Chapter 3

 

Calvin arrived to find the drydock emptier than he’d expected. The massive doors on the ceiling, which opened into space, were sealed tight and several dozen crews of Polarian engineers were tirelessly at work on the two ships and several shuttles parked on the gargantuan deck. Some of the other craft had been carved open, exposing their dark recesses and naked wiring structures, but Calvin had eyes for only one ship.

The IWS Nighthawk sat very still, like a sleeping black falcon. Its contours—which had been burned and beaten during the fight in Abia—had been almost completely mended. Some of the patchwork on the outer hull was obvious, in places the sleek black metal had been replaced by grey or silver, but most of the scars were gone. And the ship looked about how Calvin felt. Reinvigorated and ready to charge back into the melee. Being cooped up here, on this alien station, was uncomfortable and unsettling. The ship and Calvin both belonged out in the stars.

“Good to see you, sir,” said one of Calvin’s officers. He looked exhausted. Sweat drenched him and his skin was bright red, except for a streak of oil across his face. He was one of a handful of engineers from the Nighthawk that Calvin had left to oversee the repair operation.

“Likewise,” said Calvin. “I trust everything is going well?”

“Yes, sir. Repairs are going as scheduled.”

“And our...” Calvin lowered his voice. “Friends. Have they cooperated?” He check to make sure the nearest Polarian was outside earshot. The thickly muscled, tall, blue-skinned aliens looked out of place in maintenance uniforms. They just didn’t seem to fit the engineering stereotype.

“Yes, sir, they have cooperated to the letter.”

“And have they done anything suspicious?”

“Pardon my asking but, what do you mean, sir?” the officer looked curious.

“Have they moved onto restricted sections of the ship, or made a download of our computers, or taken an inventory of our resources? Things of that nature.”

“No, sir. We’ve kept an eye on them but, to their credit, they haven’t tried to do any such thing. They seem to be real decent folk.”

Just then Calvin spotted Rafael Te Santos enter the deck. He was tall and thin, almost wiry, with tidy almond hair that was kept exactly as long as regulations allowed, and not a centimeter longer.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Calvin dismissed the engineer.

“Yes, sir.”

Calvin met Rafael halfway. Once he was near enough to whisper he told him, “follow me, we’re going aboard the Nighthawk. I can’t say anything until then.”

“Understood.”

The two of them approached the ship, climbed one of the ladders mounted to the outside of the Nighthawk’s hull, and made their way through the hatch which was wide open. They passed a repair crew and followed the long corridor beyond the electric lanterns that had been set up to assist the work teams. Calvin withdrew the tiny flashlight he’d brought with him and used it to lead Rafael to the nearest room. It was a crewman’s quarters. Normally the door would only open for the official occupant, or a computer override, but since most of the systems were powered down, and the door had been left partially ajar, Calvin was able to slide it open manually. Rafael helped him close it once they were inside. Then they both searched the room thoroughly, making sure no one was around to listen.

“Satisfied?” asked Rafael. His tone was respectful but Calvin guessed the man thought Calvin was being overly paranoid. Perhaps so. But in this business that wasn’t usually a bad thing.

“Yes. I suppose I am,” said Calvin.

“So what is this about?”

“Rafael, did I ever thank you for what you did for me?”

“You mean hiding you from the soldiers during the mutiny?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you did, I don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter; I’d happily do it again.”

Calvin smiled. “I know I put you in an unfair position back there, but despite that you came through for me. Even risked your own neck. I want you to know you earned more than my gratitude back there. You earned my trust.”

Rafael nodded. “I won’t pretend that it was an easy decision. But I’m glad I made the right one.”

“Which brings me to the point of this meeting...”

Rafael raised a curious eyebrow.

“I need someone I can trust for an important assignment.” Calvin looked into his officer’s eyes, searching them. An abundance of sincerity reflected back in them.

“As always, I’m honored to serve.”

“Don’t volunteer too hastily,” said Calvin. “This is a dangerous mission.”

“I didn’t join the service to play it safe, sir.”

Calvin nodded. “I like that attitude. Now tell me, Rafael, do you intend to go with the others?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you returning to the empire with the others?” Calvin had chosen to allow anyone on the Nighthawk the chance to leave and return to the empire in its good graces. There was no point in forcing others to support his illegal actions, even if he did believe he was doing the right thing.

Rafael seemed affronted by the question. “Of course not. I am no coward. I will do my sworn duty and defend the empire. Even if it takes from me my life. I will most certainly remain with you on the Nighthawk, sir.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need someone to go with the others, pretend to disown me, and then use Intel Wing resources to feed me information. It’s extremely dangerous and there’s a high chance that anyone who takes the assignment will be discovered and executed.”

“But,” said Rafael, “the intelligence that could be recovered would be invaluable.”

“That’s right,” said Calvin. “Because of the risks involved, I am not ordering you to go. But I am asking you to consider volunteering. There is no one I trust more for this assignment than you.”

“I’ll do it,” said Rafael with barely a thought.

“Before you commit to this, make sure you understand one thing. If you run into trouble out there, and get found out, there is no help coming for you. You’re on your own.”

“I understand,” said Rafael. “It carries risk. But that comes with the job. Staying with you on the Nighthawk has its share of risk too. I know this needs to be done and I’m honored that I’m the one you trust enough to do it.”

Calvin gave Rafael a firm handshake and looked him in the eyes. “Thank you, Rafael. You are a good friend.”

“It’s more out of duty to the empire than friendship, but I’ll accept the compliment anyway.”

“I will give you a dossier of information I want you to begin investigating—if possible commit it to memory and destroy it. If you can’t do that then keep it closely guarded. I’ll also provide you with coded, restricted channels you can use to contact me. It would be less safe for me to contact you, so you will have to contact me.”

“Otherwise you’d give me away.”

“Exactly. I can prevent the comms array from identifying the Nighthawk as the source of the message, however, it would still be suspicious and someone would probably put it together.”

“What is the subject of the dossier?”

“I want you to begin an internal investigation of Intel Wing. I want to know who can’t be trusted and when they became unreliable. We need to dig into the corruption and root it out. The first step is to identify the compromised agents.”

“Understood, though such an investigation will take an enormous amount of time. And might not be possible.”

“Do what you can. You also need to investigate any information that exists inside Intel Wing archives regarding a group known as ‘The Phoenix Ring.”

“Who are they?”

“The notes I have on them, which aren’t many, will be in the dossier. I’d also like you to find out anything you can about Raidan’s organization.”

“I’ll do all I can.”

“Thank you, Rafael. Now we’d better hurry. The others have started gathering at the terminals and you have a shuttle to catch.”

 

***

 

He knew their names, all of them. Knew their faces too, and their stories. Some of them he’d handpicked to be part of his elite crew. He wasn’t as close to some as he would’ve liked, but all of them he’d enjoyed serving with. Which made it hurt all the more to see them go.

“You okay, Cal?” asked Sarah. She stood next to him as he leaned against the wall of the main terminal. Together they watched the embarking figures of former crewmembers. Fellow brothers and sisters of the IWS Nighthawk. Now leaving. Unwilling to take part in Calvin’s fugitive actions. He understood why. They had families to worry about, careers they couldn’t risk flushing away, and they didn’t know what was right anymore. But it still hurt to see them go.

“Cal?”

Only then did he realize Sarah was talking to him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” he said automatically, not even pausing to think about it. He shot Sarah a fake smile and looked back at the departing figures. The line of them had split into groups of four, each destined for a different shuttle and different destination. Sixteen of them in total. So many. They’d heard his pleas, including his most recent plea today to stay and join in the fight against the corrosive influence that had seated itself so deeply inside the empire. They’d also seen the betrayal at Abia, when human ships fired on other human ships, and had caught a glimpse of an alien battlesquadron illegally positioned inside Human space. Yet they would not be convinced. They’d made up their minds to wash their hands of Calvin Cross and Raidan and everything else. And nothing he could say to them now would convince them otherwise, so his last words had been reflective rather than persuasive. He’d thanked them for their service and wished them a safe journey. All of them. And hoped secretly that they’d never forget what they’d seen in Abia.

“I can’t believe so many are leaving,” said Sarah. “But that’s okay, right? We’re getting reinforcements here aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are,” said Calvin, thinking at least now he had an exact number to ask for. Between their losses at Abia and the surprisingly large number of defectors, the new crew would outnumber the original crew. A fact that was on everybody’s mind but no one seemed to want to talk about.

“Can we trust them?”

Sarah kept her voice tender, conscious of Calvin’s feelings. But her compassion was unnecessary, Calvin found himself asking her very same question in his head, over and over. Ultimately realizing that, trustworthy or not, he had no choice. Not enough of the Nighthawk’s original crew remained to fly the ship. Not if they ever intended to get any sleep.

“If we are careful about who we bring aboard then yes, we can trust them.” Calvin tried to sound reassuring but doubted he’d convinced her. Sarah nodded and didn’t press the issue further. But Calvin guessed he could expect less grace from Miles who was bound to press him harder on this issue. Calvin had personally asked Miles not to attend the sendoff, for fear that he’d start a fight with some of the defectors.

The last to disappear up the ramp and onto his shuttle was Rafael. He looked back once, very briefly, and then ascended the ramp like the others. Calvin was glad to know that at least one of the sixteen would’ve preferred to stay.

“I know you’re depressed that so many are leaving,” said Sarah. “But I think most of them wanted to stay. They’re just afraid. If they really didn’t believe in you, they would have tried to bring the Nighthawk back to Intel Wing by force.”

“Good point.” Although he suspected that decision had more to do with the fact that Captain Pellew had somehow convinced a majority of his special forces unit to stay. Still, Calvin was grateful not to be fighting his own shipmates again. One mutiny had been more than enough, and had nearly been the end of him.

The horn sounded, alerting everyone to clear the deck so it could be depressurized for shuttle launch. Calvin looked over the four grey birds one final time, letting out a sigh. Then he followed Sarah to the gate. Expecting to never see most of those officers again.

“Oh well,” he said, more to himself than to Sarah. “I suppose all good things end eventually. We were a good family.”

“We still are.”

 

***

 

Back in his quarters, Calvin finished typing a dispatch and sent it to Tristan. Now that Raidan was gone, the Remorii was Calvin’s only contact with the Organization. He’d made repeated requests to meet with the senior member on Gemini, but either Tristan refused to forward those requests or else he was being ignored.

Along with the itemized list of all the specific supplies and personnel he hoped to requisition, he sent another request to meet with the head of the Organization on Gemini—this time more strongly worded. If the Org wanted him to hunt after the Arcane Storm—like Raidan had asked—they’d better be willing to play ball. If they ignored him, he threatened to take the Nighthawk elsewhere and not cooperate further. Truthfully, there was nowhere else for him to go, but it was important they not take him for granted.

When it came to selecting replacement crew for the Nighthawk, Raidan had already done the heavy lifting. He’d forwarded a list of recommended people to Calvin, many of whom fit the bill nicely. At least on paper. And, although Calvin couldn’t trust them until he got to know them, he was eager to work with many of them. They were experts in their fields, and by all appearances people of integrity and professionalism—even though some had no military experience at all. Not many of the civilian candidates piqued his interest, most of the solid applicants were former navy officers, but those who did were outstanding.

What unnerved him most was the need for replacement soldiers. Raidan hadn’t forwarded any suggestions and Calvin had mixed feelings about inviting armed strangers onto his ship. Strangers whose loyalty was still in question. But without taking the chance and bringing aboard more forces, he would be severely limited in his ability to assign field deployments. Past experience had taught him that most missions required some kind of soldier-driven shore party. Not to mention the benefit of having more soldiers in the event their ship was boarded. He made a note in his request form that he needed some disciplined soldiers to augment his short-staffed Special Forces division, but he doubted Gemini had anyone qualified to fill the gap.

Less than five minutes after sending the request, the panel beeped. He hoped it was Tristan agreeing to set up the meeting between him and the Organization but no such luck.

“Hey, Calvin... got a minute?” The voice that filtered over the speakers belonged to Miles. He seemed less jovial than usual and his tone creaked with anxiety.

“This had better not be about gambling,” replied Calvin. Even before they’d arrived in Gemini System, Calvin had forbidden Miles to participate in any gambling of any kind. He’d bailed out his dear friend once, at great expense, when the less wise man bet his way into a debtors’ detention cell on Praxis One. As far as Calvin was concerned, rescuing Miles financially was only worth doing once. His bank accounts certainly agreed.

“Gambling? No. I’ve been good, honest.”

“Alright then, what?” asked Calvin. If he hadn’t been gambling, then Miles had probably spent most of the time aboard the station plastered out of his mind. The local liquor selection was wider and more potent here in Polarian space.

“Just want your take on the Renora situation. Any chance it’s linked to what happened in Abia?”

The mere mention of Abia made Calvin’s heart start pounding and gave him a nauseous feeling. “What situation?”

“Haven’t you been watching the news?” asked Miles.

“No. I haven’t paid any attention to current events since we arrived.” He’d recently been cut off from the Intel Wing databases and wasn’t yet in the habit of scouring the civilian news services for their limited offerings.

“I think you’d better.” There was a dark ominousness to Miles’ words.

“Okay...” said Calvin, feeling a spike of anxiety. “What news service should I tune into?”

“It won’t matter,” said Miles. “Let me know your thoughts once you get caught up on the details.” Miles disconnected.

Calvin used the panel to connect to navigate the information nets he could and, after tuning into the primary news service of Capital World, sent the results to his display and cranked the volume.

“—no word yet on when that will happen,” a reporter was saying. The screen was split in half with a reporter on the right and footage of violence on the left. A mob of people ran like hell every which way, fleeing heavy ordnance as it rained down and—in seconds—disintegrated the urban landscape into fire and debris. Calvin grimaced watching it. Apparently the graphic images had been captured by a witness on the ground with a somewhat low quality recorder.

“What’s the feeling like there, Ray?” asked an off-screen voice.

After a second or two delay, the reporter replied. “The feeling is one of intense panic and anger. Many of the people gathered here have expressed to me that they have friends and relatives on Renora. No one who spoke to me has gotten any word yet on whether or not their loved ones are safe.”

“It’s a tragic situation indeed.” The display changed to show a man seated at a desk on a newsroom floor. He had immaculately parted hair with greying temples and stunning blue eyes. “For those just tuning in, tragedy has struck the empire. We have confirmed reports that planet Renora has been attacked and severely ravaged by an interstellar force. It is not yet known who was behind the attack, or what motivated it. The Assembly is in emergency session. No statement yet from—” he paused, listening to something being spoken over his earpiece. “We now go live to the floor of the Imperial Palace where King Akira is about to address the empire.”

The camera jump-cut to an elegant hall where a press corps had gathered around a small podium. The image changed to a close-up of the very familiar, distinguished face of the king. His hair was thin and grey, and his red eyes and tired skin showed the fatigue and stress that taxed him. But as he spoke, his voice was firm and resolute, and revealed no weakness and asked for no sympathy.

“Citizens and subjects of the empire, wherever you may be, I implore you to remain calm. I can confirm that there has indeed been an attack on Renora. We cannot estimate the casualties yet but, so far, early reports indicate that the attack was limited to the government center and the orbital structures. It is a shocking and terrible injustice that occurred today, an attack on freedom itself. A great and terrible evil has shown its head. But fear not! As shepherd and guardian of this great nation, I swear to you, this attack will not go unanswered. Justice will be done. Our military in every system has been put on high alert status; the safety and security of this empire will be protected! The wheels are in motion and the peace and prosperity of this great nation will continue to prevail.”

After these few words, the king walked away from the podium, unwilling to take any questions, and the camera jump-cut back to the studio. Calvin switched the broadcast off and began searching the public network for any information he could dig up on Renora and the attack. There wasn’t much at this point—mostly speculation—but what little there was made no kind of sense.

Renora was a system on the edge of the empire, near Polarian space. Its only inhabited planet was also named Renora and boasted a population of about eight billion. Like most Imperial worlds, its government was centered into an urban district and from there the logistics of the planet were run. Apparently that part of the planet had been the exclusive target and had been savagely bombed from orbit. Who the attacking ship—or fleet—was remained a closely guarded secret, and how the attacking force had bypassed the planet’s defenses was another mystery.

Five minutes after the attack commenced, the planet sent its final message. Then it had gone dark and stopped sending broadcasts of any kind. It was largely believed that the attacking force had wiped out the communication infrastructure that connected the planet to the rest of the empire via kataspace. Since then all traffic to Renora had been diverted and military and intelligence ships had undoubtedly raced to the scene. The Intel Wing archives probably had a great deal more information, but unfortunately Calvin could no longer access them.

“Who could have done this?” he asked himself aloud as he scanned over an extensive list of planetary defenses that had apparently been inadequate to repel the attack. He ran through his list of possible suspects in his head—anyone with enough power to execute such a deadly strike. No motive for any of the groups stood out to him.

The Polarians were near Renora, but they were generally uninvolved in Imperial politics. Being far more interested in their own affairs and spiritualism. The Rotham government had the means, but only risked war by such an action—and had selected a strategically useless target. As for the empire itself, Calvin was afraid to think it had the motivation, and the ruthlessness, to bomb its own people. Smaller cells and terrorist groups probably didn’t have the means to perform such a high profile attack, for instance he couldn’t imagine CERKO—which had failed to even assassinate him—to be able to calculate and execute something like this. And lastly he considered Raidan’s Organization but doubted it had an interest in harming the very people it claimed to be defending. So he was left unable to form a hypothesis. And his insides ate at him, filling him with a rush of anxiety. A compelling need to comprehend an increasingly confusing picture. He guessed that Miles was right, that this attack, and what they’d seen at Abia, and the changes in the government... was all connected. It had to be.

He did not believe Renora was an arbitrary target, but wasn’t quite sure why it had been selected for such abuse. Strategically, its positioning was worthless. It didn’t keep a very large military presence and was not a good striking position into, or out of, the empire. As for its local resources, Renora was no better endowed than the average Imperial system, and didn’t offer anything unique. The only novelty of the planet seemed to be its culture. The mostly unpopular, but growing, pro-democracy social movement had its origins there. And Renora was home to several of the most liberal universities staffed with the professors who published the most controversial papers.

The empire had elements of representative government, but the largest consolidation of power rested in the hands of the monarch. And that had never satisfied the revolutionary culture of Renora. Media there had on more than one occasion criticized the king harshly, and there was more sympathy there towards historic enemies of the empire than existed anywhere else—particularly aimed at the Rotham Republic. Many of the elites of Renora admired the republican government of the Rotham, and had pushed for social reforms to mirror their “progress.”

Such reforms had almost universally failed to take root. But, in this corner pocket of the empire, these ideas were trendy and popular. Though they had never risen to such prominence as to enter the dialog anywhere else. Imperial forces maintained order from the government center and the local leadership, combined with Imperial administration, had kept the system in line. Now that the pro-Empire faction had been mostly wiped out... Calvin guessed that the planet would see a great deal of unrest.

The panel beeped again. This time with the reply to his requisition forms. It was from Tristan.

“The additional resources you requested are being organized and will be made available for transfer as soon as possible. Additionally, the Gemini Director has agreed to meet with you. Tomorrow. 0930 L.T. Come alone to deck one-hundred and fifteen. Room C-3. Don’t be late.”

It’s about time...