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 it to be 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 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 were eager to head to the front lines and be at 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 at least 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 here. The tall, muscular, mostly-grey 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 his 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 had installed his own independent 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 on the bunker.” 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 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 we can do—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 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 sense the woman was deep in thought about something. Probably still trying to process everything that’d 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. 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 was only further 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, which he approved of even less.

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 black nether regions 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 the ship had been picked up, and there they’d positively ID’d a series of jump paths that ultimately coalesced in the Kynar Asteroid Field. The Nighthawk’s computer had made the final deduction. Raidan 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.”