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 glowed brightly in the dim environment, revealing the latest output. With each subsequent analysis an ever more 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 region 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 what his scanners had seen. And though, probably, he’d been expected to delete the information, Nimoux found himself combing through it instead. 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 seemed frighteningly long, wasn’t quite so lengthy after all. It made him start to wonder how many of “missing” ships had been destroyed, and what was motivating the Company to cover up the fact of their destruction, rather than pursue the truth.

Among the 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 their identities wasn’t possible—although files kept in the Intel Wing archives gave Nimoux some pretty good guesses as to the ID’s of the alien ships—and one thing he could tell for certain, 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 similar such removed tactics, but Nimoux had never expected—and had certainly never heard—that the political powerhouses had resumed the 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 and Rotham governments.

If so, 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 into a strategic position that brought them closer to the regions of space he judged to be in the greatest danger—the part of the Empire patrolled by the Fifth and Sixth Fleets which were 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 the fight 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 Nebula 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 cataloged by survey and science teams, any discrepancy should be detectable if given a hard enough look.

“According to the probe’s report… there is no isotome in the Xenobe Nebula 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 fabricated... “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 them to the public, but it was all mere speculation, and most of it not very logically derived or consistently 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, however. I will forward all of my data to you, Intel Wing Command, and the Fleet, but the short version is this: the isotome in the Xenobe Nebula 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 was the right thing to do. 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 directly to Capital World and personally inform the Assembly of these developments.

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, since he hated the taste of ethanol, his glass was full of a rich dark grape juice. Rain on the other hand was taking tiny sips of some allegedly delicious vintage of red wine. She’d only poured herself the one small glass though 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 faded from her face 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 the infirmary 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… perhaps 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 every other minute. 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 mere 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 forcefield. Since he wasn’t, he assumed all was 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.

“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, though. Despite his size disadvantage. He was surprisingly quick and had trained in countless areas of unarmed combat, and was always ready just in case. Even when he knew it shouldn’t come down to that. 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.

“None,” he replied flatly. “So long as you get out of my way and let me take care of 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 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 forcefield 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. He’d proven almost as clever as 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. Using tools that Tara had furnished him, which 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 reactivated the forcefield, 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!”

Alex only smiled at him, thinking: what a coincidence, your minutes are numbered. And it’s not a big number.

He gave the prisoner a wave and 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 trusted 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.”