The Phoenix Rising (33 page)

Tristan didn’t seem to notice; he continued
ripping apart the strigoi—it was one of the most gruesome displays
Calvin had ever seen. Somehow, though, despite his disgust, he
couldn’t look away. Part of him was glad to see the strigoi
brutally torn to pieces.

“
Tristan
,” Calvin said again. “We have to go, now! The Tyburian police
might be here any second.”

After a few more swipes, Tristan stopped
mauling the barely recognizable remains of the strigoi and began to
calm down. He stood up straight, his eyes dimmed, and his muscles
relaxed—no longer swollen and bulging. Only then was it clear how
severely torn his clothes were, tatters that barely concealed his
deep wounds. Blood poured out of him profusely and he staggered.
Calvin noted the slashes, cuts, teeth marks, and deep gashes that
streaked his body. He ran over to see if he could assist in some
way and caught Tristan as the Remorii nearly stumbled to the
ground.

“
Is he dead?” asked Tristan,
seeming slightly delirious.

“
Oh yeah, he’s definitely
dead. Now come on,” Calvin helped to brace him as the two walked to
the center of the room. By now the firefight had ended and the
survivors of Calvin’s party were gathering together. Pellew, whose
own clothing was burned from a few close calls, leaned over a
fallen comrade who lay in a pool of his own blood. Pellew closed
the others’ eyes.

“
Damn those bastards...”
said Pellew.

“
Is he—?” Calvin began to
ask.

“
Yeah… he’s dead,” said
Pellew with a snap.

Fortunately this special forces soldier
seemed to be their only casualty. Calvin didn’t know the man’s
name, but he regretted the loss all the same. And, as any commander
would in such a situation when those under his leadership fall, he
wondered if there was something better he could have done to
prevent the tragedy. He looked out over the other corpses strewn
throughout the room. All their attackers had been violently killed.
There was nothing serene in the way they lay. Some doubled-over,
contorted in positions of intense pain. And there was neither
subtlety nor mystery surrounding their causes of deaths. Once the
Tyburian authorities found the scene, they’d lock down the canton
and begin a massive investigation. Calvin and the others couldn’t
afford to still be on the canton when that happened.

It dawned on Calvin, as his eyes swept the
bloody scene before him, that this would haunt him in the future.
The Khans were an organization that existed on some level
practically everywhere in the galaxy. And they wouldn’t let a blow
like this go easily. “The Khans will want retribution for this,”
said Calvin ominously.

“
So will the Enclave,” said
Tristan.

“
Not to mention Tybur,” said
Pellew. He shot to his feet and began dragging the fallen corpse to
the nearest garbage disposal hatch. On the cantons of Tybur, all
waste was disposed of through refuse chutes and taken by conveyer
to the incinerators. It seemed an ill-fitting, irreverent thing to
do with the body of a fallen comrade, but Calvin understood why
Pellew did it. They couldn’t risk Tybur identifying the victim and
linking his presence to the Empire. And, with their few resources,
it was the best chance they had at disposing of the body before the
authorities got to it.

“
Good bye, Private Clarke,”
said Pellew as he heaved the man into the chute and watched him
slide down into the darkness. Calvin could tell the death affected
the special forces captain, despite Pellew’s efforts to shrug it
off. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, leading the way out of the room
and back into the corridors of the canton. “We have to get out of
here immediately! Hurry!”

Calvin looked around for something to help
Tristan stall the bleeding. He didn’t know much about Remorii
physiology, but he was sure too much blood loss would result in
death. He took off his own shirt and handed it to Tristan. “Here,
press this against your chest, hard. I’ll look for—”

“
Why Calvin Cross,” said
Tristan with a dark smile. “You
do
care. I’m flattered.”

Before Calvin could reply, he noted that
Tristan was again supporting his own weight and much of the
bleeding had already stopped. His body still bore the bright marks
of scars to be, but many of the lacerations had closed off. “Oh my
god,” said Calvin. He’d never seen such swift recovery.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t
know that in many ways the Remorii body is superior to the human
one?”

Calvin didn’t have a reply. If he hadn’t
seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed it.

“
Trust me, I’ve had worse,”
said Tristan. “Here,” he handed Calvin back his shirt. “You keep
this.”

Their group slipped out and disappeared down
the hall. There wasn’t much they could do to hide their haggard
appearance, but fortunately the Tybur police hadn’t closed in on
the area yet. Calvin supposed that the storage room wasn’t equipped
with listening devices, and the walls and door had been soundproof.
Hopefully they’d be back on the Nighthawk before anyone wandered in
there and found the mess.

As they moved toward the docking platform,
as quickly as they dared, Calvin wondered if his father had been
involved in the Khans’ ambush. If so, was the intelligence leading
them to Remus Nine actually good, or did a similar trap await
them?

He couldn’t know for sure, and would have to
be cautious, but he decided to believe that, as bad a person as
Samil was, he didn’t really have it in him to sell out his only
son. And if he’d had a hand in saving Calvin’s life on Aleator, as
he’d claimed—and Calvin had no good reason to doubt it—then Samil
would have no motive to put Calvin in danger with the Khans. So
that meant the members of the Enclave who’d gotten the Khans
involved were not under Samil’s control. Perhaps his father didn’t
have the kind of sway with the Enclave that Calvin had thought.

But whatever the case, it was clearly unsafe
to remain. And the trail led them to Remus Nine and all its
mysteries and dangers. For better or worse, that was where they had
to go.

***

Sarah neatly cut the lime-glazed, seared
salmon into small bites. It had been delicately prepared and served
over mashed sweet potatoes. She never would’ve guessed that Shen
was such a marvelous cook.

“
This is absolutely
delicious,” she said, between bites. They were in Shen’s quarters,
which were so spotlessly clean it made her a little embarrassed
that she didn’t manage to keep her own in better order.

Shen blushed—it was hard to see, but Sarah
could tell. “No, really, I’m not much of a cook,” said Shen.

“
Now don’t be modest,” said
Sarah with a wide smile. “This is the best food I’ve had in
a
long
time.” She
could tell she was embarrassing him with her compliments, though
they also seemed to make him happy. Sarah took a sip of her drink
and then asked, “so, what made you go to all this effort? Just
wanted to keep your cooking skills sharp or what?”

He looked into her eyes for a second, not
saying anything. Then looked away. Shen had always been kind of an
introvert, and sometimes he got in those moods that made it
difficult to pull him out of his shell and get him to be socially
outgoing, but right now he seemed unusually stiff and reserved.
Perhaps he wasn’t used to putting his cooking out there for others’
scrutiny.

“
Well, whatever your
reason,” said Sarah. “You have nothing to worry about. This is a
fabulous meal.” Shen truly had gone all out. He’d fed her soup and
salad—which she’d assumed to be the main course—before surprising
her with what was surely the best food she’d ever eaten in space.
In fact, she was surprised the Nighthawk even carried the
ingredients that allowed for such fine dining. Shen must have gone
through tremendous creative effort to make something five-star out
of whatever random foodstuffs the Nighthawk happened to have in
stock.

She continued eating, realizing that if Shen
didn’t want to be sociable, he wouldn’t be. After a few more bites,
she noted the time. “Look at that, only twenty minutes until White
Shift and we have to be back at our posts.”

Shen nodded. Sarah noted a tiny accumulation
of sweat had slicked Shen’s forehead and he seemed to be trembling
ever so slightly. Surely he wasn’t this worried about his cooking,
was he? Sarah supposed that Shen was nervous for the shore party.
She didn’t blame him, but she’d also learned a long time ago not to
let things outside her control upset her nerves; it was better to
simply accept that whatever was going to happen was destined to
happen, and it did no good to worry about things one couldn’t
affect.

She took another sip of her drink. It didn’t
quite have the bite she wanted, it was dealcoholized wine since
they both were due back on the bridge soon, but it was refreshing
and complemented the entrée well.

“
Sarah...” said Shen, he
rubbed his palms together nervously for a moment and then placed
his hands flat on the table. They seemed almost ghost
white.

Sarah put down her glass and gave Shen her
full attention, realizing that he was going to open up about
something very important to him. He occasionally did this, but such
times were rare. Normally he kept his innermost feelings to
himself. He was a very private man. And socially timid. Sarah
understood this about him. And, in a way, it was what made him so
sweet.

“
Yes, go on,” she said,
giving him a reassuring smile.

Shen’s eyes darted away from
hers for just an instant, but then they came back with renewed
strength. “I didn’t just make this dinner and invite you over to
practice my cooking skills, I... have something... there’s
something.
I want to tell you
something
.”

“
What is it?” She felt a
rush of curiosity overcome her.

“
I...” Shen cleared his
throat. “
I
like
you.”

Sarah didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Thanks, that’s very nice of you.”

“
No, I mean I
like
you, like you.
Romantically.” It obviously took extreme mental effort but somehow
Shen didn’t look away. He seemed positively petrified, but he held
his ground.

“
Oh
,” said Sarah, suddenly realizing that this was supposed to be
a romantic dinner and not just some fine dining between friends.
The spotless quarters. The multi-course dinner. The wine. Shen’s
nervousness... it was so obvious. And yet so utterly surprising.
She’d known Shen a long time; they’d been friends for years, and
she’d never even once considered the idea that he was interested in
more than that. Or that such was possible.

She didn’t know what to say, so she forced a
weak smile. She looked into Shen’s puppy-dog eyes which were
staring back at her, vulnerable and desperate, hanging desperately
on her next words. She saw him as the sweet and wonderful man that
he was. A great man that would certainly make the right woman
extremely happy someday. But Sarah was not that woman. She’d never
seen anything in Shen other than dear friendship. And now she found
herself struggling to come up with the appropriate response.
Something that would preserve the friendship they’d built and avoid
crushing him, but wouldn’t lead him on or give him the wrong
idea.

“
Listen, Shen,” she said, “I
appreciate your honesty, and everything you’ve done
here—”

Before she could even finish the sentence
she saw his expression change. From hopefully desperate to wounded
and depressed. Shen tried to mask his reaction behind a forced,
fake smile, but Sarah could see it in his eyes. He was crying
inside. And that broke her heart.

In a way, things would be
much easier, and wonderful, if she were interested in Shen. But she
wasn’t. And never had been. Shen was a great man, a lovely friend.
Someone she cherished spending time with. But... when it came to
other things... she didn’t feel anything for him. That wasn’t
something she’d chosen, it simply
was
.

“
You’re a good friend,” said
Sarah. “Probably my best friend on the ship.”

“
So then what’s the
problem?” asked Shen.

“
I—” Sarah couldn’t make
herself say she wasn’t attracted to Shen. She didn’t want to
further cripple the man’s already weak confidence. And he would see
more in that statement than she would mean. He would take it to
mean he was hopelessly ugly, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t ugly. He
simply wasn’t what Sarah was drawn too. It was nothing against his
character...

“
No, you don’t have to say
it,” said Shen. “I understand.” He got up and started piling up his
dishes, even though most of his entrée had gone uneaten.

“
I’m sorry, Shen,” said
Sarah. “You’re a great guy...” she looked at him with the kindest
expression she knew. But her attempt at sympathy bounced off Shen
like unwanted charity. His pride was injured. His feelings were
hurt. And he’d put himself in a position he probably had never been
in before. Made himself vulnerable. It had been a wonderful, very
human, very meaningful gesture. But Shen no doubt was already
regretting it.

Sarah hoped this wouldn’t make things
strange or awkward between them in the future. She searched her
heart for the right thing to say—and for a moment wondered if it
would have been kinder to lie to him and pretend to have some
interest—but ultimately knew that that was not in her. There were a
few men on the ship who excited her in that way, like Captain
Pellew, who made her heart skip a beat, but Shen wasn’t one of
them. He was more like a brother.