The Phoenix Crisis (3 page)

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

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

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

“
Anything else, Lieutenant
Commander?” asked Summers.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“
Guilty,” replied Alex in a
ginger tone.

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

“
I suppose not.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

“
What do you mean?” asked
Rez’nac.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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