into space, reliving the terrifying moment.

“They dragged me aboard the shuttle and locked me up,” she continued. “And took me with them. I watched from the window as the Andromeda jumped away. I still don’t know why. Or what would cause them to abandon me, when they knew I was a prisoner on the Polarian ship. Yet they jumped anyway. Disappearing into alteredspace. And I never saw my ship again. The Polarians handed me off to some humans—they seemed like a military crew and wore military uniforms but they didn’t give a care that I was a navy Admiral. No one would talk to me. No one offered any explanation. They just passed me along, from ship to ship, from cell to cell, until eventually taking me here.”

“I see,” said Nimoux. “I remember Abia. Intel Wing sent me there to eliminate the evidence. It’s been puzzling me ever since I saw the debris, but maybe you can tell me. Why was there Rotham debris if the action was human ships firing on human ships? And why were you pursued by a Polarian ship?”

“The Rotham were there. A whole squadron,” said Harkov. “I don’t know how… or why. But they were there. And so was one Polarian ship. I have no idea what they were up to, but I think we caught them with their trousers down. I’d given my ships the order to form up and engage the aliens. And I’d sent them a general message to stand down and surrender, or be destroyed. Before our flotillas could engage one another, however, my own rearguard opened fire on the rest of us. We defended ourselves and, ultimately, did the work for the Rotham. I don’t think we fired on a single Rotham ship. So, if you found Rotham debris, I have no explanation for you. But there were Rotham ships there,” said Harkov. “I’ll never forget that.”

Very interesting, thought Nimoux. So if it hadn’t been Harkov and the other Imperial ships that had destroyed the Rotham craft, then who had done it? He wondered. Had they, like the Imperial flotilla, fired upon themselves? That seemed unlikely. It made more sense that the Nighthawk, or the Harbinger, or both working in concert had done the damage.

“But now that you’re here,” said Edwards, looking eagerly at Nimoux, “you can help us.”

“Help you how?”

“You’re the most brilliant mind in Intel Wing. Tell us what to do. What’s the plan?” he asked.

Nimoux thought about it for a moment. And while it was true that there was nothing any of them could do for now, he also felt the urge to get off this rock and find a way back to Capital World. If, somehow, they could warn the Empire. Perhaps by appearing before the Assembly. Maybe they could do something to protect the civilization they held most dear. However, despite the feeling of urgency, and the strong desire to act, Nimoux knew that being rash would be counter-productive. Once they had a plan, and decided to act on it, it needed to be a complete success. No half-measures. That meant they had to be patient and collect more information before they could do anything.

“We keep our heads down and try not to draw attention to ourselves,” said Nimoux. Both Harkov and Edwards looked unhappy with this response. “For now,” Nimoux added. This seemed to cheer them some.

“And then what?” asked Edwards.

“Escape, of course,” said Nimoux.

There was a loud noise and, over a speaker system set up on poles throughout the courtyard, a general message was spoken to all prisoners.

“All prisoners will fall into line immediately. Take your places or suffer extreme consequences. All new arrivals will report to the southeast corner. Any new arrival who fails to report immediately to the southeast corner will not eat today.”

The message repeated once and Nimoux watched as the prisoners, quite automatically, went their different ways and then bunched up into orderly rows and columns.

“We’d better go,” said Edwards, glancing nervously at Harkov. They shuffled off toward their respective places. Nimoux didn’t know which direction was southeast, but he saw where the other new arrivals were gathering and headed that way. He wasn’t certain how he was going to escape this place, or get a message out, but he clung to the hope. Certain that, with enough focus, and enough cleverness, and enough planning, he would find a way. No prison can hold a truly desperate soul who burns an eternal candle of hope and never stops searching for that one way out.

He was sorted into a line, along with the others. As they endured the dry heat of the yellow sun on their unprotected faces, a high-ranking prison guard inspected them. Nimoux had to squint as he looked around, trying to learn all he could about his environment and his captors. Eventually one of the guards spoke to him.

“Hero of the Empire,” he said, clicking his tongue. His eyes met Nimoux’s, challenging him. “Welcome to hell.”

***

“Look at them go,” said Micah, almost lustfully.

Ryker watched through his binoculars as shuttles and gunships filled the air over the capital city. On the ground, countless people scrambled to get aboard whatever transports remained, while a thin line of soldiers bravely held back the mob of rebels who were quickly taking the city.

“They say it’s like this across all of Renora,” said Vulture.

Ryker watched as a column of soldiers disappeared in the light of a makeshift explosive. One moment standing there, holding their line, the next… blood and gore sprayed everywhere. He had to hand it to the citizens of Renora, once properly provoked they went all in.

“And to think, only a few million casualties,” said Ryker, he lowered his binoculars and looked at his men. Civilians and soldiers alike had been butchered, but even the loss of a million soldiers was a mere dent in the numbers the King had sent. Of much greater concern to them was the loss of their supply lines, destruction of their safe havens, and the feverish hostility of the population in every city the troops tried to occupy. They didn’t have the infrastructure or the logistical resources to win a war of attrition. And suicide attacks and other violence against the King’s soldiers grew worse by the day. And harder to predict. Ryker and his CERKO operatives had to do very little now. The hive of bees had been whacked enough and now they were pouring out in droves, furious and thirsty for revenge.

“There he goes,” said Vulture, pointing. Ryker looked back through his binoculars in the direction Vulture indicated and instantly spotted a large craft taking to the sky, escorted by several gunships. Once it was airborne, the remaining soldiers—who were being overwhelmed—broke into full retreat as the rebels took the capital.

“Do you think he’ll be back?” asked Tank.

“Not bloody likely,” said Micah. “These people put the fear of god into him. He’ll shit his pants in his sleep for years to come.”

“Yes, the Prefect has fled,” said Ryker. “Exactly as planned. And I doubt very much that he will be back, but this isn’t over. You can bet the King won’t take this defeat lightly. The Empire will drop the hammer on Renora. The important thing is that the citizens of Renora have control of their planet long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” asked Vulture. Ryker hadn’t explained to them the totality of Martel’s plan. He preferred to keep things on a need to know basis. Now, though, it was obvious what was going to happen.

“Long enough to secede,” said Ryker. “They will secede and then immediately ask the Rotham Republic to annex them. It’s all been arranged. Just watch.”

Chapter 30

He tossed and turned in the night.

Despite feeling physically exhausted, his mind kept him up. Spinning circles, analyzing everything. He thought of his ship out somewhere in deep space—possibly in danger. He thought of Summers, and Rain, and Kalila and felt his heart quicken as a shot of adrenaline and mixed emotions surged through him. He thought of the Assembly, and how time was running out. How everything depended on him and how he needed to round up the Phoenix Ring leaders and expose the conspiracy—and soon. He thought of Kalila again, how she depended on him. He remembered how it’d felt, pretending to be her husband for that brief window of time, feeling like he belonged, that he was a part of a complete whole, rather than a lost and lonely soul. Was that the purpose of life? He wondered. Companionship? Or was it simply an attribute of being a mammal, his own DNA forcing him to crave the company of others, to only be satisfied when he belonged to social groups—of which the most rewarding was romantic companionship. An equal partnership. Someone else to rely on, and trust, and depend on, and gain support from…

He thought of Christine. Remembering her gaunt and dying face as the Remorii toxins savaged her. Calvin hurt to think of it, hating that in his mind’s eye he recalled every detail as clear as day. He tried to force it from his mind, tried to make himself believe that Christine was at peace, that there was no further need to mourn her. But the more he tried not to think of her, the more she stayed on his mind. He felt sick and as he flipped to his other side—making another vain attempt to fall asleep—he thought of Shen. And how the very thing that’d happened to Christine was happening to him. Rain had probably had to put the ops officer out of his misery by now. Shen, Monte, Rose, Major Jenkins, and seemingly countless others. Calvin’s dear friends and crew had paid in blood. And were still paying in blood. For all he knew the Nighthawk was space dust by now, and the Arcane Storm for that matter, making him the last one left of his crew. A terrifying, nauseating thought. But a legitimate possibility. When will it end? he wondered. When will we have paid enough?

Perhaps the universe demanded his life too. An ongoing expense, demanding everything in exchange for a glimmer of hope that the Empire—the pride and security of humanity—might be saved. Calvin remembered from history how the alien civilizations—especially the Rotham—had preyed on the early, disunited human colonies. Enslaving them and slaughtering them. It had only been through the rise of the Empire, guided by the Akira family, that humanity had been able to unite into something strong and formidable, something able to defend itself and grow. Out of the many they had become one. And now that great, rich tradition that had kept humankind safe for over a hundred years was on the verge of collapse. And Calvin would have given anything in the universe to be someone else right now. To not feel as though the fate of humanity rested on his shoulders. Others looked to him with confidence and hope, trusting him to make the right decisions and follow the right leads—Kalila especially counted on him to get results. But Calvin wasn’t so trusting of himself. He knew his flaws. He would do his very best, but his very best hadn’t been enough to save Christine, or Monte, or Shen, or… so many others… how could he be sure it would be enough to save the Empire?

I’m not in this alone, he tried to remind himself. And he thought of the many who stood by his side. From the Akira House, to his friends, to those in the military who still remained loyal. Even Raidan and his dark Organization had an interest in protecting the King. Calvin knew it was important for him to have hope and not despair.

He silenced his mind, as best he could, and made another attempt at sleep. To no avail. He thought of rockets raining down on armored cars, eviscerating them and violently tearing apart every soul inside them. Those men had died for him…

He tossed his sheets from his bed and got up. Deciding that, if his mind was going to conspire against his body and keep him from getting the sleep he desperately needed, he might as well put his mind to work reviewing the intel he had.

He went to the large office in his estate and sat at the computer station. It was large and powerful with several more screens and features than Calvin needed—or knew how to use. He knew he should eat something but somehow the anxiety swirling inside him, collecting very uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach, removed his appetite. He hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. And over the last several days he’d noticed he’d lost almost five kilograms—and not in a good way.

Of course the desire for equarius seemed ever-present. It was a constant struggle, one that seemed to fade at times, enough to make him believe he’d broken free of his addiction, and then it would return with overwhelming force when it was most inconvenient. He knew if he had some still, he would almost certainly take it. Anything to numb the pain and the fear and the anxiety and everything else that made him want to simultaneously rip out all of his hair and curl into a fetal position somewhere and simply die.

Must… keep… fighting…

He made himself believe it was for the best that he’d disposed of the last of his equarius. Tried to take some pride in the decision to free himself. But at times like these such things as pride and dignity seemed worthless, and no freedom seemed sweeter than freedom from his troubles and concerns. The freedom a few white pills would give him.

He fired up a game of chess against the computer and hoped to distract himself with the game. He played white, wanting to take the initiative and be bold, but was defeated in only twelve moves. He simply couldn’t focus on the game and, rather than take his mind from his occupations, the game seemed simply to be a part of the unimportant background. As he set up for a rematch, hoping to do better this time, his terminal received an alert.

It was a dispatch to him and several other high officials informing them that the operation on Renora had failed. The Prefect and his soldiers had fled the planet. Calvin wondered how that was possible. Even in the worst and most violently hostile circumstances. the millions and millions of troops that had landed should have been enough to stabilize the planet and pacify the population. But it hadn’t. Somehow violence and instability had increased, there were accusations of mismanagement, accounts of government troops slaughtering civilians and torching homes and even bombing civilian infrastructure from orbit. Calvin doubted this was the work of the King’s troops. No doubt the Phoenix Ring had a hand in this. The result of which had been a death toll that made Calvin white in the face to look at, and the perception that the King was a brute willing to slaughter his own citizens. This was more than a tragedy, it was also a major political defeat. Calvin was sure this news would be used to force a vote to oust the King—if a motion for such a vote hadn’t already succeeded. If the King lost his power, then Calvin would lose his, and so would the rest of the loyalists. And then the Phoenix Ring would takeover, alien forces would swoop in, and the Empire would be splintered into fragments. Probably collapse in the chaos. He imagined a dark future where Capital World and every other major human colony was occupied by Rotham. We would be slaves…as he thought about it, imagining what they would do, he knew they’d first slaughter huge sections of the population to make it more manageable. Then, those who were lucky enough to survive, would sweat and toil and die for Rotham gain. He shuddered thinking about it.

It’s not going to happen, he reminded himself. Certainly, if it came down to that, and that was the future that awaited them all, Calvin made a promise to himself to go out fighting. He would give every last breath opposing such a reality until that final moment when Rotham missiles blew his atoms across the galaxy. At which point he supposed he would find out the answer to the greatest mystery of all and then either not exist anymore, or else, hopefully, be with Christine again.

An update to the dispatch arrived a few minutes later. Stating that not only had the people of Renora driven Imperial forces off their planet, they had managed to unite well enough to form a de facto government and make a Secession Declaration, disavowing the Empire and affirming their independence. There was still chaos, and looting, and rioting, and no proper military to speak of—other than the surprisingly powerful and shockingly well-equipped rebels who’d managed to overthrow the Prefect.

They can declare their independence all they like, thought Calvin. The King will never stand for it. Though in truth he wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Perhaps it would be best to allow Renora to go its separate way and be its own problem. If the people there truly did want independence, perhaps they deserved the chance to decide their own destiny and go down in the flames of their own foolishness. The trouble was, should the King respect such an unlawful declaration, it would not only begin a slow splintering of the Empire—perhaps creating a precedent that colonies could leave the union—it would also be seen as a sign of weakness and failure in the executive leadership. Many loyalists would withdraw their support of the King. Confidence would be lost. But, should the King drop the hammer on Renora, forcing the rebellious colony back into line, such an act would require an even greater force than what had been sent before, and would undoubtedly be seen as heavy-handed and extreme. And perhaps that would cause the King to lose as much support—or more—than if he chose to do nothing. It was a no-win scenario.

Damn the Phoenix Ring…

Not ten minutes later a third dispatch arrived. Bearing the strange and alarming news that the illegitimate government of Renora, which had seized the capital, had officially queried the government of the Rotham Republic, requesting annexation. They stated they would unconditionally recognize the Republican Senate and Prime Minister as the highest authority on Renora in exchange for recognized citizenship and immediate aid.

This was not a move Calvin had anticipated. Probably no one had. It was one thing for a disgruntled populace to wish to leave the Empire and proceed to govern itself, but it was quite another for them to try to join an alien union. There had never been human citizens in an alien nation before, and the Rotham—many of whom were xenophobic toward non-Rotham—had historically been dispassionate and dangerous to humans. How could they be trusted?

Calvin shuddered to think what the implications would be if the Republic accepted the proposal of the Renoran people. It would give the Rotham a foothold in Imperial space and probably lead to the shooting-war the Empire was so desperately unprepared for. Calvin recalled the haunting images of the Fifth Fleet’s flotilla, led by the Andromeda, moving to engage the Rotham squadron in Abia. And how the human ships had fired on one-another, until almost complete annihilation, before they were even in firing range of the Rotham ships. He shivered thinking it was an apt metaphor for what an Imperial-Rotham war would look like should one happen. Which seemed a forgone conclusion now.

When the fourth dispatch arrived, Calvin was hesitant to open it. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t bad news, specifically that it wasn’t the bad news he most dreaded. This won’t be the Republic’s response to the Renoran request for annexation, he thought. The Republican government was slower to act than the strongly executive Imperial government, they would need time to debate the issue. It would have to go before the Senate and resolutions would have to be made and passed. It would take weeks, maybe months. Not mere minutes or hours…

And yet, as he opened it, he found exactly what he feared. The Rotham Republic had issued a statement, responding favorably to the Renoran request. They recognized the de facto government on Renora as the legitimate local authority and declared the populace under Republic protection as a legitimate territory of the Republic. And that aid would be dispatched immediately. Which, Calvin knew, meant a war fleet. He almost couldn’t believe what he was reading. Everything was happening so swiftly, it almost seemed arranged. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it had to have been arranged. This news must not have come as a surprise to the dominant power in the Rotham Senate. How else could they have acted so quickly upon it?

Upon the release of the Republic’s pronouncement, the Network lit up like a dried-out tree put to flame. Alarm, concern, intrigue, rumors, and all sorts of speculation shot through the Empire over kataspace and all other forms of communication. The cat was out of the bag now, there was no keeping this news quiet. Calvin felt his heart in his throat and turned on the news, knowing that the King would be forced to respond to this soon. Not ten minutes later the anchor, who’d been trying to paint of picture of what was still speculation and what had been confirmed, announced that the King was about to address the Empire. The camera then jump-cut to a view from the ground at the Imperial Palace. There was a large gathering of people there, including a massive press-corps. The camera changed angle to a close up of the center podium where the King stood. He did his best to look regal and in command, but there was tiredness in his red eyes. And he hadn’t taken the time to have much makeup applied to him, so he looked somewhat sickly under the harsh lights.

“Citizens of the Empire,” the King said; his voice was deep and his words carried a full-measure of authority. “There are rumors that the colony of Renora has declared its independence from our great union and has petitioned the Rotham Republic for recognition as a Rotham territory.” He paused for a moment. “Those rumors are true.”

The crowd reacted noisily to this. And, as Calvin flipped through various channels he found that every media agency was taking this confirmation like it was the biggest news scoop in their broadcasting lifetimes. Even the state-run media seemed unsure what to make of it.

“But those people on Renora who have seized the capital and made this declaration are rebels, and not the official voice of the citizens of Renora. They do not speak for the people, nor do they have the authority to do as they’ve done. They are an illegitimate body and their claims and authority shall not be recognized by this government, or any other government in the galaxy. It is an unlawful regime. And one that shall not be given validation in any form. The Republican Senate has hastily responded to the regime’s petition, and has claimed to offer the regime and the rest of Renora citizenship in the Republic. But their words are empty and their offer is no more legitimate than the broken, seditious regime that has taken temporary control of the colony of Renora. The people of Renora have been—and always shall be—citizens of the Empire. We are only strong so long as we find strength from each other. Every citizen on every colony of this Empire is united to every other, and shall be protected. As a royal proclamation to the Empire, I—King Hisato Akira, First of My Name and Fifth Monarch of the Empire—hereby declare to all peoples on all worlds everywhere that the colony of Renora is, and always shall be, a colony of the Empire. And every measure necessary shall be taken to preserve our glorious Union.”

The King finished his speech and refused to take any questions. As he left the podium, flanked by his guards and several members of his administration, the camera changed back to the lead news anchor who was interviewing a mid-level government official. Calvin had no time to listen to their speculation so he shut off the terminal and rested his head in his hands. Trying to make sense of this latest turn of events on his own.

It wasn’t a declaration of war, not an official one, but it seemed just as good as one. If the Republic had any interest in a war with the Empire, the Rotham now had their excuse to send hordes of battleships through the DMZ and into Imperial space. Calvin hoped the King’s bold words, and the general reputation of the Empire’s fiercely powerful military, would be enough to intimidate and dissuade the hawkish members of the Republican Senate who wanted the war. But he feared it would not be enough. All of this felt too arranged… too designed. Someone wanted this war to happen. And that someone seemed to hold the governments of the galaxy like puppets on strings.

Could this really be just the influence of the Phoenix Ring? Or was there a darker, more invisible puppet-master lurking somewhere in the blackest nether-regions of space? A terrifying thought to be sure. Calvin thought back on what Alex had told him, about the Rahajiim who were an elusive, influential, and deadly faction inside the Republic. So secretive and so powerful that even the mighty Advent—the Republic’s premiere intelligence network—was powerless against them. Calvin wondered what part in all of this they’d played—if any.

There was so much to think about now, so much to process, that Calvin’s fatigue left him and he felt wide awake. His body flooded with adrenaline. He set to work checking on his teams, giving them new orders and instructions, and doing all he could to accelerate his investigation. He was out of time. He knew it. Kalila knew it. Probably everyone knew it. If he couldn’t deliver the Phoenix Ring to the Assembly on a silver platter soon, it would be too late.

Another dispatch arrived. He felt his stomach flip over as he opened it. Praying to any gods that would listen that it wouldn’t bear news that Imperial and Rotham ships had already engaged each other. It didn’t. In fact, this dispatch carried the first truly good news he’d heard in a long, long time. He felt a smile spread across his face and couldn’t keep back a small cheer.

Rafael had been found. As Calvin’s people had raided the secret Intel Wing dungeons and safe houses, using Rosemarie’s information, they’d found a lot of interesting things, including prisoners who were now being nursed back to health and—very gingerly—squeezed for information. But there had been no sign of Rafael as each of the many prisons were stormed by Imperial troops, under orders of the Executor. Calvin had lost hope with each new report. Believing, deep inside his heart, that his friend was dead.

“He is alive and stable,” the report said. It went on to state that, while he had sustained several injuries and was being treated and given medical attention, Rafael Te Santos was not only alive but his mental faculties were in good condition. The extreme interrogation methods that had been applied to many of the prisoners, including him, hadn’t succeeded in breaking him. At least not yet. And now he was safely in custody at a secure hospital not far away. They’d found him in the very last Intel Wing safe-house they’d raided.

Calvin felt a rush of relief and excitement pour through him. He jumped up from the computer station and charged out into the hall. He put on his jacket as he walked, not stopping for any reason. His guards came to his sides immediately. And he ordered them to prep the vehicles.

When his motorcade arrived at the hospital, his guards advised him to remain in the car while they set up a secure position outside and did a perimeter sweep. Calvin, anxious to see Rafael, ignored their advice and got out of the car immediately. As he strode, half-jogging, across the walkway to the hospital’s entrance, his guards rushed to take up positions all around him. Trying to screen him from any possible attack. Calvin didn’t care if the Khans, CERKO, and every terrorist organization in the galaxy had sent every sniper in the universe to stop him. It wouldn’t work. He was going to see Rafael. No matter what.

When he arrived at Rafael’s room, he ordered his guards to remain outside and he entered alone. As he stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, he saw a familiar man sitting up in a hospital bed. He was attached to an IV and some other equipment, and a computer monitor displayed his regular heartbeats. There were no windows. For security purposes, he’d been put in one hospital’s private “safe rooms”.

“Can you believe it?” croaked Rafael, his voice hoarse. “Stuck in a hospital and they don’t even give me a view.” He cracked a smile.

Calvin walked to his side and beamed. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he said. He’d lost a lot of sleep over the past several weeks worrying that he’d sent Rafael to his death. And that his name would be added to the growing list of those who’d been tragically ripped away as they’d struggled to defend the Empire from threats within.

“The feeling is mutual, Captain,” said Rafael. He turned his head to look at Calvin directly and only then did Calvin notice that a large bandage covered Rafael’s left eye. He was also missing his pinky and ring finger from his left hand.

“Are you all right?” asked Calvin, concerned.

“I’ve been worse,” said Rafael, clearly lying.

“How’s your eye?” Calvin was almost afraid to ask.

“Oh it’s gone. So are the fingers. But a small price to pay for keeping my honor, and my word,” he said, giving Calvin a resolute, almost proud look. “I never cracked. Not for a minute. Nothing they tried got anything out of me.”

Calvin was impressed. And grateful. “I admire your courage,” he said. “And your steel.”

“It wasn’t all duty and honor,” admitted Rafael. “There was a selfish motive too. I knew that the information I had was the only thing keeping me alive, so I was loath to part with it.” He shot Calvin a crooked grin, which looked strange with just his one eye showing, along with several fresh scars on the side of his face. He wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but Rafael held himself as if every new injury and blemish was a medal of honor. And, as far as Calvin was concerned, they were.

“How long do they need to keep you here?” asked Calvin. He was eager to continue his investigation and he didn’t just want the information Rafael could give him, he wanted Rafael’s help and analytical skills too. But he didn’t want to compromise Rafael’s recovery. Certainly the man had earned a reprieve and more.

“As far as I’m concerned they don’t need to keep me here at all,” said Rafael. “I’m as healthy as a horse. Healthier, actually. Horses don’t live very long.”

Calvin wondered if that was true, or if this was just a show of strength, a tribute to Rafael’s high tolerance for pain and strong force of will. For that matter, Rafael might simply be responding to the powerful pain medications that were undoubtedly flowing through him. It made Calvin remember how anyone within reach of the Phoenix Ring might be a replicant, and how Rain had devised a method to test whether or not someone was. Calvin wanted to trust Rafael, and wanted to unequivocally believe this was his friend, and that he’d been saved. But a tiny suspicion inside him wondered if this Rafael before him was a very elaborate replicant. A ploy to get someone inside Calvin’s organization and discover what he knew, perhaps also sabotaging his efforts. He had to be sure.

“What pain medication do they have you on?” asked Calvin. He moved closer to look at the instruments, to see if it was displayed somewhere.

Rafael smirked. “I probably shouldn’t tell you,” he said.

Calvin recognized the code on the machine. It was the same code that had stared at him when he’d been in the hospital after the Trinity incident. Rafael was being doped with equarius, and he wasn’t dead or reverting back to some kind of strange original dark Polarian state. That meant he wasn’t a replicant. He was the real thing. Calvin smiled. “Get better soon,” he said.

“I’m better now,” said Rafael, chuckling slightly.

Calvin turned to leave, intending to go find a medical official and ask when Rafael could be released. As he was about to go, he heard Rafael call after him.

“Wait,” he said, with a slight cough.

Calvin turned back

“I have something for you,” he said. “Information you should know.”

Calvin looked at him. “What is it?” he returned to his friend’s side.

“Martel,” said Rafael coughing again. “Zane Martel.”

***

The ops officer’s condition took a turn for the worse. Rain did all she could for him. Desperate to keep him stable. As his heart rate slowed even more, to levels that should have proven fatal, and his body-temperature continued to decline… she found herself quickly running out of ideas to try.

“I said twenty cubic centimeters, not twenty-five—twenty-five is too much,” she said frantically, ordering her medical staff about. Now that their people had returned from the Arcane Storm, along with a new medic, they were again fully staffed. Which meant Rain could have three other people assisting her. Unfortunately, there seemed little anyone could do.

She fought for the better part of an hour, trying every idea that came to her mind to stabilize him. Praying in her heart to any god anywhere, if there was a divine presence in the universe, that her mind would be quickened and her hands would be true. All the while trying not to stare into Shen’s gaunt, grey face. Or to smell the stink of rot and death that was coming over him.

He went into full cardiac arrest.

“Code blue,” she said, and her staff rushed new equipment to him. She began chest compressions while two other medics ripped open Shen’s shirt and the third attached the defib unit. It was crude but proven.

“Clear,” said Rain, once everything was set. Andrews pressed the button and a wave of electricity shot straight to Shen’s heart.

No effect.

“Again,” said Rain.

Another jolt of electricity. Still nothing.

“Again!” she said, practically screaming. She would not lose him. Andrews pushed the button once more.

This time a very weak, very irregular heartbeat returned. It wasn’t much, and probably would not improve—she knew—but at least it was something. His organs were starving for oxygen. And his brain, which needed it the most, had to compete with all the other organs for it. The weak heartbeat had little chance of supplying the entire body with the oxygen it needed. But at least he had one thing going for him. In an ironic twist his dangerously low body-temperature—which, despite all she’d tried, Rain had not been able to elevate—had the side effect of reducing Shen’s body’s need for oxygenated blood. The coolness of the body reduced the metabolic demand, which gave Shen’s weak heart a fighting chance… but not a great one.

“He’s stable,” said Andrews, looking at her darkly. “For now.”

Rain looked from him to the other medics; they all had bleak expressions on their faces. Clearly none of them believed Shen could be saved. No one in the universe seemed to believe, except Rain. Rain made herself believe. But now, as she looked over her patient, she realized that he’d faded away into basically nothing. There was a trace of him left. And until it was gone, she would do all she could for him—not giving a millimeter—but a kind of realization set in and she felt her mood change from desperate to somber.

“Keep monitoring him,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Begin a regimen of Xinocodone,” she added. “To manage the pain.” Despite Shen’s lack of consciousness, his brain still registered a tremendous amount of pain. Rain had avoided giving him high doses of strong pain medications, knowing such a regimen would erode Shen’s chances of recovery, but now… she did not see the purpose in forcing him to suffer. Especially if today was his last day…

Damn you, Calvin, she thought. Remembering how he’d cautioned her. How he had asked for Shen not to suffer in vain. She hated that he might be right. That Shen might be beyond saving. But Rain didn’t regret fighting for Shen’s life, nor did she regret believing in him, and his chances. No matter how small and slim, when the life of a human being was on the line, those chances were always worth fighting for.

“I’ll be in the lab,” she said. Not wanting to stay and watch Shen make the final transition from life to … whatever came after it. “Notify me if… his condition changes.”

“Yes, Doctor,” said Andrews. The others nodded. They knew what that meant. Let her know once it was over. And Shen was gone.

She left them, feeling sick and saddened. It wasn’t the first time a patient had been lost under her care. But she still believed, fundamentally, that this case was one that could have been solved. That Shen, young as he was, should have been savable. But it seemed that the toxins that had infected him always adapted too quickly to whatever she did. Almost as if the virus itself was intelligent. She’d never seen anything like it. And it troubled her to think that she might see it again, and again, and each time she might be forced to contend with the same outcome. The same grim results.

There was still a tiny part of her that had not given up on Shen. That hoped for good news and recovery. But it was hard to believe in that part, no matter how much she yearned to, when she had no strategy to implement to save him. It seemed unlikely, considering how the virus had progressed, that Shen’s own immune system would be able to fight it off and save him. Rather, it seemed much more the case that his body was killing itself. Like his immune system was rejecting his organs.

Rain arrived at the lab and quickly found herself removing the deceased replicant from the freezing unit. There were two analysts in the lab, working on something for the bridge—Rain couldn’t care less about what it was. So long as they left her alone, and let her use the equipment, she was happy to leave them alone.

Running tests on the replicant corpse had become something of a strange hobby for Rain. She’d spent many hours over the past several days examining and studying it. Finding it to be a good form of stress relief. It was both relaxing and intriguing, studying this biological marvel, and it helped her organize her thoughts and sort through her emotions.

She’d had the computer analyze the subject’s DNA and she’d done several tests to help her understand the chemical and genetic makeup of the creature. Like most life in the galaxy it depended on long chains of carbon and hydrogen, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended. There didn’t seem to be discrete organs, or—if there had been—they had faded away into some kind of carbon goop. The only organ that seemed in anyway intact was the epidermis. As a stratified squamous epithelium, it was mostly still together and the proliferating basal and differentiating suprabasal keratinocytes seemed to have evolved to function very similarly to most other animals, such that Rain could understand how the replicant body was able to not only effectively mimic the appearance of other carbon-based life—such as humans—but also keep out pathogens and unwanted contaminants from the internal systems.

What fascinated her most about the replicant body was not actually its ability to permanently take another form, effectively cloning its appearance to match a foreign DNA code, but rather the overall adaptability of the organism. She doubted that much of anything could have caused it to experience a systemic failure, the way the Xinocodone had, and the fact that she’d stumbled upon something so effective against it had been quite the freak occurrence.

She thought of the most aggressive virus she could imagine—the Remorii Pathogen—and guessed that the replicant body would actually be able to resist it. She had a frozen culture of the virus, which she’d taken from Shen in a vain attempt to study it in the lab, and she applied it to a sample of biological matter that had been excised from the replicant before complete death had set in.

There was no guarantee the two could react, though she thought it likely. She’d noted that, among other systems affected, Shen’s skin had been attacked by the virus and was undergoing a subtle but noticeable change. The tissue sample she had of the replicant was, by closest comparison, skin tissue. So she hoped she could provoke a reaction from it with the Remorii pathogen and observe the results. She’d tried this earlier, but had been unable to get the intracellular parasite to attack the replicant tissue. Or so she’d thought. This time she had a different idea and paid attention to something else.

“I wonder…” she said, deeply distracted by this new experiment.

At first the pathogen seemed ineffectual, just like before, but as she excised a sample of the affected tissue and scanned it with the computer, what she saw was actually rather amazing. Without relying on traditional counter-infection methods, such as agents in the blood stream that directly tried to fight pathogens, the replicant tissue itself adapted to the virus and thereby rendered it ineffective. The transformative nature of the replicant tissue cells were able to physically adapt to the virus and, rather than become prey to the virus and turn into spawning centers for the virus to reproduce, the cells changed to include the virus in their natural process. The virus reproduced and spread, but the fundamental nature of the cells changed to allow it. Compensating for the virus rather than fighting it directly.

“Amazing,” she whispered. There was no way for her to make Shen’s cells, or any human’s, perform like this. The human body simply wasn’t designed to undergo such sweeping transitions. But it gave her an idea.

Because the virus was not being targeted by any kind of immune response, there was no inflammation in the tissue sample or other complications. The tissue simply seemed to be unaffected. She excised a smaller piece of it—from where she had first injected the contaminant—and had the computer scan it She expected to see that the virus had taken up residence in all or most of the tissue cells. But what she saw shocked her.

The virus was gone.

“What?”

She studied it more. And discovered that, after the replicant tissue had adapted to include the pathogen in its natural process, it was able to build a counter-pathogen to sweep the cells. A microorganism that seemed to attack the very specific, and very rare, kind of protein that acted as the armor-coating for the Remorii pathogen. Without that protein shield, an immune response was possible and the virus had been eliminated. Though the significance of the discovery would not be evident to most people, to Rain it was perhaps the most amazing thing she’d ever witnessed.

She checked the rest of the tissue sample and found that it too had begun creating the counter-pathogen which had resulted in the total destruction of the Remorii Pathogen. The virus she’d injected seemed completely purged from the tissue sample.

“It is possible,” she whispered. The Remorii Virus could be beaten. A complex organism could implement an effective defense against the pathogen. “I knew it.” The next question was, could she make Shen’s body apply the strategy?

There was no way to know for sure, not by simply looking at it. And for that matter, if she introduced the counter-pathogen into Shen’s system, it might be as harmful to him as the Remorii Pathogen it was designed to target. As far as Rain could tell, it wouldn’t attack the protein configurations that made up human tissues and ligaments, but she couldn’t know for sure.

She felt a rush of hope return to her and she immediately began planning one final strategy to try to save Shen. Perhaps if I suppress his immune response, and then introduce the counter-pathogen system by system, I can eliminate the virus… There was no guarantee it would work. Aside from the fact that the counter pathogen might be dangerous to Shen, there was also the consideration that the infection had spread much further and much deeper throughout Shen’s body, threatening a complete systemic failure. But she had to try. She would not give up.

She collected samples of the counter-pathogen, taking as much as she could, and then she bolted for the door. Hoping she wouldn’t arrive too late.

Chapter 31

The pain was gone. It had been there, ever-present and ever-throbbing. Like an unyielding hell that both forced him to suffer and forced him to cling to life. A life-line with jagged edges of sharpened glass, piercing into him and tearing at him. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. The only thing he knew. And then, like a candle in a storm, it was gone. Creating a void. A vacuum. An emptiness. Was this death? He wondered.

And then the pain returned. Fierce and unforgiving. Shen felt it. It was the only thing he could feel. An ache that throbbed and twisted and squeezed. And he wondered if he’d ever stopped feeling the pain. The relief he’d felt, that brief glimmer of peace, had it ever truly been? And, if it had, had it lasted a year, a day, or merely an instant? It felt like a lifetime, and yet shorter than a quickened breath.

“…twenty cc’s pentacytate…” he heard a woman’s voice. It came like a rushing wave, crashing against the beach, firm and swift. Elevated. Panicked, yet in control. Shen imagined himself floating in the water. The taste of salt in his mouth. Rising and falling with the tides. It was a pleasant dream. Despite the pain he felt. It was a strange thing, to feel so numb and yet so wounded. But somehow, in the flowing tides, he let himself go. Slipping away.

“…losing him. Apply the—”

The voice came and went. Sometimes he could hear the words. Sometimes not. It didn’t matter though. He felt the buoyant current under him, carrying him, and tried to embrace the peaceful feeling it offered him. But, every time he was about to reach the shore, something grabbed him and hurled him back. Far out into the ocean. Filling him with panic, and nausea, and confusion. He felt as if he were drowning out in the great frigid depths. But, before he was to the waves, the current would always find him again, and carry him once more toward the golden beach just beyond the horizon.

“Is he responding?”

“Look, a rapid change in blood pressure—”

The sensation of the waves faded from his mind and the ocean itself seemed to disappear. The sky turned black and he found he was standing on the ground. A hardened, cracked, broken earth that was covered in broken buildings and littered with rotted corpses. The stench of the place was foul and sickening, yet there was a strange, subtle sweetness too.

Shen walked forward, looking around, seeing no one else around him. The only faces he found belonged to the dead. Many of them were mutilated and ruined, as if destroyed by claws, or teeth, or shrapnel. Some even looked riddled with bullets. The blood that stained the ground wasn’t red. It was black. Like oil. And, as Shen strode across the cracked and broken earth, he eventually saw a faint white glow.

It was Calvin, he realized. Calvin was there, in the distance, visible through glass. He held a carbine in his hands and was swinging it madly, thrusting the bayonet on its end through several Remorii who clawed at him. He wasn’t alone, Shen realized. There were others with him. Pellew, Rez’nac, Alex, and more. All of them surrounded in a wide, open courtyard. Desperately fighting back a horde of dark figures. Creatures whose details could not be seen clearly, for they did not glow like Calvin and his people did, but they were there—like black shadows.

Remus Nine… thought Shen. He looked at the faces of those he knew, glowing like ghosts, and he did not see his face. He tried to go to them, but could not find a way. He was stopped by a wall of glass. He reached for them, but the glass stopped him. He touched its surface with the palm of his hand, it was cold and impenetrable.

“…cardiac arrest.”

“Prepping defib unit…”

“No, his heart can’t take the electric shock. Begin chest compressions—now!”

The images before him faded, replaced with blackness. And then a white, blinding light. He recoiled from it. When it subsided, he again saw Remus Nine. But the buildings before him weren’t broken, they gleamed like polished silver and freshly cut stone. The ground was neither cracked nor broken, but filled with green flowing gardens. Life abounded everywhere. It was not a grim place, but a place of birth. A place of destiny.

“He’s responding. Heartbeat has returned…”

Tristan followed a cobblestone path which led him into one of the gardens. There, between the trees, standing in the sun, was a familiar face. Tristan stood, palms outspread, soaking in the warm rays. A smile on his face.

“Welcome, brother,” said Tristan once he noticed Shen. Shen stopped his approach and felt a dark, sick feeling.

“Here,” said Tristan, reaching out a human-like hand for Shen. “Go ahead, take it.”

Shen balked at the offer and shied away, distrustful.

“We’re losing him again…”

As he averted himself from Tristan, the world seemed to darken ever so slightly.

“You must take my hand,” said Tristan. “Come with me. Trust me.”

“Again! Do it again!”

Shen wasn’t sure what to do. A part of him, deep inside, urged him to reach out. To accept Tristan, and this place, and everything as it was. But another part, which seemed equally strong, was repulsed and revolted and seemed to rebel against everything here. Hating it. Preferring to close his eyes and wish it all away.

“…he’ll be gone any second.”

“No he won’t!”

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Do NOT give up on him. More pressure. We need to stabilize his—”

Shen looked back at Tristan. His eyes pleading for help in deciding what to do. What to think. What to feel. His every ounce and every fiber ached and twisted and felt confused. Lost in an ethereal whirlwind. Tristan took a step closer and again offered his hand. “Take it,” he said, his voice friendly. “Trust me. I am your only hope.”

Shen hesitated. And then he did as Tristan bid. Reached out and took the werewolf’s hand. Feeling the confusion and the chaos and the dizziness seem to slip away as he did. As he accepted what he was, and where he was, and all that was. Tristan smiled at him. “I will guide you through the tempest,” he said.

***

“It’s got to be here,” said Rafael. He was still in his hospital bed but Calvin had ordered a computer terminal brought in and they were privately going over his intelligence files. Several guards watched the door from the other side.

Calvin looked at the file Rafael indicated. It was a property in one of the industrial districts in the capital city. Ostensibly it was a secure underground unit for safe-keeping of hazardous materials, but as Calvin’s eyes combed through the specific details, it was fairly obvious the unit had been prepped as a place to house and protect a large number of people for an extended period of time. For instance there was no reason why it needed to have electricity, gas, and water hookups if it was just a storage unit.

“How did you notice this?” asked Calvin. The property wasn’t directly owned by Zane Martel, it was owned by a man named Boris Denisov—an alias—who owned a small company that was owned by another company, which was owned by another company, which was owned by another alias, who was allegedly on the board for MXR. Which meant this property was a Phoenix Ring property, and most likely owned by Zane Martel himself.

“I kind of have a knack for this,” said Rafael. “Follow the money. It will always tell you the truth, eventually.”

“I’d wager a thousand q that Zane and the others are there,” Calvin wagged a finger at the terminal. He had long suspected that the Martels were involved with the Phoenix Ring at a high level, however he hadn’t had previously had anything concrete to justify moving against the billionaire.

Calvin had placed Zane under surveillance and had his financial accounts tracked. But Zane always managed to throw every tail and his financial transactions, which were numerous, were so thoroughly obscured and complex that none of Calvin’s analysts had been able to prove that anything shady was going on. Calvin would’ve loved to have Zane hauled out of his estate and tossed into an interrogation cell, but he knew that wasn’t in the cards.

Even under the King’s authority, Calvin knew he couldn’t subject one of the Empire’s most influential billionaires to such treatment—especially considering that the man’s brother was a Representative in the Assembly for Capital World itself. Now, however, the game had changed. Rafael gave Calvin his own personal witness that Zane had been present several times when the Phoenix Ring had tortured and questioned him. In fact, Zane had clearly been the one giving the orders. Perhaps Zane did not expect Rafael to recognize him, but Rafael had. And now Calvin had legitimacy in ordering the billionaire brought into custody.

Unfortunately Calvin’s people had swept Zane’s estate looking for him and found him absent. A general order had been sent to police agencies across the planet to arrest him if he was spotted, and all means of traffic off-world were being watched, but Zane had vanished like a ghost. And though Calvin had people searching all of the billionaire’s properties, so far nothing had turned up. Rafael had identified a few other people and Calvin’s captives managed to give him names of other people who were high-ranking members of the Phoenix Ring. Calvin had put out a similar order for all of them to be rounded up but, like Zane, they seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

“I think Zane is probably hiding there,” said Rafael. “But I’m not so sure about the others, what makes you think they would be there too? For them all to be together, that seems like an unnecessary risk to me.”

“It’s a tremendous risk,” said Calvin. “But I have information that says that the Phoenix Ring Council has always planned to meet together when the Ascension comes.” He’d heard this from Rosemarie. She hadn’t been able to identify any of the Council’s members. But she did know that there was something happening called Ascension, and that—when the time was right—the leadership would all meet together. And, as a united group, observe the flames of Ascension. Calvin assumed Ascension referred to the transfer of the throne from the Akira House to another House, possibly the Martels.

“Then assuming Ascension is happening now, or about to happen,” said Rafael, “then yes, you’re likely correct.”

“There is a vote scheduled which will directly challenge the king,” said Calvin. “I’d bet anything that’s what Ascension is.”

“In that case we don’t have much time,” said Rafael. He sat up and started climbing out of the medical bed.

“You’re right,” said Calvin. “We need to act now.” He sprinted from the room, needing to contact Kalila immediately and organize his forces. They had a target. Now all they had to do was swoop in and capture the Phoenix Ring leaders before the Assembly finished the vote.

***

There was a moment of darkness. And, for as long as it lasted, everything was as silent as it was black. Empty. Vacuous. Like an eternal stretch of space absent of any stars. It was neither bleak, nor full of despair. Nor was it pleasant, nor warm, nor peaceful. Simply, it was nothing.

Nothing—for millions of centuries. Or millionths of a second. There was no way to tell. But eventually, in the very far distance, a tiny light appeared. Splitting the blackness like a ray of sunlight through an open curtain. The light grew, peeling away the darkness until it had vanished.

Shen blinked. Feeling the sting of light just above shining down into his eyes. His eyes watered and as he blinked again, to clear away the moisture, much of the blurriness he saw dissipated and everything became much clearer.

He was staring up at the ceiling of the infirmary; he recognized the white ceiling. But had no memory of how he got there, or what was going on. He tried to sit up but could not. Several firm restraints were wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him tightly against the medical bed.

As he moved, he felt cold gloved hands touch his head on either side, helping to support his neck. And a woman’s masked face leaned over him shining a tiny bright light into his eyes. He squinted and tried to speak. He didn’t hear the words come out, though he could feel his jaws move. For that matter he couldn’t hear anything, he realized.

The doctor leaning over him must have heard something though. Her brilliant blue eyes lit up with excitement and she looked up, ostensibly saying something to others who were around. A tangle of red hair was partially visible under her surgical cap. In a flash Shen remembered who she was. Rain, the physician who’d replaced Monte Blair. That meant he was on the Nighthawk.

She moved her hands down to his straps and began loosening them. A man rushed to her side to help; he wore camouflage fatigues and had broad shoulders. His big square hands were far better than Rain’s at undoing the restraints. Shen did not recognize him, though. If he knew the man, he no longer remembered him.

Once the final restraint was taken away, Shen managed to sit up. It proved more difficult than he’d expected. His limbs were sore and weak and he felt a throbbing ache across his entire body. When he moved, his muscles would seize up randomly, screaming at him in pain. And all the while a feeling of dizziness and nausea haunted him. But, as soon as he was sitting up—and could see the others in the room, now rushing to his side—none of his agony mattered.

Two big, beautiful brown eyes met his. Hers were red and glistening with tears. An expression of joy was painted on her sweet, delicate face and she brushed her lovely flow of brown hair aside as she came to him. Light shone from her eyes and she smiled. It was the sweetest, tenderest, most glorious sight he had ever seen. She spoke quickly, animatedly, flashing her beautiful pearl-white teeth. But Shen could not hear her. That didn’t seem to matter though. Soaking in the sight of Sarah, and seeing how much she cared—it was the greatest feeling he had ever felt. She took his stiff hand in hers. He could barely feel her, but he imagined how warm and soft her skin was. Seeing her, and feeling her—as little as he could—gave him the greatest feeling of peace he ever remembered feeling. And, somehow, the pain, and the dizziness, and the nausea, all seemed to subside.

The others came to his bedside too. Shen looked at them. Seeing faces he knew and faces he didn’t. A big round, red face that beamed down at him was Miles. He seemed almost as happy as Sarah. Another woman was there too. She kept her distance and watched without expression but he knew her porcelain face, emerald eyes, and flowing golden hair. Summers Presley…

The other two Shen did not recognize. They both wore camouflage and carried weapons for some reason—Shen couldn’t imagine why they were needed in the infirmary. They watched him with hawk eyes. Almost seeming suspicious of him. Shen didn’t care though. They were both a couple of muscle-headed idiots like the rest of special forces, he was sure. What mattered to Shen was his friends and they were all here. All but one…

He looked around, expecting to see Calvin. But Calvin was nowhere to be found. It made Shen a little sad. But he told himself that Calvin was probably needed somewhere else. That his friend, the man he most respected, would see him soon. Everything could be like it used to be…

Sarah squeezed his hand a bit harder and spoke something, Shen still couldn’t hear her nor could he read her lips. Rain returned to his side and adjusted some of the equipment. As she worked, adjusting a computer that was tied to an IV that stuck into his arm, Shen listened to the silence and wondered if he would ever hear again.

As if in answer to his question, his ears filled with a faint ringing.

Chapter 32

Kalila heard from Calvin that he had leads on who many of the Phoenix Ring leaders were—a group of civilian and military leaders known as the Council. Calvin also told her that he knew where they were likely hiding, and he was going after them. All Kalila could think was how sweet it would be when the perpetrators were finally brought to justice.

The political game in the Assembly had become increasingly delicate. And as news and rumors came in from the far reaches of the Empire, all of it ranging from bad to worse, Kalila found that her bloc of supporters was swiftly abandoning her. She considered bringing her father in, or one of her older siblings—despite the breach in protocol that would represent—but she knew it would serve no purpose. There was nothing any of them could do that she could not, and such a gesture would simply weaken her position in the minds of her allies. Showing the Akira House, the proudest and noblest of the Great Houses, to be desperate.

Now, however, there was effectively nothing more she could do. She would try to stall the vote, any way she could, but for every measure she tried to raise for debate and every wrench she threw in to slow the process, Caerwyn Martel was there to counter her. To have her motions dismissed. To have her filibuster tactics squelched by a majority Vote to Progress—which had been written into the Assembly rules as a way to prevent a minority power from holding the majority of the Representatives hostage and blocking political progress by creating a gridlock. The King himself had endorsed those measures years before when they’d been introduced. Now, though, they came back to haunt him. And they made it very difficult for Kalila to defend him, and herself, and her family. The Empire needed the Akira family at its helm, the same way a colony of bees needed its queen. Without them, without her father, the Empire would splinter apart. She knew it. And she hated that her enemies, whoever they were, seemed so very close to success. And there was so precious little she could do now to stop them.

Calvin will stop them, she told herself. He will arrest them. And then bring them immediately before the Assembly where the conspiracy would be exposed. Caerwyn would be able to do nothing about it—especially when his role in the dark sedition was revealed. Then justice would be served, the King’s crown made secure, and the Empire would be swept clean inside and out. Like a controlled fire purging away the sick, rotten, dead branches but sparing the healthy part of the tree. Once it was done there would be no one left who was strong enough to oppose and endanger them. Not the Rotham Republic. Not the Polarian Confederacy. No one. And then humanity would prosper once more.

It all depended on the next few hours

Kalila arranged for her forces to be standing by, ready to storm the Admiralty and ready to flood the Assembly Floor with additional security and protection. Once Calvin had custody of the traitors and brought them here, they needed to be kept safe and alive long enough to make their confessions. Or be found guilty. If there was going to be a violent response to Calvin’s and Kalila’s actions, Kalila would be ready for it. Soldiers loyal to her House and soldiers loyal to the king were ordered to stand by.

The next moments were critical. And Kalila would do all she could to ensure the safety of her father’s throne.

***

The Rotham Republic now had a legitimate claim to Renora, which gave them a foothold inside the Empire. Zane wasn’t happy about that—he’d never been happy with that part of the plan—but he’d always understood the necessity. Now it was more necessary than ever. Things were bad with the Rahajiim, the worst they’d ever been. And they’d taken the Organization’s bait and now blamed the Phoenix Ring for the attack on their soil. The ongoing slaughter of countless Rotham on Cepheus. Hopefully the acquisition of Renora would placate the Rahajiim for a little while, but there was no way to be sure. Eventually there would be war, Zane was certain of it, but hopefully not until after Ascension was complete.

He stood in the inner sanctum of the bunker. It was a plush, well-decorated room with a mahogany conference table and several expensive chairs around it. The doors were thick and secure, and were vigilantly guarded by a small army of mercenaries. Wanting to buy their deepest loyalty, Zane had paid them, and paid them well. None of these guards would ever have to work again after this. They just had to ensure the safety of Zane and the rest of the Council—who sat around the conference table debating some of the finer points of Post-Ascension. All were present. Every last one. And, as his eyes drank them in, Zane knew in his heart that the time was fast approaching. “This is for real,” he whispered.

“Mister Martel,” the mercenary captain walked up to him and saluted. Zane simply regarded him with his eyes. “The bunker is secure, sir.”

Zane looked from him, to the other guards, to the thick metal doors, and imagined all of the other many soldiers he’d taken into his employ. Together—here—they would ride out the storm. His precautions were many and he had spared no expense with his defense, but was it truly enough to be deemed secure? Was anything?

“Stay vigilant,” he said, and swept for his seat at the head of the conference table. Upon reaching it, he did not sit down though. Rather he stood, waiting for the noise of conversation to die, and for all eyes to fall on him.

Half a minute later the room was silent and thickly tense. His eyes moved from Councilman to Councilman. It was with these faces that he’d imagined the perfect Empire. And was with them that he would see it born. From ashes to ashes. From dust to dust. Into the fire. And into the sun. Rebirth. Renewal. Glory. “Ascension is nigh,” he said. “The hour swiftly approaches.”

“Hear, hear!” shouted Vance Tyler. Other voices joined his. He waited for the noise to die down before continuing.

“The vote is scheduled to happen. There is no stopping it now,” said Zane. “Truly, there never was any stopping it. Our destiny has always been written in the stars. And from the stars, our glory.”

More cheers. Mixed with applause. He saw the excited looks on the others’ faces. Saw the energy coursing through them, more eager than they’d ever been. Even paranoid Rita Donovan looked smug and secure, feeling safe in this hidden fortress. Surrounded by steel walls and an army of men. None of them knew how delicate everything was. How much danger remained.

Zane knew that the Rahajiim were still out there, brooding, biding their time, full of darkness and hate. He also knew that the Executor hunted for them. That he’d raided the Phoenix Ring’s dark dungeons and taken prisoners. Prisoners who would talk. Prisoners whose deaths Zane should have ordered but he’d failed to act in time. No matter, he thought. They will come. The dogs of war will come. But they will not come swiftly enough. Ascension will happen. And when it does—no one shall oppose me. No one could ever hope to oppose the Phoenix Ring once the mightiest Empire in the history of the universe lay in the palm of his hand. He needed only to remain safe a little while longer.

“Now we wait,” he said. “Wait to embrace our destiny.”

They cheered him, louder than ever. And not just the Council but the guards too. The sanctum rang with the echo of cheers. Zane raised both arms triumphantly until they were all silent. Then he headed for the door, allowing the Council to resume its inane prattling. He’d called in every favor. Spent all he could spend on defending this facility. But Zane knew he could never feel truly safe, not until he’d made one final call. Everything was on the table now. It was all or nothing.

***

Blackmoth was almost through cleaning the handgun when the call came. He wasn’t expecting it, but knew better than to be surprised. The One True God worked in transcendent ways, ways that defied Blackmoth’s ability to predict. No mere mortal could predict them, such was their immaculate beauty.

The call came from a false master. The request was urgent. More urgent than any he’d ever received from a false master before. And unusual too. Something he wasn’t used to. The false master offered him riches of all persuasions from all corners of the galaxy, but they meant nothing to him. Blackmoth had to pray. And pray he did. Was this the will of the One True God? He asked mightily. And mightily came the reply.

The One True God agreed.

Blackmoth was bound.

“I’ll do it,” he said, now re-assembling the handgun. I am but a mere vessel, a tool in the fingers of the One True God.

Chapter 33

Calvin had been tempted to use his authority as Executor of the Empire to take command of whole companies of marines, and deploy several platoons throughout the district. Giving the Phoenix Ring bunker a systematic, vice-grip like squeeze. No one would be going in or out. No one would escape. He would capture them, storming their bunker with overwhelming force. And had this been a traditional war, Calvin would have certainly chosen such a tactic.

However, the intelligence officer in Calvin knew that was a bad idea, not only would it take longer to arrange logistically, it gave his enemies more opportunity to learn what he was doing and make preparations. It would also maximize the number of friendly casualties—which he wanted to keep as close to zero as possible—and would be seen by the Assembly as a reason to panic. The Representatives might think Calvin was massing a force to move against them, or against the innocent civilians of Capital World—perhaps likening it to what had happened on Renora—which might lead them to accelerate their vote. Of critical importance was that Calvin took the Phoenix Ring leaders into custody and exposed the conspiracy before the King had been driven from the throne. Nothing else mattered. And now everything seemed to hinge on him.

“Execute operation,” he said into his headset radio once he’d been told his people were in position. He stared out the window of his car for a while, watching the buildings seem to fly past as his motorcade raced to the scene. He wore a tactical vest, a helmet, and protective gear, and was armed with a carbine and a sidearm. Rafael and Nikolai were there too, and similarly equipped. Neither probably should have been there with him, not after the injuries they’d received. But both had been eager to head to the front lines and be there by his side.

Nikolai managed his injuries—which included tissue, bone, and organ damage—via a system of intense pain medications. That and an iron-like force of will. As for Rafael, who was missing two fingers and wore an eye-patch over his empty socket, he held a one-handed sub-machinegun rather than a carbine and flashed a grin of determination. He seemed strongly motivated to go after Zane Martel, perhaps wanting revenge.

“Roger,” crackled the reply over the radio. “Alpha and Bravo are mobile.”

Calvin wished he could be there with Alpha and Bravo teams as they closed in on the Phoenix Ring bunker, and he was coming as fast as he possibly could, but he knew they couldn’t afford to wait. Every second wasted made things that much more desperate for the King and the Empire.

“Good luck,” he transmitted back. “Keep me informed.”

“Wilco.”

 He’d deployed a force of elite soldiers that had been specially trained in urban combat exercises and irregular warfare. Not nearly the size of force in numbers that he’d wanted to deploy originally, not even by a tenth, but they boasted far more expertise than traditional marines. And should still—if all went well—be more than a match for the Phoenix Ring’s mercenaries and hired security.

“I can’t wait to give them a taste of their own medicine,” said Nikolai, looking at Calvin. He pointed at the bandage on his chest that peeked out from under his protective body-armor. “They’ll get a lot worse than this when I’m done with them.”

“Remember, we need to capture the leaders alive,” said Calvin. He’d given very explicit and clear instructions to his men and women on the ground not to fire on the enemy leaders. If they were slain then they’d be useless as witnesses before the Assembly. “You may incapacitate them and use non-lethal weapons,” he’d told them. “But do not engage with lethal force.”

“This is it,” said Rafael. He took a deep breath. “I can smell it in the air. Today is the day we save the Empire.”

Calvin had ordered the police to clear this section of the city of civilians so the streets were empty. As the car turned a corner and began speeding down another street the first report came over the radio.

“Bravo taking fire. Six o’clock and three o’clock. Ninth and Meadow. Requesting assistance.”

“Charlie to flank. Stay down, Bravo.”

“Roger. We’re pinned down. Taking heavy fire.”

“Alpha has a visual. There’s a machinegun nest on the third floor balcony of the Transport Union building.”

“Confirmed. The machinegun nest is pinning us down. We’re going to try to grenade the thing. Standby to deploy smoke.”

“Negative, Bravo. Alpha sniper is in position. Keep your heads down.”

As Calvin listened to the radio reports being exchanged, he imagined the troops sweeping through the city. Encountering resistance as they made their way to the tunnel entrances that would take them to the Phoenix Ring’s secure underground bunker. He wished he was with them; all the tension and all of the anxiety he’d felt over the last several weeks—made worse by not having any equarius in his bloodstream—made him want to jump into the action, guns blazing, and… either succeed or die. It almost didn’t seem to matter which outcome prevailed. He just wanted it to be over. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in… longer than he could remember. And he’d lost weight and felt sicker and weaker than ever before. Just a little longer, he told himself.

“Machinegun is down,” reported a soldier from Alpha team. “Bravo you’re clear.”

“Roger that, Alpha. Thanks for the support. Moving to new position now.”

“Streets Three-hundred West through Winter Lane are clear,” reported Delta team. “TOC vehicles are clear to approach.”

“Confirmed,” said Calvin.

About ten minutes later his motorcade came to a stop and Calvin jumped out of the car, followed quickly by Nikolai, Rafael, and a host of eleven heavily-armed soldiers. They met with one of the field commanders, who’d set up a forward position on the side of the road. She was giving orders to various teams. Calvin’s forces had met some firm resistance in different parts of the city, and had sprung several ambushes, but through caution, cooperation, adequate preparedness, and superior training, their force had only sustained three casualties as they captured the grid surrounding the Phoenix Ring bunker. Enemy deaths were over a dozen, and a dozen more had fled into the underground tunnels, included an unknown number of wounded.

“The surface is secure,” reported Lieutenant Colonel Aarya Sadozai. She gave him a salute and he returned it. “Alpha is holding position while Bravo, Charlie, and Delta converge on the tunnel entrances.”

“Excellent work,” said Calvin. He led his force at a jog to the nearest entrance into the underground. The tunnel network that led to the Phoenix Ring bunker, and other underground facilities, would prove difficult to take. Flanking maneuvers were next to impossible down there, visibility was limited, and the enemy knew they were coming. However, they had no choice, they had to proceed and proceed quickly. Calvin felt as though the Phoenix Ring leaders, and all of their secrets, and all of the answers to the many mysteries that had plagued him since Praxis, were mere centimeters away. For the first time ever, completely within his reach.

“Move. Move. Move.”

He found himself wishing Pellew was there. Despite the captain’s ruthlessness, Calvin remembered how much of a relief it had been to have the man at his side during the mutiny, and on the Rotham ship, and most recently on the blood-soaked surface of Remus Nine. For that matter, Calvin found himself wishing Rez’nac was there. The tall, muscular blue alien charging ahead, seemingly invincible. Unfortunately Calvin had to do without.

He and his group reached the nearest entrance to the underground and put on their night-vision goggles before beginning the two-story descent into the tunnel network. Nikolai insisted on going ahead of Calvin, wanting to make sure they weren’t walking into an ambush. Calvin disliked having so much security assigned to him, as if he needed to live inside an insulated bubble. The Khan attack on his motorcade was still fresh on his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking about the faces of those who’d died protecting him. He wasn’t more important than them, not truly. And here, in the dark tunnel network where they were certain to meet opposition, he refused to let himself believe that any person with him was less entitled to life than he was.

“Clear,” the lead soldier said, as the group of them took the forward landing and proceeded into the tunnels.

“All teams report,” said Calvin into the radio.

“Alpha is in position, proceeding north by northwest. No resistance.”

“Bravo has just taken the entrance at junction three-oh-six by two-two-three. Minor resistance. Enemy forces seem to be in retreat.”

“Charlie is under heavy fire, I repeat we are under heavy fire. Requesting immediate assistance, over.” The noise of gunfire could be heard over the radio, somewhat drowning out the speaker.

“All teams converge on Charlie’s position,” ordered Calvin.

“Roger that.”

“Understood.”

“Wilco.”

Calvin and his group accelerated their pace to a light jog, moving through the poorly-lit underground—which seemed like a lime green haze through the goggles—with all speed. He hefted his carbine and pointed it anxiously down every adjoining hall as they went, expecting to see a strong enemy position awaiting them.

Alpha was first to arrive. “Fire in the hole!” the team leader’s voice came over the radio. It was followed by a loud ringing that could be heard echoing down the narrow passageways. Then, a moment later, “hostiles down. I repeat, hostiles are down. Area is secure.”

“Calvin and his team arrived on the scene to see several mercenaries doubled-over in puddles of their own blood. Most had been cleanly shot in the head. Probably shortly after being stunned by the flashbang grenade.

“Bravo here, shall we continue to converge on Charlie’s position?”

“Negative,” said Calvin. “Return to prior path.”

“Roger that. We’ll be in position in less than a minute.”

Calvin directed his team to continue down the long passageway while Alpha and Charlie teams split and took other paths. There were many routes in the tunnel network, and many different storage facilities, but all of them could be used to reach their destination. And all would coalesce about a hundred meters before the main entrance to the Phoenix Ring bunker. As for Bravo team, they moved swiftly to take the power generator. There wasn’t much power in the underground tunnels, nor was there much light, but Calvin believed it best to deprive his enemies of even the small amount provided by the generator. Zane Martel was no fool, and probably had his own power-source inside his bunker, but his men wouldn’t be so useful in the tunnels once they went completely black.

“Encountering minor resistance on our flank,” reported Bravo Team after about a minute.

“Do you need support?” asked Calvin.

“Negative, the enemy is routing.”

“Casualties?”

“Two of ours, seven of theirs. Maybe more. They have a strong position inside the generator control room. Recommend we blow it, controlled demolition.”

“Do it,” said Calvin, understanding what that meant. They were going to use a small amount of strategically placed explosives to destroy the control room and the generator without upsetting the structural integrity of the tunnels. He was no demolitions expert but he assumed they knew what they were doing.

About a minute later there was a deep rumble and all the lights went out.

“The generator is down,” reported the Bravo Team leader.

“And the enemy position?” asked Calvin.

“Scattered and in retreat.”

He heard the echo of gunfire and the whine of a high-caliber, suppressed sniper rifle firing every few seconds. “They’re dropping like flies. They seem to be in a panic.”

“Charlie here, we don’t see anything.”

“Alpha confirms that the enemy is scattered and in retreat. They appear to be falling back to the target destination.”

Excellent, thought Calvin. He felt like he had the enemy by the throat and was slowly squeezing. “All teams converge on the bunker immediately. I repeat, all teams converge.” As he spoke there was a whine from a submachine-gun and the man immediately to his right went down. Bullets slapped against Calvin’s chest armor like three small punches, bruising his ribs. He let out a cry of pain and dropped into cover, going to a firing position on his knees. He pointed his carbine toward the source of the gunfire.

Not more than five meters away were four enemies. Two were re-loading, the others continued to fire on Calvin’s group, who swiftly reacted by getting low and scrambling for cover.

Calvin fired and one of the enemies went down. His face shredded to a pulp. An instant later the other three dropped, taken down by Calvin’s people.

“TOC report,” said the Alpha Team leader. “Are you under fire?”

“We were,” said Calvin, he squinted through his goggles down the long hallway, searching for more enemies but not seeing any. His men fanned out, scouring the halls around them for any more ambushes. A field medic knelt next to Calvin and began checking the fallen man for his vital signs; he was clearly dead.

“Current status?”

“Area secure,” reported Nikolai. Calvin was still shocked that they’d managed not to see the enemy ambush until the trap had sprung. He’d been lucky to be standing where he was, and that the shooters hadn’t used higher caliber weapons.

“Beware of stragglers,” said Calvin, looking down at his fallen soldier darkly. The lifeless eyes had rolled to the sides of his eye-sockets and looked strange and unnatural. “It seems that not all of our enemies decided to fall back.”

“Understood.”

“Bravo reports in position.”

“Alpha reports in position.”

“Charlie reports in position.”

His teams were set up, there would be no escape for the Phoenix Ring. He would take them into custody, and not a moment too soon. He knew the Assembly was scheduled to begin their vote any time now. Time was of the essence.

“Commence breaching protocol.”

***

The Harbinger burned its engines furiously, struggling to maintain its maximum jump depth. As it screamed through the blackness of alteredspace, Raidan stood on his bridge and stared out the forward window array. Feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety. It was happening. Everything that he’d feared, everything that he’d bled—and killed—to prevent, it was all on the verge of happening…

“Faster, Mister Watson,” said Raidan. His voice was steady and calm but the glint of steel in his tone was unmistakable.

“I cannot go any deeper sir,” said the chief helmsman. He and a crew of a dozen other officers worked cooperatively to pilot the ship. “We’re well-beyond the maximum recommended depth.”

“He’s right, sir,” said Mister Ivanov. “I’ve disabled the safety protocols on the alteredspace drive, as well as the automatic shutdown system, but those features were put in place for a reason. I don’t estimate we can keep up this pace. Not for much longer.”

Raidan ran a frustrated hand through his hair and then closed his eyes for a moment. Blocking out the lights of his bridge and the many people who worked tirelessly to follow his orders and keep the ship working at peak efficiency.

“I know,” said Raidan. He knew his crew was doing all that was physically possible to get them to their destination before it was too late. “Tell the engineering staff to keep those engines firing… we just need them a little longer. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And if there is anything that can be done—anything at all—to get us there faster, even if it’s just by a millisecond,” said Raidan, “see that it’s done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ever since the failure at Renora, which remained ever-present on Raidan’s mind, the Harbinger had been on its way to Capital World.

Big things were happening there. Tremendous things. Things that would shake the Empire. And there, Raidan was certain, the next—and perhaps final—note of the dark symphony would be played. He intended the Harbinger to be there when it happened. Intended to be of whatever assistance he could to try to preserve the fracturing pieces of the Empire. But there was a dark, sinister feeling in the ghostly emptiness of space. A foreboding. And Raidan found it very difficult to tender much hope.

***

Summers sat in the command position of the Nighthawk’s bridge as the ship sailed for the Kynar Asteroid Field. She was beginning to feel comfortable sitting in that chair, even on this ship with all of its misfits and a general lack of discipline. And now that they’d parted ways with Raidan and the Harbinger, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted.

As she looked at the familiar faces around her—people she would never consider friends, but… perhaps colleagues—she noted their smiles and a kind of new brightness in their eyes. Crew morale among the senior staff was the highest it’d been since she’d taken command. The ship was repaired, the weapons were restocked, the reserves had been filled with food and fuel, but none of that was responsible for the uplifted air that permeated the bridge. Everyone was happy because Iwate Shen had awoken. And the chief physician believed he was going to make a strong recovery. He wasn’t here now, Cassidy Dupont still occupied his traditional place on the bridge, but everyone knew that in short enough time Shen would be back. Back where he belonged.

Summers had never felt like she knew Shen. He’d always been distant around her and seemed like a very private person. Since he wasn’t the most perfectly hygienic member of the crew—and had always had the hint of some sort of odd smell about him, at least to Summers—she hadn’t felt particularly interested in getting to know him. Then, when they’d all been certain he would die, she’d felt pity for him but that had been all. Now that there had been a minor medical miracle, and Shen was expected to recover, Summers wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Of course she was pleased that the ops chief was going to live, and that he would eventually return to duty—he had much to offer—but at the same time, a tiny part of her was suspicious. She’d seen the man when he’d awoken in the infirmary, and she recalled distinctly thinking that something had changed about him. That something was different. She wondered if it was still possible for Shen to transform into one of the Remorii creatures. And if he still represented a danger to the ship. She couldn’t keep constant security on him, not now that he seemed to be recovering and returning back to his old self. But Summers intended to keep an eye on him. She wasn’t certain everything would ever be exactly like it had been before.

“ETA?” she asked, deciding to break the silence on the bridge.

“Nineteen hours,” said Sarah. The young helmsman wore her uniform—cropped as usual—and, though Summers had half a mind to berate her and force her to wear appropriate clothing, she decided not to. The woman had been torn up with grief over what’d happened to Shen and, now that he was going to survive, Sarah seemed unable to emotionally comprehend what that meant. She seemed filled with relief and joy, and her eyes were no longer in a constant state of red, damp, puffiness, but she wasn’t all there either. Summers could tell. She looked the helmsman over shrewdly and could tell the woman was deep in thought about something. Probably still trying to process everything that had happened. So long as it didn’t affect her performance of her duties, Summers was content to leave well enough alone and allow Sarah to cope with her personal issues in her own preferred way. Whatever that was.

“I still don’t see why we’re not on our way to pick up Calvin,” said Miles. He sat hunched over in the XO’s chair, staring blankly out the window. Now that the ship was again sufficiently staffed, they didn’t need him to perform double duty and sit the defense position while simultaneously acting in the XO’s role. Summers made a mental note to have the XO’s chair disinfected before she used it again.

“Calvin has not asked us to meet up with him yet,” Summers explained. “And we don’t have time to sit around at Capital World waiting for him to finish his duties as Executor. We have duties of our own.” In truth, Summers believed that the ship’s current mission was among the most important priorities in the galaxy. Perhaps the most important.

“You just don’t want to give him his ship back,” muttered Miles.

Summers resisted the urge to sigh. She was slowly learning that Miles seemed only provoked and encouraged by attention, and that the best way to deal with him was to ignore him and otherwise treat him like a spoiled six-year old.

“There’s no telling what we’ll find when we get there,” said Cassidy. She spun the ops chair so she could face the center of the bridge.

“You’re right,” said Summers. “So we’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“We’re just gonna find a bunch of rocks,” said Miles. “Big deal.”

In order to keep things on point, Summers had not invited Miles to the intelligence meeting she’d had earlier with Cassidy, Sarah, Andre, and—annoyingly—Alex, who Summers hadn’t thought of a compelling reason to exclude, since Calvin had taken the Rotham into his confidence. Miles, however, was still in the dark. And hadn’t the faintest idea why they were going to the Kynar Asteroid Field with such speed. At the very least he should have been concerned why the ship was leaving Imperial space and once more ducking into the DMZ, but Miles seemed apathetic. All he seemed to care about was that Summers had command, which he didn’t approve of, and that Calvin wasn’t on the ship.

Summers didn’t have time to have patience with Miles and his apparent man-crush however. She understood that Calvin was doing important work on Capital World, even if Miles couldn’t grasp that. And, secretly, deep inside her heart, she worried for Calvin. She knew how dangerous the situation was there, deep in the very heart of the conspiracy itself, and she also knew how rash and impulsive and careless Calvin could sometimes be.

Be all right, she thought, as if thinking the words would will them to come true. Stay safe.

“Why in hell are we going to Kynar anyway?” asked Miles.

“The remaining isotome weapons are there,” said Summers. “Or so our best intelligence indicates. We are going there to remove them from the galaxy.”

The information had come from Raidan so it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not it had even the remotest shred of truth to it. Apparently the Arcane Storm had returned to the deadspace zone where they’d found the Arcane Storm, and there the ship had positively ID’d a series of jump paths that ultimately coalesced in the Kynar Asteroid Field. Raidan had suggested to her that the Nighthawk follow up on that lead, because of its stealth technology. Summers agreed and had jumped immediately. A part of her suspected that Raidan had given her this information in order to maneuver her and the Nighthawk away from something else, something important. But another part of her—the part that thought she knew him—believed he was telling the truth. Truth or not, the isotome threat was too severe to ignore, so Summers had jumped the ship. Happy to be rid of Raidan and his devious face.

Now all she could do was wait. Wait and hope for the best. She tried not to think of Calvin. Making herself believe that he was safe. That he knew what he was doing. That his efforts would be successful. And then, finally, the Empire would be restored to its true self. Summers would turn herself in, accepting whatever punishments awaited her, but at least there would be peace and order once again. And everything would finally be in its proper place. There would be no more isotome weapons. And no more dark conspiracies. And no more deaths from betrayal and friendly fire. She shut out the haunting image of the Fifth Fleet incinerating itself from her mind. It tormented her, even now. She tried not to think of the people on those ships…

“You don’t look too good,” said Miles. “Which is weird for you. Are you sick or something?”

“Shut up,” snapped Summers, reacting to him absentmindedly. “Sarah, if at all possible, increase our jump depth.”

Chapter 34

“The Executor’s forces are at the door,” said the mercenary captain.

“They acted sooner than I’d anticipated,” said Zane. “But no matter. They will not get us in here.” His eyes drifted across the chamber to where Blackmoth stood, leaning against the wall. Silent and reserved, watching as Zane’s forces scrambled to secure the door and prepare for invasion.

He seemed detached. Perhaps praying to his god. Blackmoth was a difficult man to read, always had been. But Zane knew there was no match for him anywhere in the universe. Even now he stood, armed to the teeth, with more weapons on his person than even a soldier needed in a lifetime. Many of the instruments of death Zane didn’t even recognize, nor did he care to. So long as they were efficient at killing, and killed the right people, what difference did it make to him?

“We’re not safe here!” shouted Rita Donovan from the conference table, where she and the rest of the Phoenix Ring council were. Most were still in their seats but a few had risen, looking intensely panicked. Their eyes combed the chamber for some kind of escape, or some place to hide, but they found nothing. The chamber was the most secure place on Capital World. With only one way in, and one way out.

“We’re perfectly safe!” said Zane. “The Executor might be on the other side of that door,” he pointed to the hardened-metal access point with its many locks and layers of security, “but he can’t get us here. Not even if he has a hundred thousand men,” his steel eyes looked at the other top members of the Phoenix Ring. Trying to reassure them. “His time is running out. Ascension is happening. And when it does, the Executor’s authority will be evaporate like drops of water on scorching metal.”

“What if you’re wrong?” asked Rita, a screech of fear in her voice. “What if he—”

Zane cut her off. “I’m not wrong. Wait and see.” Again he looked at Blackmoth, and the galaxy’s most fearsome assassin met his gaze. So long as Blackmoth’s destiny was tied to his, Zane knew, there wasn’t a force in the universe that could harm him.

The sound of muffled gunfire could be heard, leaking into the chamber. Followed by the rumble of a small, tactical explosion. Zane knew what it meant. The Executor’s forces had breached the outer layer of the bunker. Soon they’d carve their way through his defenses and find their way here to the inner sanctum. But he was not afraid. He looked at Blackmoth and saw no fear in him. So Zane had no fear.

Ascension was nigh. Soon all of this would be over. And then the true Empire would begin.

***

“He has slaughtered our own people, citizens he is sworn to protect,” said Caerwyn, standing before the entire Assembly. Kalila watched him with suspicious eyes, awaiting her turn to speak.

“The King sent troops to Renora, against our recommendation, and against the will of the people,” Caerwyn continued. His face was bright red and his words forceful and clearly spoken. “Those men, under the banner of the King, slaughtered countless innocents. The King tried to force a kind of order that cannot be forced, raising the populace into a heightened state of rebellion. Displacing millions. And even now those citizens starve and die. I remind this honorably body that the King is also responsible for a vicious and brutal bombardment of the planet, the result of which was not the restoration of peace and prosperity to Renora. No, the result was the deaths of women, and children, the destruction of hospitals and homes, and the ultimately the declaration by the people of Renora to secede from our Empire and join the Rotham Republic.

“Never before has the Empire, or organized government for that matter, witnessed such gross incompetence, rampant mismanagement, and wretched leadership. Is this what we want for our citizens? Is this the story that we will take home to those we represent?” he asked, pausing for a moment. “I know that many of you were appointed by the King, or by Knights and Lords loyal to the King, and that many of you feel a particular loyalty to the Akira House. It is only natural, the Akiras have served this Empire tremendously ever since its very beginning. But let us not confuse loyalty to the Akira name with loyalty to the Empire. Hisato Akira is not the mighty Jinpachi Akira of old. This king we have today is not that great man, he is not the first king who led our colonies to unite into the grand Empire we have today. He is merely a descendent. And only entitled to the throne so long as we allow him.

“I ask you all now, for the sake of the people of Capital World, and all of the citizens of the Empire, to cast your vote today for new leadership. Our Empire is bleeding, Renora is lost to us, and now there is the ever-present threat of war looming over us. We must have a monarch who can steer us through these troublesome waters. And Hisato Akira has proven to us that he is not that man. He is incapable of being the leader we need in this dark hour. And now you and I, and every one of us here, has the opportunity to make the most meaningful difference.” Again he paused. “If we do not act now, today, to save our Empire, there will soon be no more Empire to save.”

He took his seat and the Assembly members discussed among themselves what he had said. The sounds of chatter and conversation filled the chamber. Kalila took a deep breath as she stared up at the balconies of people. So many Representatives from so many worlds. And yet they were all so easily duped, and led along by Caerwyn Martel like puppets on a string.

Representative Tate called the Assembly Floor to order and silence filled the chamber. “Princess Kalila Akira, you may now address the Assembly. You have three minutes to make a final statement before voting commences.”

Kalila took the floor and walked to the center, taking her microphone with her. She had hoped not to be given a time-limit, so she could ramble and filibuster for as long as it took—long enough for Calvin and his forces to come sweeping in, bringing the traitors before the Assembly for all to see. But she only had three minutes. So all she could do was state her case to the best of her ability, and pray that somehow she got through to some of them. Even though the issue was already drawn along coalition lines, and Martel and his faction had adequate support to force the issue. Kalila tried to be hopeful anyway.

“Honored Representatives and Members of the Assembly,” she said, looking up at the gathered masses. On their stacked balconies everyone seemed to be awake and alert. This was the most unique session of the Assembly that had ever happened. In all of a hundred years, the Assembly had never voted to challenge the authority of the King. Today was a new day, a black day.

“I stand before you today in my father’s place, as a member of the Royal Akira family,” she continued. “I have long been a part of this body and have served with you for years. Yet only weeks ago this body believed I was a traitor, and that I had attacked Renora. Only to be proven beyond a doubt that I am innocent. That I had been framed, made to appear as though I had been behind the tragic slaughter. I am here to tell you that my father has been similarly framed. And that if we hold him responsible for these actions, we will be punishing an innocent man. A man who has had nothing but love and compassion for each and every world in the Empire.”

Someone snorted. Kalila ignored him. “The rumors of bombings by the King’s forces and ruthless violence against the citizens of Renora are merely that, rumors. At this moment of crisis, let us not act rashly and hastily, to throw our Imperial government into an even higher level of chaos. We must rally behind our king, our shepherd and protector, and unite ourselves—every last one of us—and together we can solve our problems. But if we fight amongst ourselves, and turn our government upside down, all while our enemies are gathering strength both at home and abroad, we cannot hope to prevail. I urge and beg you, I plead with you all, to truly consider what is being proposed today. And to make the right decision, to support our monarch.”

With no more allowance of time to continue her argument, she returned to her seat without another word. The crowd of Representatives reacted to her statement with a mixture of support and dissonance. She could tell from the tone of the room that the issue was hotly contested. Unfortunately her influence here had reached an all-time low. And many of those loyal to her political faction had left it. Even some of the Representatives here who believed in the King, and believed him innocent of the bombardment of Renora, they were still most influenced by public opinion. And in the court of public opinion things seemed clear—

the people of the Empire were afraid, distrustful, and eager for a change. Unfortunately, thought Kalila as she regarded them, none of them truly understood what they were asking for. And the heavy price they would pay.

“Order. Order on the Assembly Floor,” said Representative Tate, smacking her gavel. The noise in the chamber quickly faded. “Having heard the final arguments we will now put the measure to a vote. On the matter of Assembly Resolution Five-Five-Oh-Three, a motion to execute the Sovereignty Clause of Article One of the Imperial Charter and call upon the Great Houses to decide the monarchy, all in favor so indicate.”

Kalila watched as the Assembly Representatives pressed buttons on the terminals next to them.

“And all opposed, so indicate,” said Representative Tate.

More movement. It was hard for Kalila to judge as she scanned over the chamber which side held the majority.

Representative Tate looked down at her own display and she, along with the other two members of the committee, examined the results. “With a vote of one-hundred and eighty nine to one-hundred and seventy nine, with ten abstentions, the Aye’s have it. The Sovereignty Clause is hereby invoked and the members representing the Great Houses will assemble to decide the fate of the monarchy.”

Kalila felt her heart sink, but she wasn’t surprised by the outcome. The Assembly had just voted to allow the clause to be invoked, but the Great Houses still had to vote on the issue of whether or not to pull the plug on the Akiran Monarchy. She tried to be hopeful, tried to think maybe she could sway a few of the others. But since the other Great Houses had always hungered for the chance to claim the throne for themselves, she didn’t think it likely they’d vote to support the Akiran claim.

It wasn’t over yet. She had a little time. If only Calvin would arrive and she could expose the conspiracy. Then she could motion for the Invocation of the Sovereignty Clause to be annulled. She touched the screen of her terminal and sent a message to him.

Hurry Up Calvin.

***

Calvin read the message from Kalila on his mobile just as his forces were preparing to blow the door to the inner sanctum. They’d taken the outer layer of the Phoenix Ring bunker, suffering one more casualty in the process, and now only one door stood between him and those responsible for corrupting the Empire.

“We have to speed this up,” he said. Kalila would not have told him to hurry up if the situation on the Assembly Floor wasn’t dire.

“Alpha is in position,” reported Alpha Team leader.

“The charges are placed,” said Bravo Team leader. “Bravo is ready.”

“Charlie, are you go?” asked Calvin.

“Roger. Charlie is in position. We’re ready.”

Calvin pointed his carbine at the door from a safe distance. Through his night-vision goggles he could somewhat make out several small charges that had been placed on various parts of the metal door. Designed to blow it from its track.

“You should keep your head down,” whispered Nikolai from his side. He too pointed his firearm in the direction of the door.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Calvin. There was no way to tell what they would encounter once they blew the door aside and stormed the inner sanctum. But one thing seemed certain, they would meet the fiercest resistance of all. They’d take losses. Calvin knew it, every soldier on every team knew it, but it would be worth it, he told himself. It had to. They’d capture Zane Martel and all of the others. Then race them back to the Assembly Floor where the conspiracy would be exposed and the Empire would be saved. Nearly finished, though Calvin. We’re nearly through. “Remember,” he said. “No civilian casualties.” They needed to take the Phoenix Ring Council alive so they could extract a confession from at least one of them.

“Understood, sir.”

“All teams are in position and ready,” said Rafael.

“Breach,” ordered Calvin. There was a flash and a crack as several small explosives popped, breaking the metal door free of its restraints. It crashed to the ground, surrounded by smoke.

“Fire in the hole!” said Alpha Team leader. He threw a flashbang into the inner sanctum. Once it went off, and the echo of a sharp ringing could be heard, Calvin’s men stormed through the smoke, weapons raised.

“Hands on your heads!” they called.

After several soldiers had gone through, Calvin sprinted for the entrance and went through himself. He felt his heart thundering, and images of past firefights flicked through his mind, but he narrowed his eyes and kept his focus. Realizing only as he moved through the smoky green haze that he should have heard gunfire by now, but the inner sanctum had met them with only silence.

“What the hell—” Alpha Team leader said.

Calvin stepped out of the smoke and into the inner sanctum. It was a reasonably large room with a conference table at the center. Corpses sat in the chairs. Men and women in professional attire. Some slumped back, other leaning over the table. Most looked as if they’d been taken by surprise. Eyes and heads had been shot, blood and bone matter were everywhere. Not a group suicide…they all looked like victims of a swift and brutal execution.

“No,” said Calvin, racing over. He took off his goggles, not believing what he could see. In the yellowy lights, the scene was even more sickening. He didn’t want to approach the gruesome sight but he was desperate to find one of them still alive. He began checking vitals. Two soldiers from Alpha Team did the same.

“They’re dead,” said Alpha Team leader. “They’re all dead.”

“One of them has to be alive!” said Calvin. He felt his heart pounding in his ears and as he scanned over the macabre sight, counting sixteen corpses—ten civilians who’d likely been members of the Phoenix Ring Council and six mercenaries who lay dead by the door, ostensibly shot in the back. If there had been a fight here, it had ended swiftly. And few if any of the victims had realized they were under attack until they were slaughtered.

“I’m sorry sir,” said Alpha Team leader as his men finished checking the vitals of the victims. “They’re all dead.”

“No, it can’t… how…” Calvin fumbled for words and felt himself weaken; he would have dropped his carbine had it not been strapped to him.

“Looks like gunshot wounds,” said Bravo Team leader, examining one of the dead soldiers. “Judging by the entry and exit wounds I’d say five point five six. This one can’t have been dead for more than a few minutes.”

“Then the killer is still here,” said Calvin. He looked around. There seemed to be nowhere in the inner sanctum for a person to hide.

“Unless it was a murder suicide,” said Rafael who’d finally stepped into the room. He looked at the gruesome sight, all the blood everywhere, with a kind of morbid fascination.

“Charlie, fan out,” said Calvin. “Find this killer.”

“Aye sir. Though I don’t see how anyone could have gotten past us. We’ve had this whole grid locked down.”

“Try anyway,” snapped Calvin. He delicately moved the arm of one of the slain Phoenix Ring members and tried to I.D. who the woman was. The face was unrecognizably destroyed. Calvin felt like gagging but resisted the urge. “There’s got to be something here… is there anything we can use? Anything?” He had to take something back to Kalila. The whole Empire depended on him.

“There is a lot of intelligence to be gathered from this scene,” said Rafael. “But nothing that is immediately forthcoming that we could take before the Assembly. News of this slaughter would probably only implicate the King. No doubt Kalila’s enemies in the Assembly will try to twist this into a story about how the King’s soldiers raided private property without just cause and then proceeded to murder the occupants. There is no compelling and obvious proof of conspiracy here. Just proof that some of the wealthiest and most influential people in the Empire were meeting together.”

Calvin knew he was right. And it all sank in. They’d failed. He’d failed. The king would lose his throne and the Empire would collapse. “How…” he stared down at the messy bodies. “Why…?” Who would have done this, he wondered. Who could have possibly had motive and means to eliminate the Phoenix Ring, and just before Calvin could get his hands on them. Not Raidan’s Organization… they were too poorly outfitted on Capital World and too far away…

“Well, well, look what we have here,” said Rafael, lifting up one of the corpse’s heads. This one had been shot repeatedly in the chest but his head had been left intact, allowing his face to be recognized. “If it isn’t my old friend Zane Martel… Interesting how the worm has turned…”

Calvin looked at the slain billionaire and felt afraid. Zane had been a bad person, Calvin was sure, and Zane had been behind much of the dark actions of the Phoenix Ring, but he’d also been one of the galaxy’s most powerful and influential billionaires. Yet here he was, slaughtered in his own house. Shot in the chest repeatedly. Murdered by a friend.

“This is darker and deeper than any of us realized,” whispered Calvin. Zane’s blank, lifeless eyes stared back at him. If only those brown irises could tell him what they’d last seen...

Chapter 35

“Mister Conroy?” asked Representative Tate.

“Aye.”

“Mister Conroy and the Conroy House vote Aye,” said Representative Tate. “Mister Zhang?”

“Aye.”

“Mister Zhang and the Zhang House vote Aye. Lady Florence?”

“Nay.”

“Lady Florence and the Florence House vote Nay.”

Lady Florence gave Kalila a melancholy look and Kalila acknowledged her with her eyes. The Florences were among her father’s most ardent supporters, as were the Torres, Garcias, and the Coles. But together their support was coming up light, and Kalila knew that if even two more Houses declared in favor of the motion, it would mean the Assembly had decided to revoke her father’s legal claim to the throne.

Calvin, where are you?

“Mister Ortiz?”

“Nay.”

“Mister Ortiz and the Ortiz House vote Nay. Lady Warren?”

“Aye,” said Lady Warren. That mean just one more remained… one more vote and she’d lose everything. Kalila knew she had to do something. And quickly. The Martel House was next and it wasn’t a secret how Caerwyn would vote.

“Lady Warren and the Warren House vote Aye,” said Representative Tate. “Mister Mart—”

Kalila did not let the Representative finish. Instead she stood up and spoke forcefully into her microphone. “I object.”

A hush fell over the room and Representative Tate looked at her strangely, they all did. What was the princess doing? She was all out of order. And yet their curiosity seemed to get the better of them. Kalila cleared her throat and spoke.

“Honorable Members of the Assembly,” she said, “I object to Mister Martel being allowed to cast his vote, as well as several of his fellows, on the grounds that he is part of an intergalactic conspiracy. I hereby formally accuse him of sedition, and for taking part in a plot to overthrow the king.”

The gathered mass of politicians reacted with shock. Gasps, shouts, and conversation filled the chamber and Representative Tate had to call the Assembly Floor to order six times before the chamber quieted.

“Princess, those are bold accusations,” said Representative Tate.

“I stand by them.”

“And Mister Martel, how do you respond to these accusations?”

Caerwyn strode to the center of the Assembly Floor and looked up at everyone. He didn’t so much as give Kalila a sidewise glance. “My brothers and sisters of the Assembly, it is clear what is going on. This is a desperate, late-game strategy by the Princess to try to stop the legal process that is currently happening. She wishes for her father to retain his crown. And is clearly willing to do so by any means. Including filling this sacred chamber with lies and false accusations. But they are empty and without merit, and I invite the Princess to please put forth any evidence she has. I am willing to hear it. Let us all hear it. Let the whole Empire hear it. For there is nothing she can say or do to twist her foul lie into the truth.” He finally looked at her. Looked at her with those big round eyes of his, challenging her. Daring her to do her worst. Kalila felt hate pour through her, but she did not show anything.

“The Executor is on his way here now,” she said. “He will arrive shortly with all the evidence you need.” She prayed that was true.     “And how long would you have us wait for him, You Grace?” asked Caerwyn. “Hours? Days? Decades? We cannot allow these accusations to hold our Assembly hostage. We must allow the legal process to continue. And in the spirit of such, Lady Tate, I cast my vote in the affirmative. House Martel votes Aye.”

“You are not fit to cast that vote,” said Kalila. She looked from him to the committee sitting on the raised platform. “You cannot count that vote. Not yet.”

Representative Tate frowned.

“Need I remind the princess,” said Caerwyn. “That the burden of proof is on her—the accuser—to prove my guilt, not on me to prove my innocence. Until she does, I remain in good standing with this body. And I will cast my vote.”

“Mister Martel has the right of it,” said Representative Tate.

“Please…” said Kalila, her eyes pleading with Representative Tate. “Just a few more minutes. He’ll come. And the evidence will be here.”

Representative Tate regarded her silently for a moment. Then she conferred with the other members of the committee. Eventually she said, “we will grant you ten minutes to substantiate your accusations. After that the voting process will resume.”

“Thank you, honored Representatives,” said Kalila. She returned to her seat and sent Calvin a frantic message.

Where are you? Are you coming?

A few seconds later his reply came.

No.

There was no explanation. Kalila felt her mind reel and she tried to understand what it meant, considering all the possibilities. Perhaps Calvin’s lead on where the conspirators were hiding had proven a dead end. Or perhaps his forces had been beaten back. She didn’t let herself think that Calvin had been bought off, or had decided not to cooperate with her, and betray her. No, there must be a better explanation. Whatever the case, the outcome was clear. She could not stop the vote. There was no longer any hope.

She stood up from her seat on the small dais and left the Assembly Floor. No one stopped her. Undoubtedly they all thought she was going to gather her evidence. But sadly that wasn’t so. She knew that she couldn’t stop the vote, and in mere moments the Assembly would declare that Hisato Akira was no longer the king. Her family would have their powers and privileges stripped, and the various officers of their administration—including the Office of the Executor—would be dissolved. When that happened, it would not be safe for her here. It wouldn’t be safe for anyone connected to her or the Akira name.

Her guards met her as she emerged from the chamber; together they walked briskly for the cars. One look from her and her top-ranking escorts knew what was happening.

She’d planned for this contingency. Made certain to arrange a way off the planet. But she’d hoped desperately that it wouldn’t come to this. As her motorcade sped off to the private hangar, she stared out the window and watched the Assembly Hall shrink away into the distance. She realized it might be the last time she ever saw it.

She wondered if her father would accept the judgment of the Assembly lying down, or if he would fight to keep his powers. Whatever happened next… it wasn’t going to be good—for her or the Empire.

***

“Where did you tell him to go?” asked Calvin. “Can you get us off the planet?” He looked at Nikolai urgently, who scratched his head. Also in the car was Rafael, but he was busy exchanging the bandage under his eye patch for a fresh one.

“There is one way,” said Nikolai. “And yes, I told the driver to take us there. But it might not be safe.”

“Anything is safer than staying here,” said Calvin. When he’d failed to capture the Phoenix Ring leaders—and had subsequently lost contact with Kalila—he assumed the worst. The king would lose the throne and then everybody connected with the Akira name, including Calvin, would lose all of their authority. And probably be taken prisoner by the new regime under some kind of trumped up charges.

When he’d come to this realization, he’d sent away the special forces teams that’d been under his command—knowing they would be ordered to bring him into custody if he kept them around, and probably sooner than later, and he fled, along with his strongest supporters.

The Alpha Team leader had given Calvin a knowing glance when Calvin ordered them away, and, though it might have been his imagination, he could have sworn the man had whispered to him in passing, “we’ll give you a head start.”

“This car has got to be able to go faster,” said Rafael. He finished with the new bandage and covered it with his eye patch.

“I agree,” said Calvin, looking out the window. For such a large vehicle it was careening through the streets of Riverport District at a rapid pace, but Calvin worried it wasn’t fast enough. They all did. Fortunately the streets were still clear from Calvin’s earlier order to have the police empty them.

Nikolai moved out of his seat and knocked on the privacy wall that separated them from the driver. It rolled down a crack and he shouted, “Faster! If we don’t reach Riverwater Hangar we’re all dead. And if we’re dead, you’re dead too.”

The car accelerated.

By the time sirens could be heard and military and local police started to fill the streets with their presence, Calvin’s vehicle screeched to a stop. He, Rafael, and Nikolai scrambled out the vehicle and sprinted toward the hangar. The driver sped away.

Riverwater Hangar wasn’t like any sort of hangar Calvin had ever seen. It was right in the middle of an urban, industrial district and didn’t look like the kind of place a gunship could launch from. However, with a powerful screech, the roof of the building slowly opened. Folding back large, powerful, mechanized doors and opening the structure to the sky. Just as they were reaching the entrance Calvin heard the roar of an engine and watched as a shuttle appeared, poking its nose out from where it’d been hidden in the industrial building. It took to the sky quickly, followed by another.

“Hurry up, let’s move,” said Nikolai. He led them through the entrance and out onto the open flight deck. There were soldiers scrambling to take defensive positions and others—in Imperial uniforms—converging on them. Ordering them to stand down. Nikolai, Calvin, and Rafael ignored them and ran for the only remaining ships. A nearly-filled shuttle that was about to depart and a lone multirole atmosphere-capable starfighter.

“Nikolai, you and Rafael take the shuttle,” said Calvin. “I’ll take the fighter.”

“There’s only room for one more in the shuttle,” someone yelled at them from ahead. Trying to wave them off. He held up a single finger, trying to indicate that not all of them could board.

“You go aboard the shuttle,” said Nikolai, looking directly at Calvin. “We’ll stay here.”

“No,” said Calvin. “It’s okay, I’m a pilot. I can make that bird fly. And there’s room for two; Rafael, you can take copilot.”

“Works for me,” he said, continuing to sprint.

“Power down the shuttle. I repeat, power down the shuttle,” said a voice over a bullhorn. The shuttle—which was undoubtedly full of members of the Akira family and their closest supporters—responded by firing up its launch sequence. Nikolai gave Calvin a look of hesitation and then did as he was told, running for the shuttle like his life depended on it. And, in actuality, it probably did. He made it in the nick of time. Barely managing to come aboard as the shuttle began to fire its thrusters. Several of the soldiers, who were quickly capturing the building, opened fire on the shuttle with small arms. But to no useful effect.

Calvin reached the fighter and started climbing up the ladder to open the cockpit.

“Don’t move,” someone yelled up at him from below. He glanced down to see a soldier pointing a rifle up at him. “Now place your hands on your head.”

“Stand down, soldier,” Calvin said, summoning his most commanding voice.

“You are under arrest, sir,” said the soldier. “Now place your hands on your head and slowly climb down.

“I’m the Executor,” said Calvin. “You will stand down.”

“There is no Executor anymore,” replied the soldier. “New orders just came in.” He waved his weapon, drawing attention to the fierce rifle, and continued. “This is your final warning,” he said. “Hands on your head and climb down now.”

“I can’t climb down while my hands are on my head,” said Calvin.

There was a gunshot and Calvin winced automatically. He opened his eyes expecting to see his own blood, even though he’d felt nothing. When he did look there was indeed plenty of blood, but none of it his. The soldier slumped to his knees and collapsed to his side. His face just above the cheekbone was completely destroyed.

Rafael stood there, smoking pistol in his good hand. He’d managed to subtly draw his weapon and fire when the soldier was focused on Calvin. Calvin was almost too stunned to move.

“Hurry up and get that cockpit open,” said Rafael.

“Right,” said Calvin, shaking himself free of his momentary stupor. There were more soldiers now, flooding the flight deck with a sea of camouflage. The soldiers in black who’d tried to cover the Akiran retreat had all fled or been killed. There wasn’t one to be seen still fighting the Imperial troops.

Calvin scrambled into the front seat of the cockpit and began prepping the fighter for launch. Rafael climbed into the back seat and, once his head was clear, he sealed the cockpit. The soldiers on the ground opened fire at the starfighter but even their biggest weapons—fifty caliber—didn’t punch through the ship’s armor.

“Now it’s time to see what this pretty lady can do,” said Calvin. He fired the thrusters.

***

Kalila sat at the center of the shuttle’s cockpit. Her pilots flew the ship but she was in charge. As the shuttle cleared the outer atmosphere and broke free from the planet, plunging them into the black ocean of space, she could make out several lights glowing in the distance. Ships in battle formation.

“We are being hailed by the ISS Andromeda,” said Glenn Hayes, the shuttle’s main pilot.

“On speakers,” said Kalila.

“ISS Andromeda to all approaching vessels, power down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Refuse and be fired upon.” The message terminated.

“What do we do?” asked Glenn Hayes. He was a civilian pilot. No doubt he wasn’t used to defying orders from a warship, especially one so fierce as the Andromeda. But the Andromeda’s terms were unacceptable. Kalila would rather die than be taken. Especially since, if she was taken, she’d almost certainly die anyway. And not half so swiftly or painlessly.

“Stay the course,” she said. Her voice firm. “And tell the other ships to do the same.” Her shuttle led a small convoy of civilian craft fleeing the planet. All of the ships carried members of the Akira family and their sympathizers. “And tell the Black Swan to double its pace.”

“Yes, Princess.”

She knew she could still count on the loyalty of Captain Adiger. The Black Swan was a decent match for the Andromeda in terms of sheer strength, and the King’s own dreadnought—the ISS Victory—the mightiest ship in the galaxy—was at port nearby, and doubtless still loyal to the Akira House. Unfortunately there were dozens, even hundreds of other ships in Capital System, including warships of all sizes. And Kalila could not be sure which of them were still loyal, and which would fire on her and her allies. She trusted none of them.

“Make for the Black Swan,” she’d ordered her shuttle and convoy. “Dock with that ship. No nearer ship can be trusted.”

“Princess, there is a starfighter emerging from the planet. It has matched course with us and is accelerating to intercept,” said Margaret Hatch, the co-pilot.

“One of ours?” she asked. Wondering if her shuttle could reach the Black Swan’s firing range before the fighter was upon them.

“The fighter’s pilot is identifying himself. It’s Mister Cross.”

Kalila felt a wave of relief. She’d worried for Calvin, had wanted him to escape the planet. But in that moment, when all their plans had failed, there’d been no means and no time to find and extract him. She’d been forced to leave him to his own devices. Apparently that had been sufficient. Perhaps this meant he’d get the chance to explain to her, face to face, why he’d failed to deliver the evidence of the conspiracy like they’d planned. “Tell the Black Swan to mark that starfighter as friendly. I don’t want it getting shot down.”

“At once, Princess.”

“Inbound shuttles abort your approach,” transmitted the ISS Andromeda. “This is your final warning.”

“Ignore them,” said Kalila.

The view out the window flashed bright for a second and an explosion erupted off their port bow. Far enough from the convoy shuttles to not cause anything but superficial damage, but the message from the Andromeda was clear. We could destroy you.

“Princess, the Andromeda has fired a warning shot. Shall I power down our engines?” asked Glenn frantically.

“I said stay the course, Mister Hayes!” Kalila snapped.

“There’s another ship on our scopes, bearing one-zero-two-mark-six,” said Margaret. “Small frigate, weapons armed. It’s on an intercept course with the convoy. Firing range in thirty seconds…it’s the IWS Desert Eagle.”

That was Lafayette Nimoux’s ship… would a hero such as him truly fire on the princess and her convoy? She doubted it. But then again, she’d been surprised by his damning testimony against Calvin before the Assembly.

“The Black Swan is launching fighters to bring us in,” said Glenn.

As the mighty black dreadnought and its fighters moved rapidly to close the distance, desperately rushing to protect the vulnerable shuttle convoy, the Andromeda and its flotilla of warships moved directly in between. Forming up in an aggressive posture. Kalila had no military experience, she didn’t know if it was possible for her ships to get around the flotilla, but she had to believe. Had to have faith. Even in the shadow of the darkest of moments.

“The Andromeda is firing,” said Margaret. The view lit up again and Kalila was forced to squint.

“What happened?” she asked, once the flash was gone.

“Princess…” Glenn looked as though he was at a loss for words. “The Andromeda… it fired on the Lavender Fox…”

“And?” asked Kalila, feeling a knot in her throat. She had cousins and friends on that shuttle.

“The shuttle’s been completely destroyed…”

“Shall I power down our engines?” asked Margaret.

“No,” said Kalila. “Live or die… we stay the course.” The slaughter of members of the Akira House would not stand. Neither would the usurpation of the government. Those responsible would pay for this. She swore it.

“The Desert Eagle is nearly upon us—” said Margaret.

Kalila tightened and untightened her fists. Knuckles white. They’d do well to kill me now, if they can. She didn’t know whether her father would step down quietly, and thus allow for the chaos of succession to swoop in and descend upon the Empire along with hungry alien fleets, or if her father would fight to maintain his throne, and thereby doom the Empire to the chaos of civil upheaval. But one thing was abundantly clear. There would be war. And when it came, Kalila promised herself, she wouldn’t forget what had happened here today. Nor would she forgive. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter 36

“…Two… One…”

The blackness out the window disappeared, replaced in the blink of an eye with the image of a planet—half lit by the local sun—and the lights of several starships. Raidan had ordered their descent from alteredspace to be so deep inside Capital System they’d run the risk of colliding with an object, or having the gravity from the planet destabilize them. As Raidan looked at himself and his crew, realizing they were all still intact and breathing, he knew they were safe on both counts.

“We are now in normal space,” said Mister Watson.

“Tell me what we see,” snapped Raidan. His operations crew was already working the many scanners of the Harbinger and busily trying to make quick sense of what was happening. A cursory glance at one of the 3d displays told Raidan that several dozen ships were near the planet, many in orbit. And some of them were exchanging fire.

“A tiny convoy of shuttlecraft is attempting to flee the planet and dock with the ISS Black Swan,” reported Mister Ivanov. “They are being escorted by several small starfighters which have engaged the IWS Desert Eagle. As for the Black Swan itself… it’s exchanging fire with the ISS Andromeda and a flotilla of destroyers and support ships. It’s being driven back…”

“Move us in,” said Raidan. “Mister Watson, give us maximum sublight speeds—combat maneuvers. Mister Demir, bring all weapons to bear and lock every one of our batteries onto the Andromeda. Order all gun crews to their stations. Mister Mason, shields up, condition one, clear for action.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” His crew responded to his orders and the lights on the bridge snapped to red and an alarm klaxon could be heard.

“Weapons range in twenty seconds,” said Mister Demir.

Strictly speaking, Raidan wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. But he knew the Andromeda and the Fleet were now the enemy. They were attacking one of the king’s own ships and that made them traitors in his eyes. Yes, he’d heard the news from the Assembly; the whole Empire had heard how the legislative body of sycophants and self-serving bureaucrats had taken it upon themselves to declare an end to the king’s reign—and Raidan had expected nothing less. In fact he’d feared this very day would come. But, now that it was here, he wasn’t about to roll over.

“Firing range now,” said Mister Demir.

“To all gun crews—fire at will.”

“All batteries firing.”

“The Andromeda is altering course,” reported Mister Mason.

“Stay on target,” said Raidan. He didn’t know if the king planned to resist the Assembly’s demands or cooperate. But Raidan supposed it didn’t truly matter. Death by fire or death by ice. Either way… the Empire he’d loved was doomed.

***

Calvin swung the fighter around, angling the starship for another pass. The craft was small enough—like a missile—that it could glide through the Desert Eagle’s alternating shields and do attack runs against its hull. He unleashed a hailstorm of high caliber bullets and an energy beam as he flew by, cutting into the underside of the Desert Eagle where, once the armor was gone, he’d be able to knock out some critical systems. Fighting the Desert Eagle gave him a strange feeling; it made him feel as though he was firing upon his own ship.

“Watch it!” said Rafael from copilot behind him as Calvin shot their fighter along the underbelly of the Desert Eagle’s hull, less than a meter from contact.

“Relax, I’ve done this a time or two,” he said. And it was mostly true, he’d trained as a pilot. But this was only his second combat engagement. And he’d forgotten how intense it could be in a starfighter, seeing the bright glow of enemy fire so up close and personal, feeling the ship thrown from the force of nearby explosions that—if they’d been a little closer—would have decimated the craft. Perhaps most terrifying of all was watching a missile lock on and pursue. Like a silent black shark, ripping through space—only visible because of its propulsion system—fast on his trail. Unwilling to be thrown or confused by his evasive maneuvers. Twice now he’d had to dispense chaff to confuse a missile that was coming too close. And both times the countermeasure had worked. But his chaff supply was running low, and this craft had no other anti-missile countermeasures built-in.

As he finished his most recent pass, doing his best to stay clear of the Desert Eagle gun-mounts so he’d take only minimal fire, Rafael informed him that their ammunition was running low. And they’d lost a chunk of their aft armor plating.

“One lucky hit and they’ll punch a hole in our air supply and depressurize the whole thing,” said Rafael.

“All right, I’ll keep my distance,” said Calvin. “In truth they’d accomplished their mission. His fighter, even with the help from the fighters launched by the Black Swan—many of which the Desert Eagle had destroyed—had no chance of disabling or destroying the Desert Eagle. Their goal had been only to distract the mightier vessel, to force it to abort its pursuit of Kalila’s shuttle and the rest of the convoy. Which they’d succeeded at. Now though, the Desert Eagle hunted the pesky starfighters with extreme prejudice.

As he sped the starfighter away, trying to escape the Desert Eagle’s weapons range, he saw the hint of a flash and his systems blinked, losing power for a moment.

“That was a direct hit,” said Rafael. “Desert Eagle’s beam weapon. We’re lucky we weren’t instantly irradiated to death.”

Calvin didn’t feel so lucky. His controls started to glitch out on him, losing responsiveness, and then his forward thrusters sputtered and died. “I have no propulsion systems now…” he said, unsuccessful at restarting the thrusters. Their fighter soared forward only because of inertia now. Which meant they could easily be overtaken. Calvin could still steer but he dared not use the braking thrusters for fear that they’d stop in place. Waiting for death like a fish in a barrel.

“Don’t slow us down; the Desert Eagle is still behind us.”

“I won’t,” said Calvin. He tried to think quickly. Suddenly the joy of piloting a starfighter was gone and he wanted nothing more than to escape the situation. He looked out the windows and tried to spot the nearest friendly ship. It was hard to distinguish one ship’s lights from another with the naked eye, but in the far distance—still docked at port—he was sure he caught a glimpse of the massive ISS Victory. Why is it just sitting there? He wondered. Why doesn’t the king order it deployed to help defend his family?

“Also, don’t look now,” said Rafael, interrupting Calvin’s train of thought, “but our oxygen supply is critical. The secondary tank is no longer feeding the cockpit for some reason.”

Calvin glanced down and saw the tiny alert flashing red on one of his screens. “Which ship is closer, the Harbinger or the Black Swan?”

“The Black Swan.”

“Open channel to them.”

“Open.”

“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday,” said Calvin, not sure if anyone on the Black Swan would actually care about a single fighter in distress. “I’m disabled and running out of air. Request immediate assistance and covering fire. I need to dock. I repeat Mayday, Mayday—”

“Acknowledged,” said a voice over the speakers. And, amazingly, the Black Swan changed course and headed their way. Moving to intercept. Two of its main batteries lit up, firing volleys that shot past Calvin’s fighter—narrowly missing it—and slammed into the Desert Eagle. Forcing it to abort its attack.

“Looks like someone made quite the impression on the princess,” said Rafael. “Apparently Her Grace doesn’t want you dead.”

Calvin felt warm in the face. Now that Kalila’s shuttle had safely docked with the Black Swan and she’d gone aboard, Calvin had no doubt that Kalila had gone to the bridge of her ship and, most likely, had given the order for the Black Swan to save him.

Not because she likes me, he reminded himself. Not wanting his annoyingly irrational emotions to get carried away. I’m still useful to her. Yet he couldn’t help but think of the wedding band prop he’d worn for their cover story, and how he still kept it with him in his pocket.

When they were within fifty mc’s, Calvin complied with instructions and fired his braking thrusters. Maneuvering the fighter to a full stop. The Black Swan did the rest of the work and towed his vessel onto one of the many flight decks. Once his craft was anchored in place, the airlock sealed and pressure was restored. Attendants on the flight deck immediately started combing over the starfighter, beginning repairs. And an officer wearing a navy Lieutenant Commander’s uniform, along with two marines, stood by waiting for Calvin and Rafael as they climbed down.

“Mister Cross,” said the officer, offering a quick salute. Calvin returned it. “Please come with me.”

Calvin and Rafael followed the man, flanked by the two marines, through long stretching corridors and up several decks. The massive feel of the Black Swan, which dwarfed even most battleships, reminded Calvin of his visit to the Harbinger. Both powerful dreadnoughts seemed to have more interior space and more crew than Calvin would have any idea what to do with. There was, however, one major difference between the Harbinger and this place. Onboard the Harbinger everything had felt grim, and harsh, and severe. It was a military warship and made no effort to hide that fact. Everything was grey, and hard, and minimal. But not here. This ship was filled with color, and rich, vibrant décor. There were lacquered wooden inlays and plush burgundy carpets, and portraits and paintings seeming to line every wall. The furniture in various rooms that they passed looked both inviting and expensive. Calvin found it interesting. On the outside, the Black Swan was a fearsome black skeleton, a warship that dared any other ship to give it trouble, but on the inside it was a palace. Fit for a king. Or, at the very least, a princess.

Eventually they arrived on the bridge. It was similar in size, and design, to the Harbinger, though its furnishings were clearly more expensive, and more thought had gone into the color scheme and décor. A large window swept across the far wall, treating them with a view of stars, and all around several crews worked to manage the many stations. Their escort brought them to the center of the bridge where a man in a captain’s uniform sat at the command position; Kalila was there too, occupying the seat next to him. They both stood when they saw Calvin.

The captain saluted. “Mister Executor,” he said.

Calvin saluted back. “It’s just Mister Cross now,” he said.

“I’m Captain Adiger,” the captain said. He then looked at Rafael, noting the man’s eye-patch and missing fingers. “And you?”

“Rafael Te Santos.”

“I am pleased to see you are safe,” said Kalila, looking at Calvin. “We have much to discuss. But not now; now there are more urgent matters.”

“Indeed,” said Calvin. Out the window he saw flashes and knew the battle was still raging. A man in a commander’s uniform, presumably the XO, was shouting commands to the bridge staff and directing their combat efforts. Adiger kept an eye on things, and seemed ready to step in and take charge on a moment’s notice, but for now he seemed more interested in giving the princess the better part of his attention.

“They say it will happen any time now,” Adiger said, continuing his conversation with Kalila.

“Hard to port,” Calvin heard the XO yell. As the ship yawed to the left, the view at the window changed and he could see the phantom glowing hulls of two massive starships, only kilometers away, unleashing full broadsides on each other. One ship looked splendid and white as the lights bounced off her hull, the other a dark, fearsome grey. The Andromeda and the Harbinger were still beating against each other ferociously, filling the window with some of the most spectacular fireworks Calvin had ever seen. And now the Black Swan added its own teeth to the melee, its main guns alight. Calvin knew this would force the Andromeda to withdraw or be destroyed.

“We have to contact the Harbinger,” said Calvin, interrupting Kalila and Adiger.

She pointed to a nearby terminal. Then ordered the man occupying it to establish a communication link with the Harbinger. Calvin was then handed a headset and invited to take a seat.

“To Raidan and ISS Harbinger, this is Calvin Cross aboard the ISS Black Swan. Please respond.”

There was a short pause and then a familiar voice replied. “Calvin? You made it off the planet?”

“Barely.”

“Excellent,” said Raidan. “Now tell the Princess to jump her ship away from the system. I’ll supply coordinates. We need to leave immediately and regroup somewhere safe, before enemy reinforcements arrive.”

“I agree,” said Calvin. He looked at the princess and Captain Adiger. “Raidan suggests we flee the system while we still can. He’s sending us coordinates of a safe location to regroup.”

Kalila gave him a suspicious look. “We’re not going anywhere,” she said.

Calvin relayed the message.

“Tell her we have to jump. We cannot stay in Capital System. None of us can. It isn’t safe.”

“He says it isn’t safe,” said Calvin.

“Capital System is the seat of government and power. I cannot abandon it,” she said. “Not while my father is still on the surface.”

“The king is supposed to come before the Assembly and address the Empire any time now,” said Captain Adiger.

Only then, Calvin knew, could they be sure whether the king meant to resist or cooperate. But the fact that the ISS Victory hadn’t been deployed made Calvin suspect the latter.

“There are a lot of ships on these scopes,” said Rafael. He’d drifted over to the terminal next to Calvin and was looking through the latest scan reports. “A lot of ships, and I mean a lot, are inbound for Capital System.”

“The Eighth and Ninth Fleets are on their way,” explained Captain Adiger. “They will be here soon.”

“And it’s anyone’s guess whose side they’re on…” said Rafael. He looked at Calvin. “We need to leave.”

“Not yet,” said Kalila. “Not before my father addresses the Empire.”

Calvin felt torn. Part of him recognized the danger they were in, even on this mighty vessel, and wanted to race down to the flight deck, take off in his fighter, and go aboard the Harbinger. Raidan, no doubt, had no plans to be cornered by the Eighth and Ninth Fleets. Even though those fleets had yet to declare their side, Raidan certainly wasn’t going to take any chances. Calvin understood that; he considered it prudent. And part of him wanted to flee as well. But another part of him needed to be near Kalila, and refused to abandon her. Accepting that he shared her fate.

“We’re going to wait for the King to address the Empire,” said Calvin into the headset. “Depending how things go… he might need our military support.”

“I understand,” said Raidan. “But be careful, Calvin. And don’t wait too long. If you’re still here when the inbound fleets arrive… you won’t be leaving.”

“I know,” said Calvin. Almost afraid to even consider it. As he imagined the Black Swan being ruptured and torn by fire from all sides, he thought of the Nighthawk and his friends. And worried for them. “Raidan,” he said abruptly, “where is the Nighthawk?” When the Harbinger had dropped out of alteredspace Calvin had been excited and hopeful that he would also see the Nighthawk. But now he hoped it was anywhere but here. Kalila wouldn’t leave the system, and Calvin wouldn’t leave Kalila, and he knew that for as long as he remained, the Nighthawk and his friends wouldn’t leave him either.

“Summers Presley decided to take the ship to go after the isotome weapons that are still at large,” said Raidan.

Calvin felt an inward sigh of relief. No matter what happened to him here, his friends were still out there. Alive and safe.

“I’ll give you support for as long as I can,” said Raidan. “But once those fleets are close, I’ll have to jump. And I strongly suggest you do the same. I’m sending you coordinates. Hopefully… I’ll see you there.”

“Coordinates received,” said Calvin, seeing them appear on his computer display. He removed the headset and stood up, looking at Rafael, Captain Adiger, and Princess Kalila in turn. Rafael looked back at Calvin. He seemed anxious, but also willing to march into the jaws of hell with Calvin if that was what duty required. As for Captain Adiger, his bony, stone-like face was hard for Calvin to read. But he, no doubt, would do whatever Kalila told him to. And, as for her, as Calvin drank in her rich brown eyes—eyes that were resolute—he saw that she meant what she said. She wouldn’t abandon Capital System, not for any reason, not while her father’s fate remained unclear.

So here we remain, he thought. Mere leaves in the whirlwind. Waiting. Calvin did not know what the king would say or do. But no matter the outcome, Calvin was certain there would be war. He could feel it in his bones. And all because I failed, he realized. I didn’t capture the Phoenix Ring leaders and expose the conspiracy. I was too slow and too late. And now the whole galaxy would run red with blood.

Chapter 37

Blackmoth stood in the middle of a vacant street, staring up. Watching the fireworks light the night sky.

It was the fires of chaos and destruction, as angels of death swept from the void and stole the souls of the living. Gunships and fighters tore up the heavens. And beyond them, in the great black ocean, too distant to be seen, starships crippled one another.

The time of reckoning had begun. A glorious moment that had been foretold to him in visions. It was the will of the One True God—everything was. Nothing could ever happen that wasn’t. And though His ways were often mysterious to Blackmoth, he never ceased to marvel at their elegance and beauty.

The wheels were in motion. But there was more for Blackmoth to do. Indeed, the One True God demanded more from him than ever before. And Blackmoth was ever the willing servant. A weapon. A tool. Whatever the One True God demanded.

His mobile vibrated with an incoming call. He answered it. It was his other false master. This false master congratulated him on the success of his work. Promising him riches and rewards for doing what was necessary. These promises meant nothing to Blackmoth.

One false master is no safer than another when the Day of God cometh.

(End of Book 3)

The story continues in The Phoenix War

Dear Reader, thank you for reading The Phoenix Crisis, I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Please know that your support is greatly appreciated and I hope to bring you several new titles in the coming years. Including book four of The Phoenix Conspiracy Series: The Phoenix War.

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Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to my older brother Rob. Though in many ways we’re as different as the sun and the moon, I can think of no finer example of integrity and have always admired your stubborn instance to always be yourself. You are probably the most genuine person I know.

I would also like to thank the many others who continue to help me every step of the way. In particular my beta readers, especially Ruth and Brandon who (as ever) chose to give this book, and me, copious amounts of their precious free time. I thank them for holding nothing back, and for always being eager with suggestions on how to improve. Even if it means the manuscript never feels quite finished. Thanks also to Matt and Carver for being among the first readers to finish reading the novel and who both provided excellent feedback.

Lastly I want to thank everyone who sent me e-mails, wrote reviews, and any kind of effort to support and encourage me. It is a true pleasure writing stories for an audience like you.