The Phoenix Rising Read online

  The captive nodded.

  “Is this really necessary?” snarled Tristan.

  Calvin looked up at him. “Yes. It is necessary. Look at him, the poor man’s scared to death. What did you do to him?” Calvin looked at Pellew. “Where’s his crew?”

  “Oh they’re gone,” said Pellew, folding his arms. “And if we didn’t need him, he’d be gone too.”

  Calvin stood up, a dark feeling washed over him. “What do you mean?”

  “That bastard flushed them out the airlock,” said the captive in a hoarse, grief-stricken voice.

  “There wasn’t time to do anything else,” said Pellew.

  “What?” Calvin felt rage and horror pour through him. He walked up to Pellew, shaking his head in disbelief. “You didn’t...” He could understand the necessity of killing enemy combatants, his own hands were stained with their blood. But not this. These were innocent civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time...

  “It had to be done,” said Pellew.

  Calvin was only inches away from him now. And, as he imagined the cruelty his own people had inflicted only minutes ago, he lost control. He took a swipe at Pellew, who caught the blow. Calvin threw his other hand into the mix and a short melee broke out. Calvin’s elbow caught Pellew in the nose—causing it to bleed, but the disciplined soldier, who was the better trained fighter, managed to restrain Calvin.

  “Think about it!” said Pellew. “There wasn’t time to move them onto the Nighthawk. If we’d tried, the Nighthawk would have been lost and everyone inside it would be dead.”

  “We could have hidden the captives on this ship,” said Calvin.

  “No we couldn’t,” said Pellew. “Don’t you know they’ll search our ship once we land? There’s nowhere we could put them where they’d be hidden. This isn’t the Nighthawk with loads of secret compartments. It’s just a basic freighter.”

  Calvin knew that was true. The ship would probably be turned upside when they docked—if they were ever cleared to dock—and any captives would be discovered. Still... Calvin couldn’t get past the sickness of what they’d just done. Did the ends really justify the means? Was it so urgent that they reach Tybur that others had to be killed to pay the price? He felt weak and his muscles slackened. Pellew released him and firmly pushed him away.

  Calvin stumbled a little, but stayed on his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say and ended up just shaking his head.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Tristan. “There was no other way.”

  Calvin couldn’t believe that. Even if it was true. He couldn’t accept it. If he did… if he could sacrifice innocent lives so callously and easily for some kind of greater good that he got to decide, he would have lost a precious part of his humanity.

  “In any case, it’s done now,” said Pellew. “No changing that. Now can we proceed with the mission?”

  Calvin nodded. All he could do now was try to make the sacrifice of the civilians as meaningful as possible. There was no point in scrubbing the mission now. At least Calvin’s unexpected display of compassion had seemed to have a positive effect on their last surviving captive. The ship’s captain had calmed down and seemed to trust Calvin.

  “We won’t hurt you,” said Calvin. “I won’t let them hurt you. Just, please help us.”

  The captive nodded.

  A beep indicated an incoming message. Pellew walked over to the control and accepted it. Like most ship-to-ship communications in the Alliance, it was audio only.

  “Freighter AT-101, you are cleared to approach Primary Station, docking bay four.”

  “Understood,” replied Pellew. Then he looked at Calvin. “Are we good?”

  “No,” said Calvin, still overwhelmingly appalled by what had happened. “But we’ll have to be.”

  ***

  When they docked, they were instructed to proceed to a customs checkpoint. With weapons concealed, Calvin, Pellew, Tristan, and three similarly disguised special forces officers walked alongside their captive. Ready for anything.

  At the checkpoint they were notified that the freighter would be searched and its computer logs would be downloaded. Calvin was hopeful that nothing suspicious would be found.

  Tybur was an information-controlled state with a severe totalitarian regime. The government officials, and its military, had seemingly limitless authority, and citizens of the Alliance had learned that that was normal. They believed that their homes were constantly threatened, and exaggerated rumors of impending aggressiveness against the Alliance by the Empire, the Rotham Republic, and pirate raiders kept the populace in a heightened state of panic. Calvin had read reports from Intel Wing personnel who had infiltrated Tybur; it amazed him how skewed the public narrative was here.

  Of course the greatest irony of all was that the Alliance had originally refused to join the Empire, back when the independent human colonies were falling prey to stronger civilizations, because they feared that the executive leadership that came with the Empire was too extreme. Too much consolidation of power. Now, though, a hundred years later, the Alliance was ruled by “The President” who was effectively a dictator for life, and any sense of representative government had long ago disappeared. Tyburian history books didn’t even acknowledge it had ever existed. And, just like the rest of humanity had learned when it formed the Empire, Tybur learned it was impossible to survive in this dangerous galaxy without strong executive leadership of some kind—for better or worse.

  “Checks out. You may proceed to the shuttlebay,” said one of the military police. He directed Calvin away from the desk and down the long corridor.

  Because Calvin and his men had been identified as the merchant’s armed guards, they’d been allowed to carry their concealed weapons through security without raising suspicion. They’d had to produce special permits for this, but the Nighthawk’s quartermaster had been able to forge the appropriate documentation. Allowing them to both appear as legitimate citizens and possess firearms. There was a downside, however. The identities they used were ones carefully designed by Intel Wing and placed into the Alliance’s database for future missions. As a result, they fooled the Alliance nicely, but the identities were no doubt flagged by Intel Wing operatives, and it was possible—even likely—that current Intel Wing agents on Tybur would notice these names on their arrival manifest, and could then communicate to Intel Wing that something suspicious was going on. Nimoux would no doubt deduce that Calvin and the Nighthawk had come to Tybur. Which meant time was of the essence!

  Calvin met up with the others in the shuttlebay where they paid for a two-way ticket down to the planet. Here they parted ways with their captive. Pellew wanted to kill or incapacitate him, depriving him of the chance to blow the whistle on them, but Calvin decided to be more merciful. Believing that fear would prove sufficient. He ordered the captive to remain on the station, near the freighter, and wait for them. If he did not comply, or if he betrayed Calvin, the captive was made to believe that operatives were standing by to assassinate his family. A total lie, of course, but one that Calvin made convincing. And the captive seemed swayed. Pellew looked uncomfortable with this plan but managed to hold his tongue.

  Tristan said they could find the Key—which apparently was necessary for contacting the Enclave—by going to the Waeju Canton. So that was their destination. A shuttle went there every fifteen minutes. They made sure to catch the next one.

  Calvin wanted to ask Tristan several questions about what to expect once they got there, what “the Key” was specifically, and how Tristan knew so much about the Enclave. But, because they were crammed into a public compartment with dozens of other passengers, Calvin decided not to bring it up. His group apparently thought the same thing, and they avoided chitchat during the twenty-minute descent.

  To pass the time, Calvin stared out the window next to him and took in the view. Soon, dark opaque clouds surrounded them, and he couldn’t see much of anything. It was strangely foreboding, almost terrifying, being swallowed by t
he poisonous clouds. And, as they moved through pockets of super dense gas, Calvin thought of the Remorii awaiting them. The same sick kind of creatures that had filled the Trinity with screams. Their gaunt, blood-lusting faces haunted his memory. He wondered if the fate that had taken Christine was all that awaited them on the cantons of Tybur.

  “Could we be walking into a trap?” Calvin leaned over and whispered to Tristan.

  Tristan looked at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be safe. As long as you’re coming with us.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Calvin liked to think he was a decent shot with a pistol and had enough street-wisdom to keep himself alive on a hostile Set. But several of the others going with them, including Tristan himself, were more useful in a tight spot than Calvin. So he could hardly be expected to protect the others against the likes of type two Remorii.

  The shuttle jerked, blown sideways by some powerful turbulence. Calvin felt a rush of adrenaline. Spending so much time in space with functioning gravitational systems, he’d forgotten what inertial forces could feel like during aggressive flight maneuvers. It reminded him of the old days, when he’d trained as a pilot.

  “Sorry about that folks,” said the shuttle captain over the comm system. “Just some minor turbulence. Everything is under control. We’ll be arriving at our destination momentarily.”

  The shuttle pitched back to port—presumably back on course—and continued its descent.

  Calvin looked back at Tristan, expecting an answer to his question. But the lycan wasn’t forthcoming. And instead struck up a conversation with one of the other passengers about the local goings-on. Calvin looked back out the window and allowed himself to be mesmerized by the swirling dark clouds. He tried to imagine what life would be like had he grown up in this strange civilization. He doubted he would have liked it, even if ignorance was bliss.

  ***

  Sadly, the Waeju Canton never became visible out the window. Even in the patches of lighter gases that the shuttle flew through, visibility was less than a kilometer before being blocked by more dark clouds. He kept hoping to catch a glimpse of the floating metal city, think it must be a truly curious sight, but he never saw it. His first view of the canton was from inside the shuttlebay.

  Damn.

  As they followed the other passengers out, the group was rapidly guided into another line where they went through another security check. Fortunately their fake ID’s proved as effective here as they had on the primary station, so they were eventually allowed into the city proper.

  “Okay, follow me,” said Tristan.

  They did.

  “How do you know so much about the Enclave? I thought your people hated them,” said Calvin. “And how do you know so much about Tybur?” He could only guess at how Tristan had managed to infiltrate Tybur’s security in the past—and clearly he’d been here before.

  “Are you a religious man?” asked Tristan, deflecting the question.

  “No,” said Calvin.

  “Neither am I,” admitted Tristan, “but I do follow the one great commandment.”

  “And what is that? Love thy neighbor? Do unto others as you would want done unto you?”

  “No, of course not,” said Tristan. They silenced themselves as they walked past a group of policemen on patrol. Once they were out of earshot Calvin resumed his questioning.

  “Then what is it?”

  Tristan shot him a devious smile. “Know thy enemy.”

  The canton was a series of smaller and smaller rings that eventually culminated in a circular center. The rings were either rounded corridors or else they’d been split into rooms which varied tremendously in size. The outermost rings seemed to serve administrative and commercial functions, and the inner rings housed the citizens. One of the rings was entirely devoted to growing food in lush greenhouses that also aided the oxygen scrubbers in providing breathable, lightweight air. At the very center, according to Tristan, there was both a power reactor and an artificial gravity system—so the citizens wouldn’t be subject to the buffetings of the intense air currents that buoyed their canton in the sky. Military presence and state police seemed distributed throughout all levels of the canton. And, aside from the outermost ring, there were no windows.

  “Where is this Key?” asked Pellew.

  “And what is it?” added Calvin.

  “We’re almost there,” said Tristan. He led them into one of the larger chambers, which, despite its metal walls, felt surprisingly open and aesthetically pleasing. It was the only place on the canton, so far, that hadn’t made Calvin feel like a caged animal.

  “What is this place?” asked Pellew.

  They collectively marveled at the artistic displays that covered the walls, and were set up throughout the room. A few token patches of citizens wandered around, looking over the displays, and police patrolled in groups of two.

  “This is the public park,” said Tristan.

  It wasn’t like any park that Calvin had ever seen. There were no plants, nor open fields. Nothing was green or alive. And yet, despite the cold deadness of the place, it was still beautiful and serene. A tribute to art and technology. The only place where culture was allowed to flourish in this information-controlled dystopia. Although, as he looked over several of the displays: paintings, murals, sculptures, and so on, they were admittedly limited in theme. Even here, self-expression was kept in check.

  “Okay...” said Calvin. “What are we doing here?”

  “Finding the Key.”

  Tristan led them to the far side of the chamber and told them to disperse. He then approached a marble fountain, alone. Calvin watched him as best he could, while trying to look natural—feigning interest in some other display. Tristan approached the water fountain, which sprayed water up into a pool. Calvin could hear the rush of it as it cycled.

  Tristan dropped something into the fountain. Three things actually. They looked like bits of metal. Local currency perhaps? Calvin couldn’t tell. Metal currency seemed so antiquated, but he knew some civilizations still preferred to keep it in use—for whatever reason.

  They waited. Calvin moved to a different display, still keeping Tristan in sight as well as possible. Tristan sat down on the rim of the fountain and pressed his face in his hands, as if in deep thought.

  A patrol of two policemen passed by, they took a look at Tristan, apparently assessing his threat level, then continued on.

  After they were gone, one of the civilians wandered up to Tristan and began a conversation with him. Calvin couldn’t hear what was being said. It was brief, though. There was an exchange of words. Tristan pointed to Calvin—for some reason, and instinctively Calvin tried to look like he wasn’t watching them—then something changed hands. The man walked off one way and Tristan went the other.

  Calvin decided that now was as good a time as any to meet back up with Tristan, so he caught up to him—without looking like he was in a hurry.

  “I’ve got the Key,” said Tristan. “It will let us reach the Enclave.”

  “Is it a physical key?” asked Calvin.

  The others spotted Calvin and Tristan together and seemed to take that as a sign to regroup.

  “No, it’s a pass phrase. One that changes every day. No one gets in without knowing it.”

  Tristan led them out of the park and to another ring that was even closer to the center. He took them to a storage unit, which he was able to unlock by entering a command code, and they went inside.

  It was brightly lit, like every other room in the canton had been. Tristan led them to the far corner of the room and opened a secret hatch which had been camouflaged perfectly into the floor. They climbed down a short metal ladder and reached a tiny landing. There were no lights down here.

  Tristan was the last one down, and after he closed the hatch above them, they were in total darkness. Pellew withdrew a small tactical light and turned it on. He pointed it down what looked like an endless dark crawlspace.

  “This way?”
asked Pellew. Other than the way they came in, it was the only way to go.

  “I’ll go first,” said Tristan. “I hope no one is claustrophobic.”

  ***

  “Look at this,” said Dae-Hyun. The younger core collector looked suddenly excited.

  “What is it?” asked Mi-Cha, walking over to see what Dae-Hyun was looking at on his tablet computer. It had been a quiet day at the Intel Wing safehouse, and they were knee deep in an investigation tracking recent weapons movements inside the Alliance. Mi-Cha had been busy reviewing some intelligence she’d collected, separating the useful one percent of it from the worthless ninety-nine. It was hard to focus with constant interruptions. Especially since Dae-Hyun had a bad habit of getting overly excited about what almost always turned out to be nothing.

  “Look, do you see it?”

  Mi-Cha scanned over what appeared to be a government arrival manifest from one of the shuttles. “No, what is it?”

  “The computer flagged this report because it recognized these names.”

  She realized at once that this discovery was not nothing. This time Dae-Hyun had found something big. “Well how about that...” said Mi-Cha.

  The manifest clearly listed six highlighted names, the computer tagged them with the code EC. They were fake names. Manufactured identities that Intel Wing had worked hard to put in place inside the Alliance citizen database for use in future operations. Now, suddenly, these names had faces attached to them. But who were they really?

  “Could these be new Intel Wing agents?” asked Mi-Cha.

  “If so, I wasn’t notified,” said Dae-Hyun. “According to my records, those names haven’t been put into use yet.”

  Mi-Cha nodded. “We’d better check this out. I’ll feel around and find out where this group is going. I’m thinking either customs official Kyung-Sune or T’voram from the Enclave will be able to keep tabs on this group—if it isn’t already under surveillance. In the meantime I want you to forward this information to Intel Wing as soon as you get a clear communication window. Send them the photos, the names, the arrival time, the name of the shuttle they docked from, what ship they arrived on... send them everything.”