Chapter 15

 

“Cap’n on the bridge,” said Miles. “What’s up, chief?”

“I’ve been reviewing the details of the engagement between the Phoenix and those Rotham freighters,” said Calvin. “And I’ve found something interesting.”

“What is it?” asked Shen; they all looked curious.

“First let me ask you. If Raidan was willing to give up everything, including his life, to destroy those ships, what does that imply?”

“That he hates Rotham and possibly wanted to start a war,” said Summers.

Calvin shook his head. “No, that’s too simple and isn’t consistent with his past behaviors. Any other ideas?”

“That the ships were carrying important cargo that he needed destroyed,” said Sarah.

“Exactly.”

“But we know what they were carrying,” said Shen, now reading the report. “The Ortahn had 18,000 crates of alcohol. The Guinn had a cargo of predominantly exotic spices, salts, and preservatives weighing in at approximately eighty thousand kilograms. The Qiun’ha had a cache of nine hundred personal computers and seven thousand type C power cells. And the Ursa, which escaped, carried two million liters of purified water. Net worth of the combined cargo losses is registered as just over 2.5 million Q. A lot of money.”

“But not a lot for four freighters’ worth of cargo,” said Summers.

“What if it’s a lie? What if the ships carried something else, perhaps smuggling something illegal? We’d never know.”

“That’s a bold indictment.” Summers frowned.

“Is it?” asked Calvin. “Then maybe you can explain why the Ursa ran back to Rotham space rather than docking at a closer outpost for repairs? There were three Imperial stations on the way to N-175, but the ship ignored all of them. Why?”

“Obviously they didn’t trust us after being assaulted by one of our attack cruisers,” said Summers.

“Maybe,” admitted Calvin. “Or maybe they were hiding something. Something Raidan found out about and tried to stop.”

“If they had any secret cargo, then how did Raidan find out about it? And why would he destroy it—keeping his motives secret—rather than report it? Why not try to board the ships and seize the cargo?”

Calvin wasn’t sure.

Summers continued, “And what kind of cargo could be such a threat? Something he’d throw his life away to destroy? Probably not narcotics.”

“Slaves?” asked Sarah.

“Weapons, perhaps,” said Calvin.

“It could be information,” suggested Shen. “Either on hard drives or in the minds of some VIP passengers.”

“In any case this is all pointless speculation,” said Summers. “And doesn’t further our goal—which is to find Raidan.”

“It’s not pointless speculation. There is more evidence for my theory,” said Calvin.

“Tell us what you found,” said Miles.

“Anyone else wonder how an attack cruiser like the Phoenix got as damaged as it did fighting nothing but freighters?”

Silence.

“The civilian convoy had military-grade armaments and shielding, heavy armor, and professional pilots,” he said.

His crew looked as surprised as they were curious.

“Really?” asked Sarah.

Calvin looked at Summers. “You were there. Tell them. Those were not ordinary freighters you engaged.”

Summers looked embarrassed. “I was ordered elsewhere at the time and wasn’t on the bridge.”

“How could you know they were upgraded, aside from seeing the damage they inflicted on the Phoenix?” asked Shen.

“The report the Ursa crew submitted after the engagement, the one that incriminated the Phoenix, included some video from the action. Details are sketchy but not too hard to put together. Shen, pull up ‘Beotan A-2’ on the display and play the footage.”

He complied and five ships appeared on the projector. Four freighters and a sleek-looking attack cruiser which closed in and exchanged fire.

“Stop,” said Calvin. The image froze in place, and he walked closer to it, where he could point with his hands. “See the position the ships are in?”

“Doesn’t strike me as unusual,” said Shen.

“The ships haven’t broken formation. Usually when civilian pilots are attacked, they break off individually and route in all directions. But there is no panic. They’re trying to escape as a unit, discipline intact.”

“Maybe they’re just experienced,” said Summers.

“Think so?” Calvin resumed the display and paused it a few seconds later. “Now look.”

“I don’t see anything interesting,” said Summers.

“I do,” said Sarah. “That’s a kilo-six evasive pattern.”

“Right,” said Calvin. “A complex evasive maneuver that the Rotham used several times during the Great War.”

“Maybe they learned how to do it on their own,” said Summers.

“Sarah, in your opinion, could someone learn how to do that on their own?” asked Calvin.

She shook her head. “Takes years of military training to learn something like that. And those kinds of ships shouldn’t even have the maneuverability to execute it.”

“Yet they did,” said Calvin. “They all did. Which brings me to my next point. They had not just military pilots but improved thrusters and engines. And look at this.” He played another segment which showed the Phoenix firing a barrage of rockets at a ship, eventually destroying it. But what stood out—after careful scrutiny—was that the projectiles were being intercepted by a point deflector system. A countermeasure that was so expensive to install that even most Imperial warships didn’t have one, including the Nighthawk.

“Amazing,” said Miles. “No way some corporation could have outfitted their cargo carriers with point deflectors!”

“And that’s not all,” Calvin said, resuming the clip once more. The Phoenix cut in close and opened up a full broadside—its mounted M-90s eventually shredded the freighter’s hull but not nearly as quickly as they should have.

“That’s some solid armor plating,” said Miles.

“Yes,” said Calvin. “Clearly someone spent a lot of money upgrading those ships. Probably to protect whatever they were carrying. Raidan was not the only one who thought the cargo was important.”

“So why were the ships destroyed, if someone went to all that trouble to protect them?” asked Shen.

“Even with all those defenses, those kinds of ships are still large with several hull weaknesses and systems vulnerabilities,” said Calvin. “The Phoenix is an attack cruiser—more than capable of destroying a convoy even tougher than this one. But what is interesting”—Calvin paused—”is that the Ursa still managed to escape. Based on its escape velocity and trajectory, relative to the pursuing Phoenix, it never should have made it out of the system with standard engines. But it did clear enough distance to jump and made the alteredspace calculation in practically no time. Achieving a depth of 88 percent potential within three minutes. Now I dare you to find any standard freighter that can do that.”

“How do you know someone didn’t doctor this footage?” asked Summers.

“I’ve had the computer analyze it for any signs of tampering and haven’t found anything. The data agrees with what the Phoenix’s computer recorded.”

“Okay,” said Shen. “I think we’ve established the ships were upgraded, but where does that leave us?”

“We need to find out who upgraded them and why.” Calvin smiled. “Shen, I want you investigate what corporation sponsored this convoy, who owns the ships, who pilots them, find out everything you can. Since they were heading to Capital World, that means humans purchased their cargo. If the shipment was something sinister, some humans must be in on it. Find out who they are.”

“Consider it done.” Shen set to work.

“As for you, Miles,” said Calvin.

His defense officer turned his chair to reveal a disappointed look. He was as good an investigator as the others but hated doing it.

“Look into Tristan. Search every database for his name and check with any Rotham Police records that are available, specifically on Aros Five. Tristan told me that he had issues with the law there, probably a lie but maybe not. I want to know who he is and where he came from. As part of that, look into the proliferation of Remorii from Remus. That system is shut down and nearly impossible to enter or exit. I want to know how he, and everyone like him, got out into the galaxy. That shouldn’t have been easy.”

“Why?” asked Miles.

“Because it’s surrounded by a huge minefield,” said Sarah.

“No, I mean, why do I have to do it?” said Miles, giving Calvin a wounded look. Then he grinned. “Just kidding. I’ll get on it ASAP.”

“Good,” said Calvin. “And there is one more thing. I’ve been looking into the time logs, trying to make a chronology of all the events, and there is something that just doesn’t add up to me. The Harbinger left Praxis at approximately 1010 hours Standard Time and made for Aleator. It detected interceptors from the Fifth Fleet and changed course to outmaneuver them. Something like that might add another three hours depending on how far it had to move, maybe even as many as five. But the Harbinger arrived at Aleator eight hours later than expected. That leaves between three and five hours unaccounted for. The question is, what could it have been doing?”

“Repairs?” suggested Sarah.

“Putting down a mutiny.” Miles shrugged.

“Docking at a station,” said Summers.

“Meeting up with another ship,” said Shen.

Calvin shrugged. “I don’t know. My working theory is that Raidan went to Aleator to meet with someone. Perhaps Raidan had to conform to that person’s schedule. Maybe they’d prearranged for the Harbinger to get there at a designated time.”

“Could be,” said Shen.

“Sarah, we know the ship’s speed, general position, and the window of time they had. We should make a range of possible places the Harbinger could have been. Try to narrow that down and see if there are any systems, bases, or structures within its reach. If you don’t find anything like that, check the shipping records and see if any vessels had a charted route through that region and could have passed the Harbinger.”

“Will do,” she said. “But what if it met up with an unchartered ship?”

“Then there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Summers.

“I’m going to look into CERKO.”

Just then the comm started flashing, and Sarah heard something through her headset. She turned to Calvin. “Priority message from Intel Wing. They have some results of a query you made. Something about what it takes to destroy a star.”

“I’ll take it here. Put it on display,” he said and sat down in the command chair.

A prerecorded message of a man talking directly to the camera popped up. He had a professorial look about him: receding hairline, neat beard, glasses, and graying hair. “Message start. To Lieutenant Commander Calvin Cross. I read your request for information on what it would take to destroy a star, specifically TR-301. That’s a pretty strange request but an interesting question. TR was a class-three star and, after reviewing the information your sensors picked up about its collapse, it’s not unlike other star collapses that happen every so often. What usually occurs is a change in mass. You could think of it as … all of the star’s energy sources being exhausted. I’ll send you over more specific notes on this, but let me just say that collapsing a star artificially is not within the practical limits of known technology.

“However, there is a theoretical way this could be done. A star could be compressed using magnetic fields. Ships of high magnetism could orbit the star opposite its polarity and spin, but such a process might take a million years—if it worked at all. It’s never been tested. Intel Wing’s opinion is that TR-301 collapsed of natural causes, despite its relatively young age and seemingly healthy ratio of hydrogen to helium. End message.”

The screen blinked off.

“You heard the man,” said Miles. “Nothing suspicious.”

“Magnetic ships …” Calvin stared at the blank display, as if seeing beyond it. “I wonder if that’s possible.” For some reason, even in the face of good scientific reasoning, he couldn’t get past his nagging suspicion that the star’s destruction had not been a random event. He decided to look into it a bit more anyway when he had the chance. If nothing else, to put the issue to rest in his mind. “Shen, launch one of our probes to do a deep search of the region. Maybe a volume of two cubic kliks.”

“You’re chasing after ghosts, Cal,” said Shen. “But I’ll do it.”

“Maybe …” said Calvin, deep in thought. “Make sure it gets a good look at any stellar formations in that region.”

“That’s a pretty wide volume,” said Shen. “But the probe should be programmed and ready to launch within the hour. Although it’ll take some time to get there.”

“That’s fine. Just make sure it doesn’t stray too close to the black hole, if there is one now.”

Shen smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“There’s just one other thing,” said Calvin, and he tapped his direct line to the major’s office at Special Forces HQ. “Major,” he said.

“I’m here.” The man’s gravelly voice replied through the comm.

“Even though the lycan isn’t on our ship anymore, I’m still concerned about his escape from the brig and what happened to your two men who were guarding him. I asked them several questions, but neither seemed to remember anything important. And let’s not forget the swapped surveillance tape. I need you to get to the bottom of this.”

 

***

 

Calvin was asleep in his quarters when the alert came. A blinking red light on the panel with an obnoxious chirping. He rolled out of bed and crashed onto the floor. “Oh, dammit,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse. He got to his feet and answered the call.

“Yeah, what is it?”

His second officer, Lieutenant Commander Vincent Rose, spoke from the other end. “Distress call from Brimm Station, sir. Along with a report.”

“Are they under attack?” asked Calvin, feeling his heart quicken. He grabbed for a shirt and pulled it over his head.

“They were. I think you’d better get up here.”

Rose was a good junior commander, and he knew how to handle his crew, the Red Shift, but Calvin had always gotten the distinct impression that Rose had little confidence in himself. Part of Calvin wanted to give Rose as many opportunities as possible to command the ship in difficult situations, but an Imperial station under attack wasn’t going to be one of them.

“On my way,” said Calvin, and he darted for the bridge.

When he arrived, his junior officers saluted him. The Red Shift was “second watch” and mostly composed of petty officers and junior grade lieutenants, none of whom had even the full bronze of first lieutenant except Rose, whose uniform boasted the same silver bar Calvin wore. Their group had been on duty since White Shift was relieved five hours ago, and Calvin didn’t miss the eagerness on their faces.

“Captain on the bridge,” one said.

“Okay, Rose, what’ve we got?”

“The Harbinger entered Brimm about six hours ago. The station sent out several patrol craft and ordered it to stand down. When the Harbinger didn’t respond, Brimm launched fighters, but only fifteen were on standby, and they didn’t have weapons that could pierce the dreadnought’s defenses.

“The Harbinger attacked, disabled, and boarded a Rotham starship, which was there on an exchange program. Its crew of nineteen was captured and taken aboard the Harbinger. The alien ship was then destroyed. After that, the sentry ships engaged the Harbinger, but it ignored them and maneuvered straight for the station, boarding it. There was a small arms battle, and the Harbinger’s crew broke into the station’s computer systems and copied several terabytes of data. They returned to their ship before more security forces could arrive. Then the Harbinger left the system. Brimm had no ships able to mount a pursuit.”

“Okay,” said Calvin, taking his seat. “What kind of casualties did the station take?”

“Three dead and six wounded. Eleven others were incapacitated but received no major injuries. Mostly the Harbinger’s assault team used nonlethal weapons. Some of the deaths are reportedly from friendly fire.”

“Did the station’s security forces take down anyone from the Harbinger?”

“At least two were shot, but the Harbinger didn’t leave anyone behind.”

“Okay, contact the station, and tell them their security teams need to carefully comb the area where the fight occurred. Have forensics check it over, and tell the base to review any surveillance footage. We need to know if these people—presumably working for Raidan—are the Harbinger’s crew or if they’re outsiders who commandeered the ship. Also they should identify what data was stolen specifically and give it to us so we can look it over.” Calvin looked to the helmsman, a second lieutenant named Jay. He was an experienced fortysomething-year-old ex-marine more than capable of being a ship’s primary pilot—held back only because Sarah was the best in the business.

“I’m on it, sir,” said Jay, and he contacted Brimm Station.

“Now, about that alien ship that was attacked.” Calvin turned his attention back to Rose, who still stood rigidly at alert nearby. “What do we know about it?”

“It’s the T’orma, a Rotham sloop working in our territory under the joint jurisdiction of the Republic and Brimm authorities. As I said, part of an exchange program. We have one of our own in Rotham space operating under similar conditions.”

“Is its crew Rotham, human, or both?”

“Rotham, sir, to the last man.”

Calvin scratched his chin, wondering if Raidan had attacked the ship simply because it was Rotham owned and operated or because it was engaging in some kind of activity Raidan didn’t approve of, perhaps carrying something he didn’t like.

“Rose, I want you to run a check on all the individuals who were aboard the Rotham ship—the ones captured and dragged away onto the Harbinger. See if anything interesting pops up.”

“I can’t do that, sir,” said Rose.

Calvin tensed. “Why not?”

“Brimm Station won’t release the identities of the Rotham crew or any information as to their cargo, operations, past activity, or current mission.”

“That’s … interesting,” Calvin found it very unusual that an Imperial station would refuse to assist an Imperial investigation. “We can force them by inciting the Intelligence Privilege Laws. They’re obviously hampering our investigation, and that’s illegal.”

“I already tried that, sir. It seems they have special circumstances. The Rotham ship is still property of the Rotham Republic. The exchange treaty allows for complete anonymity and lets the Rotham Republic withhold from us information about their ship as per their request. We can do the same thing with our ship in their space. It’s a gesture of goodwill.”

“It’s a gesture of bullshit. Did you check with Intel Wing to see if they can circumvent that treaty?” asked Calvin, even though he knew the odds were not great.

“They said their hands are tied.”

“Of course …”

“Sir, we’re approaching Brimm System in one minute,” Jay said from the helm.

“Shields are up and weapons hot,” the Red Shift defense officer said. He was the rookie of the bunch, hailed as a prodigy at the academy and only nineteen. Patrick O’Conner, a redheaded, hot-tempered, unbridled, albeit talented, sometimes-defiant midshipman.

“Keep the shields up until we know the area is secure,” said Calvin. “But power down the weapons.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Patrick, “the Harbinger could still be out there, and we need to play it safe.”

“The last thing we want to do is spook Brimm Station by flashing our teeth. Now power down our weapons. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t seem happy, but he complied.

“Jay, bring us out of alteredspace ten million MCs from the planet. Cassidy, put us at alert Condition Two, all hands standby.” The trim woman at ops acknowledged him, and her lithe fingers fluttered over the controls. She was a quiet one, and, since Calvin spent most of his time with White Shift—his senior officers—he hadn’t yet gauged her skill or picked up much about her personality. He didn’t know how far he could push her, so he didn’t completely trust her yet and suspected she might not trust him wholeheartedly either.

“Coming out of alteredspace … now,” said Jay. The windows were still black except for the burning yellow sun in the distance which obscured all the stars. “Proceeding on direct course to the station at standard heading. The planet should be visible soon.”

“Display it,” said Calvin. A projected image of a simple blue-and-white planet appeared. It had very little land and seemed almost completely oceanic. In a simple orbit was a medium-size station. If it was damaged from the Harbinger’s attack, it didn’t show it.

“Incoming message from Brimm One.”

“Play it on the main speakers and display visual, if we’re getting that feed.”

The image of a middle-aged blue-and-black-uniformed man, with the sapphire emblem of full commodore, materialized on an alternate display. His light-colored hair was carefully styled, and the room he was broadcasting from, a private office, looked immaculately clean and organized.

“IWS Nighthawk, you’re sure a sight for sore eyes.”

“I understand you’ve been having some trouble out here,” said Calvin. “Any information you can give me will help us greatly.”

“We already transmitted our official report to you, Intel Wing, and Fleet Command. But if you have some questions, I’m happy to answer them.”

“The Rotham ship,” said Calvin. “Who was on it?”

“I can’t release that information, I’m sorry …” He seemed to squint. “Lieutenant Commander.”

“I understand,” Calvin lied, still thinking the treaty was stupid. “I hear the Harbinger stole some of your data. It would help us immensely if we could analyze it.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Commander, that data is sensitive in nature, and I’m not authorized to release it.”

“Who is?”

“I can’t help you there either.”

Typical … “You understand,” said Calvin, “that the less information we have, the less likely we are to track down the Harbinger and prevent any future incidents. We also won’t be able to return the abducted Rotham crew.”

“I can tell you this. The information taken from our computers is not relevant to where the Harbinger is going. In fact we can’t seem to figure out how it could possibly be valuable to those criminals at all. Shipping reports. Personnel manifests. Personal logs. That sort of thing.”

“If it’s so trivial, why can’t you release it?”

“It’s complicated, and I’m not at liberty to go into the details. Has to do with international politics. But our sentry ships have studied the Harbinger’s exit signatures and know it is heading toward the Iota System.”

“I’ll have to verify that escape vector for myself.”

“I assure you it is correct.”

Calvin smiled. “Nevertheless.”

“Any other questions?”

“Yeah. I have a few more. Your security garrison consists of what, a few hundred marines and other officers?”

“Six hundred and ten.”

“How large was the party that boarded your station?”

“About fifty men and women.”

“So, if you knew the Harbinger was headed for your station and about to board, why couldn’t your men contain them in the hangar platform? Clearly you have the firepower.”

“That was just it.” The commodore looked embarrassed. “We sent all available units to hold off the hangar platform, but the Harbinger didn’t dock with us in a conventional way. It hooked itself to the port arm of our base, near where our computer hard drives and main terminals are stored, and more-or-less cut its way in. I’ve never seen anything like it, and somehow they managed not only to cut through the hull of our station but they also sealed the hole to their jetbridges so their own people could board without pressure suits.

Calvin did not find this surprising. As an Intel Wing member he’d known about recent progress in ship-to-ship breaching technologies.

The commodore continued, “When they cut the hole, we evacuated that deck, not knowing they would keep everything from being blown out into space, letting them come aboard unopposed at first. By the time we could scramble some teams to engage them, it was too little, too late. They got what they wanted and left. What’s really strange is that they set up a portable force field to keep our broken hull intact without losing too much pressure or more than 15 percent of our atmosphere on that deck.”

“So they didn’t actually want to hurt anyone or cause any permanent damage,” said Calvin.

The commodore frowned and said nothing.

“How did the Harbinger get past your shields?”

“They fired a barrage of high-impact missiles. We fired back, but a lot of our defense systems have been undergoing maintenance this past week.”

“I don’t see any damage to your station.”

“They used pulsar torpedoes.”

“That’s a technology meant to disable and not destroy,” said Calvin. “Almost like they meant you no harm.”

“I wouldn’t say that. They did injure several of our people, and three of ours are dead from the encounter.”

“I heard that was friendly fire.”

“I admit”—the commodore paused for a deep breath—”the circumstances of the soldiers’ deaths are unclear, and there have been accusations of friendly fire, but nothing has been confirmed officially. The report you’re referring to is the opinion of the commander on the ground and isn’t necessarily representative of our station’s findings.”

“I see,” said Calvin. “And the invaders used nonlethal weapons?”

“It appears that way, though three of our soldiers did die.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, it looks like we’re done here,” the commodore said.

“One more thing, sir,” said Calvin. “Can you transfer us the coordinates of the Rotham ship’s wreckage?”

“Our ships have already combed through it trying to recover the cargo, and—before you ask—no, I’m not authorized to tell you what the cargo was. We recovered what we could. The rest is debris. You won’t find anything.”

“So is that a ‘yes, you’ll give us the coordinates’ or a ‘no, I’ll have to sweep the system for it myself’?”

“Yes, we’ll send them over, but you’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Thanks for your help, Commodore.” Calvin nodded to Jay, and he terminated the call. “Set a course to those coordinates. Cassidy, get a deep scan ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why are we going there if it’s just a waste of our time?” asked Patrick. He turned the defense post’s chair to show his disapproval of Calvin face-to-face.

“Because we need to know what was on that ship,” said Calvin. “And our scanners are more precise than anything they have on their system’s patrol craft. If they did miss something, we might find it.”

“Shouldn’t we be chasing after the Harbinger?”

“It’s got a four-hour head start. Iota is what, eleven hours from here?”

“Thirteen,” said Jay.

Calvin continued. “Even at top speed we couldn’t overtake them. At best we’d shave off two hours from their head start. And if we did catch them, what could we do? We couldn’t dream of taking on a dreadnought that many times our size.”

“Intel Wing seems to disagree,” quipped Patrick.

“What are you talking about?”

“I should have informed you immediately, sir, I apologize.” Lieutenant Commander Rose said. “We got the order a little while ago. If we find the Harbinger, we’re to shoot it on sight. No waiting for reinforcements, and no attempts to contact it and bring it in peacefully. We’re to send a report to Intel Wing and Fleet Command, and then engage the ship immediately. Focusing on its alteredspace initiator engines.”

So Princess Kalila had been right. The admirals had decided losing the Nighthawk was worth it if it meant a shot at disabling the Harbinger. “If we find it, we’ll do what we have to do,” said Calvin, but he had no intention of attacking the Harbinger. Suicide didn’t sound very appealing. “But until then, our first duty is to investigate, and you’d do well to remember that, Patrick.” Calvin eyed the young defense officer sternly. “So put your trigger finger away and use your brain for a bit. If you were Raidan, why would you attack a Rotham ship in Imperial space?”

Patrick shrugged. “Any number of reasons. There’s not enough information to make any kind of informed conclusion, especially if you consider the fact that Raidan’s reasoning skills are probably not as good as my own. So he’s more likely to make irrational decisions, and irrational decisions are the hardest to predict since they border on randomness. Bottom line, I have no idea.”

“Good, then you have something to keep busy thinking about,” said Calvin. “In the meantime, since I’m awake anyway, I’ll be in my office. Cassidy”—he looked at the ops station—”Make sure you scan the debris thoroughly.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

***

 

When the bridge contacted him, saying they’d found something, Calvin had them send a copy of the information to his office. Buried deep in the Rotham ship’s debris were two things: a tiny datadisk and traces of isotome—an extremely rare, unstable compound found in only one place in the galaxy.

Since he was no physicist, he would let his lab ponder over the relevance of the isotome while he accessed the data from the disk on his computer. It was a recording, and he played it over and over.

“If you’re hearing this message, then you haven’t disappointed me, Calvin Cross.” It was a software-disguised voice, exactly like the one he’d heard in his quarters on Praxis just before the trial. “But I must warn you,” it went on. “If you come after me, as some hope you will … they will come after you. And they will find you. They always do. If you’re smart, you’ll go home now and live a long, peaceful life. Because if you don’t, and you see what I’ve seen… that’s one step too many. And there’s no going back from that. Believe me, I know.”

It changed to a man’s voice with a flat intonation. “I stop shiny sunsets. I find pale blue lights always.”

The first part, the warning, was bone-chilling. But didn’t really tell him anything, except someone—other than Raidan—wanted Calvin dead if he kept going. Someone, Calvin assumed, who was connected to CERKO, and the attack against him on Aleator. For all he knew, he’d crossed that line already, whatever it was. And, regardless of any risk to himself, it was more than just duty that drove him to keep pursuing Raidan; it was who he was as a person. He had to know.

The second part of the message was even more interesting than the first. Perhaps because it made no immediate sense.

He took the clip of the man’s voice and ran it through the database. He wasn’t sure what the limits of the software were but knew, sometimes, voice recognition was possible. This man, who sounded vaguely like Raidan, had no official match in the database. Or rather fit a list of over three hundred thousand potential matches. Calvin searched the results for Asari Raidan’s name and found it. Raidan wasn’t the closest match, but he did make the list. The voice could belong to him. The computer listed the probability at less than 30 percent, but Calvin’s intuition told him it was closer to 100.

“What are you trying to tell me, Raidan?”

Calvin thought of the final statement itself: I stop shiny sunsets. I find pale blue lights always. And tried to solve it like a riddle. “Something that stops sunsets and sees pale blue lights …” He turned this over in his mind.

The obvious answer seemed to be the night. It came when the sunset was over, perhaps “stopping it,” and the “pale blue lights” could be stars. Night from the point of view of a planet.

Or maybe it could be a moon. A moon would stop the sunset briefly during a solar eclipse, and it might be a good vantage point for seeing stars, depending on its position relative to the local sun … but that answer seemed even weaker than the first. And it also depended on “pale blue lights” meaning the stars, which was a thin supposition at best.

“Nighttime,” he said aloud, tapping his fingers on his desk. Even if that were the answer, it didn’t buy him anything. Nighttime could occur anywhere in the galaxy, and there was nothing specific about it to link it to Raidan.

Maybe Raidan had left this clue to throw him off. Give him something distracting to slow him down. But that didn’t feel right. If Raidan had wanted to distract Calvin, he would have offered him a false lead. Something to chase. Not taunt him with a riddle. No, Raidan was definitely trying to tell him something. But what?

Calvin wondered if the exact phrase itself was useless and the real message was buried within the words, like a code.

So he wrote out the words and played around with them for some time. Rearranging the letters. Searching for patterns.

“I find pale blue lights always …”

A normal person, Calvin thought, would probably phrase it as I always find pale blue lights, not I find pale blue lights always. The order of the words felt more awkward this way. Therefore, the order probably was deliberate and might then be the cipher.

He started by taking only the first letter of each word, the simplest way he could imagine burying a code. “I-S-S-S-I-F-P-B-L-A.” The ISS at the beginning seemed like a prefix identifier for an Imperial starship, which excited him. But disappointment set in when he realized ISS SIFPBLA didn’t really fit the Empire’s naming conventions. He tried turning the latter part around and was equally unimpressed with ISS ALBPFIS.

He considered the possibility that it was scrambled but, ultimately, decided using the first letter of each word in the clue wasn’t the correct cipher. He tried using the last letters, which came up with an equally worthless answer: IPYSIDEESS. Again he wondered if it was scrambled but couldn’t come up with anything better than I SEE SPY IDs.

This is a waste of time, he realized and tapped his intercom. “Deck four auxiliary,” he said, unsure who was manning the post at this hour.

“Yes, sir. Midshipman Hughes standing by.”

“I’m sending you a short code for text analysis. I don’t think it’s very complex. Either you or the computer should be able to find a coherent message inside it without much trouble. When you do, send the result to my computer and contact me either in my quarters, my office, or on the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.”

Calvin typed the message and transmitted it to Hughes, adding, “Let me know once you’ve figured out what the deal is with that isotome we picked up from the debris.”

“I already have some preliminary results on that, Captain.”

“Go ahead.”

“Isotome is an extremely rare compound stable only in the Xenobe Nebula Region. It cannot be synthetically produced, and no one has devised a way to retrieve it without it breaking down into simpler elements, until now.”

Most of this went over Calvin’s head, who hadn’t studied chemistry beyond the What is an atom? course. That and two classes on how to weaponize chemical compounds. At any rate, the fact that the Rotham ship was carrying isotome was more interesting to him than how they managed to keep it stable outside the nebula.

“What I want to know, Mr. Hughes, is why someone would be transporting isotome in the first place? Isn’t it supposed to be useless?”

“There’s no known utility for isotome. It’s violently reactive, unstable, and until now it’s never been retrievable. Honestly … antimatter is more stable.”

“So nobody buys it or uses it for anything?”

“Correct.”

“That we know of …” Calvin muttered to himself. “All right, what about as a novelty? It’s extremely rare. Maybe someone would purchase it as a trophy or part of a collection or something. Or it could be vital to some kind of scientific study.”

“I really don’t know, sir.”

Calvin realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with this. He dismissed Mr. Hughes and terminated the call with “If you find out anything else, or decode that message, let me know right away.”

Now only one piece of evidence remained—the data the Harbinger stole from Brimm Station. If only there were some way to get it.

He tapped his comm again, this time to the quarters of his chief engineer, First Lieutenant Andre Cowen. “Andre, sorry to wake you up, but I have a quick question for you.”

“Go ahead, Calvin. I was awake anyway.” The croak in his voice betrayed his polite lie.

“Is there something on our ship that, if broken, would take about an hour to repair? A repair that might be easier to do while docked than afloat in open space?”

“Well, there are thousands of systems on the ship, and almost anything is easier to fix at port, but all our systems are operating perfectly, why?”

“I was just thinking it’d be very convenient if we had to make a pit stop at Brimm One. You know, so their resources could help diagnose and fix our problem.”

“Are you asking me to sabotage our beautiful ship?”

“Would it be too much trouble?” Calvin was glad he was thoroughly trusted by most of his crew.

“Come to think of it, I thought I noticed a few shorts in the electrical wiring and some trouble with a few of the superconductors. Or, at least, there will be as soon as I get dressed and down to engineering.”

“Good, just don’t let anyone know it was you.”

Andre’s laugh crackled over the speakers. “Of course. I have my reputation to maintain.”

“Thanks.” He redirected the comm to the bridge. “Mr. Rose,” Calvin said, waiting for a reply.

“Rose here, sir.”

“I just heard from engineering,” said Calvin, adding to his devious plot, “that some of our fuel cells are tainted.”

“Our instruments indicate everything’s fine.”

“Just … take my word for it,” said Calvin.

Rose got the hint. “Now that you mention it, the fuel cells could be better.”

“I want you to make a pass around Brimm’s most distant moon and dump 60 percent of our fuel on the far side.”

“Why there, sir?”

“It’s very important that Brimm doesn’t see us dump the fuel. They must think our fuel is low anyway.”

“Their sentry ships will notice it.”

“But not for a while.”

“Should we stop our scan and get to that right away?”

“No, finish the scan, and then go around the moon at a slow pace, nice and cool. Tell Brimm we’re doing a complete scan of the system. In the meantime I’ll contact the commodore, and let him know we need to dock soon for a resupply and repair.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Calvin knew the senior staff of Brimm One wouldn’t want the Nighthawk to dock with their station, especially if it put their “sensitive information” at risk. But he figured he’d created enough reasons to demand a short linkup with their docking bay, and, hopefully, he could get someone inside.

Now it was just a matter of selecting the right person for the job.