The Phoenix Rising Read online

  His passengers seemed less in love with the ride. He could hear retching behind him, and at least one vomited.

  “Don’t worry,” said Calvin, “things should be steadying out soon.” He remained on the flightpath, even though it took him into some of the more severe precipitation. The gunship was designed for much stronger forces than those buffeting them currently—he was sure—and he didn’t want to lose the course.

  Rapidly changing temperatures and strong wind shears tossed the gunship about furiously and all around them a lightning storm of convective activity could be seen out the windows. Brightening the dark clouds for moments at a time.

  “Sorry about the bumps,” said Calvin. He didn’t know if storm conditions like this were common on Remus Nine but, if so, this particular gunship had clearly not been built for reentry here since it didn’t weather the storm well.

  “We’re going to die,” said Miles. “I just know it.”

  “We’re fine,” Calvin insisted, making another flight adjustment.

  The gunship was thrown hard when its four-hundred kilometers per hour tailwind instantly dropped to less than ninety. “Ohh, easy there,” Calvin said, steering the gunship back on course. He heard another person vomit. The smell was almost bad enough to make him put his climate helmet back on. But he needed to keep both hands on the controls.

  They dropped below the clouds and much of the turbulence disappeared. Calvin caught his first earnest glimpse of the planet’s surface. It was dark, almost dead in appearance, and soaked by the pelting rain.

  Debris and desolation were everywhere. The plains and open spaces were scarred and barren and the cities seemed like vacant, ghost metropolises. Many of the structures and buildings still stood in good condition, but they were darkened and lonely—almost seeming asleep. They passed over the largest city. It was filled with thousands upon thousands of buildings and not a soul in sight. No sign of life or activity at all. Like millions of people had just vanished. A chill traced Calvin’s spine and he stared down at the sight. In the far distance a massive fire burned, lighting up the horizon.

  “What is that fire?” he asked.

  “Burning oil fields,” replied Tristan.

  The whole scene taken in its entirety, the greyness of the surface, the distant flames, the abandoned cities, the fierce storm... it was certainly the most uninviting place Calvin had ever been to. And yet somehow, in its own dark and deadly way, beautiful. A tiny part of him couldn’t help but wonder if this would be his final resting place. He shuddered at the thought. Gotta survive. Must find those weapons!

  “There,” said Tristan, pointing. “You see that beacon?”

  “Yes,” said Calvin, spotting the faint strobing white light. It was difficult to see in the storm.

  “That’s the landing zone.”

  “Got it,” Calvin began prepping the craft for terminal procedures. He adjusted the flaps, slowing their descent, and flew a circle around the landing zone. Because of the low-visibility, he would have to perform an instrument-guided approach. He followed the numbers exactly, keeping an eye on the green head-up display. “We’ll touchdown in just about a minute...” He glanced at the time. 1435. The Rotham fleet would probably arrive within the next thirty minutes. Half that time would be needed to escape the planet’s surface and return to space. This was going to be close...

  ***

  “We have arrived at Remus System,” the pilot said.

  “Defense status?” asked Nimoux.

  “Shields raised, all weapons armed.”

  Nimoux sat at the command position, staring out the window at the brushstroke of stars that were now visible. He had been to Remus System before on a survey mission, but had never approached the inner planets. Something about this place felt eerie and twisted. God knows why Calvin would come here. “Ops, what do we see? Is the Nighthawk out there?”

  “Scan complete. There is an alteredspace exit signature that is very recent. It was created by a ship that is roughly the same mass as the Nighthawk. I do not see the Nighthawk, however. The only artificial heat source seems to be the station orbiting Remus Nine.”

  “Did the Nighthawk leave?” asked Nimoux.

  “I don’t see any evidence that it left. There is no recent alteredspace entry signature. I believe the ship is still here, we just can’t see it for some reason.”

  “No doubt it is stealthed,” said Nimoux. “Ops, begin a deep scan using the advanced sensor. Sweep every cubic inch of the system, starting with the space around the ninth planet. Let’s find that ship.”

  “Sir, starships arriving,” said the ops officer. “Looks to be the ISS Phoenix, ISS Stormfront, IWS Rhea, ISS Trogon, ISS Titan, and ISS Spirit. The rest of the taskforce is here.”

  “Begin approach and order the squadron into containment position around the ninth planet—remind them to stay clear of the mines.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I’ve spotted them,” said the ops officer. “They are holding position just outside the mine field. Sending coordinates to the helm.”

  “Excellent. Transmit coordinates to all ships and order them into standard containment pattern.”

  “Yes, sir. Transmitting.”

  “And broadcast the following message throughout the system on every frequency,” said Nimoux. “Lt. Commander Cross, you are hereby ordered to disengage your weapons and prepare to be boarded. You are under military arrest. Resist and be fired upon.”

  ***

  Seeing the ships on the 3d display, knowing they were here—authorized by the government—to apprehend the Nighthawk, Summers felt extremely uncomfortable in the shoes of the fugitive. Everything in her core, all of her training, her upbringing, everything she was, sympathized with the Imperial ships pursuing them. She knew why they did what they did. And her heart was with them.

  But she also knew that these ships were merely pawns being manipulated—like she’d once been. Unknowingly throwing their allegiance and trust behind a large, corrupt, corrosive influence that had taken root inside the Fleet. An influence that had led to the self-inflicted massacre in Abia that annihilated the men and women of the Fifth Fleet. That corrosive element had to be found and removed. No matter the cost. Which meant that justice would have to wait. Once the Fleet was restored to its proper self, Summers had every intention of turning herself in, and facing the consequences of her insubordination, but not before.

  “I don’t know how,” said Cassidy, seated at the ops position, “but they see us somehow. The whole squadron is closing on our position.”

  “Weapons range?” asked Summers.

  “Not yet.”

  “Is it possible that they are approaching the planet and it only seems like they are approaching us?”

  “Negative. They are bearing down on our exact position,” said Cassidy.

  “Lt. Winters, begin maneuvers, let’s see if we can lose them.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sarah. The view shifted as the Nighthawk rotated hard to starboard and fired up its thrusters.

  “Move us to a hundred thousand mc’s from our previous position,” said Summers.

  “Imperial squadron is changing approach. They have a fix on our new heading and are still on an intercept course,” said Cassidy.

  “Begin erratic flight pattern,” said Summers. Time to see for sure if the approaching squadron could get a really clear fix on the Nighthawk despite its advanced stealth technology.

  “Aye, aye,” said Sarah. Summers looked at her, saw lines of stress appear on her face as she wrestled with the ship’s controls, seeming intensely focused.

  “They are matching our maneuvers,” said Cassidy.

  “Mister O’Conner,” said Summers, now turning to see Miles’ replacement at the defense post. The red-haired midshipman was probably the youngest officer on the ship. “Is our stealth system engaged?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know how they see us. But they definitely see us,” said Cassidy
.

  “It’s Abia all over again,” said Sarah.

  “Time to intercept?” asked Summers.

  “Most of the squadron will achieve weapons lock on us in about three minutes.”

  Summers knew she had to do something. If necessary they would jump the ship away—if that was possible—but only as a last resort. Despite how mixed her feelings were for Calvin, she had no intention of abandoning him and the others down on the planet. However, Calvin’s party wouldn’t be able to return to space for at least half-an hour. And the Nighthawk probably wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in a chase or firefight. She needed to think of a third option.

  “Are there any planets, moons, asteroids, or other objects we could use for our tactical benefit?” asked Summers. “Something we could hide behind perhaps?”

  “There are several inner rocky planets and stellar debris fields but no major asteroid groupings, most were cleared away to allow the mine field—”

  That’s it! “The mines. Maneuver us into the minefield, but keep us clear of striking any of them,” said Summers. “Hopefully most of their ships are too big to follow.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Sarah, turning the ship about once again.

  “It looks like two of the seven ships are small enough to pursue us into the mine field.”

  “Which ships?”

  “The IWS Desert Eagle and the IWS Rhea.”

  “Mister O’Conner, give me a tactical appraisal. How long could we hold off both ships?”

  “Hard to say,” said Patrick, spinning his chair away from the defense post to face her. “The Desert Eagle is identically equipped to us and the Rhea is probably of similar fighting capability. I think we should consider surrender, for the safety of the ship.”

  “Not an option,” said Summers.

  The Nighthawk slowed drastically. “We’re in the mine field now,” said Sarah. “We can’t maneuver as quickly. I’ll go as fast as I dare to but I don’t want to hit any mines.”

  “How many mine impacts can we survive?” asked Summers.

  “None,” said Patrick.

  Summers grimaced. She’d expected the ship’s armor to buy them a little leniency. “Definitely be careful then, Lieutenant.”

  “They’ve broken off pursuit,” said Cassidy.

  “Move us deeper into the mine field, let’s see if the smaller ships follow us.”

  “So far no,” said Cassidy. “Two of the ships are skirting the edge of the mine field, doing some kind of scan. I think they lost sight of us somehow.”

  Summers moved over to look at Cassidy’s console. Indeed the Imperial ships had backed off and seemed clueless as to the Nighthawk’s position. “How can that be?”

  “I have a theory,” said Cassidy. “It could be that the primitive cloaking technology of the mines is obscuring us. I think whatever part of our stealth system that is deficient—allowing them to track us—is being compensated for by the mines.”

  “So we’re invisible?” asked Summers.

  “Looks that way.”

  “Good. Hopefully that will buy us the time we need.” Summers returned to the command position. Hurry up, Calvin.

  ***

  “And... that completes our perfect landing,” said Calvin. He’d set the gunship down on an outdoor landing platform adjacent to the large facility where the meeting was scheduled to happen. The craft’s bright lights cut through the dark rainstorm revealing a short walk to a large, ominous grey door.

  “Not the friendliest looking place I’ve ever seen,” said Pellew.

  “Shutting down primary systems,” said Calvin as he adjusted the switches. The loud hum of the gunship’s engine faded and they could hear the smattering of heavy rain as it beat against the hull and windows. “I’m going to leave the secondary systems powered on, in particular the weapons. That shouldn’t drain too much power. Miles, I want you to remain on the gunship to cover our escape. As soon as you see us come through that door, or hear from us over the radio, fire up all systems and prep for launch. Can you do that?”

  A look of intense relief spread over the larger man’s face and he tried to contain a smile. “Yeah! I mean... I guess so. If I have to.” He folded his arms in an effort to look tough. “I mean, I wanted to go with you but yeah, I’d better stay here. No one can run these guns better than me.”

  Calvin smirked. He then looked at Shen. “I want you to stay too. I need—”

  “No,” said Shen.

  Calvin was taken by surprise. Shen wasn’t the type to interrupt him, less yet countermand his orders. “I need someone to help keep these systems ready for a quick evac. You’re most useful to me here.”

  Shen shook his head. He clutched the firearm in his hands tightly and, through the face screen of his climate helmet, gave Calvin a look of severe intensity. “I’m going with you, Calvin. I have to.”

  “It’s okay,” said Miles. “This bird is simple. I can handle the systems by myself no problem.”

  “The more people we take with us, the better,” said Pellew.

  “Yes,” said Shen. “Plus this is something I have to do.”

  Calvin was confused but in no mood to argue. “Fine. Stay close, then.” He didn’t have a lot of confidence in Shen’s fighting ability and would hate to lose such a talented officer and good friend in the crossfire if things got ugly. “Tristan, check the atmospheric conditions and temperature. If we can leave these climate suits behind on the gunship, I’d like to.” They were bulky enough to slow their group down and wouldn’t provide much protection against small arms fire or type one Remorii.

  “Sixteen degrees centigrade and atmospheric conditions are stable,” said Tristan after checking the co-pilot’s console. “The climate suits won’t be needed.”

  “Good, let’s ditch them.”

  Alex, who wouldn’t have been a very convincing Rotham Republic agent inside an ill-fitting Imperial climate suit, seemed the most relieved. They took a moment to pack up their tactical gear and fit a concealed listening device to Alex’s clothes. Calvin knew Alex would have to go into the meeting alone, which shouldn’t be a problem for the former Advent operative, but Calvin still wanted to keep tabs on the meeting any way he could.

  Calvin put on a tactical earpiece and checked to make sure it was receiving the audio feed from Alex’s listening device—it was. He again strapped on his IR goggles and picked up his firearm. “Rez’nac, open the hatch and lower the ladder. It’s time to move out.”

  ***

  “Have you found them yet?” Nimoux asked, staring at the blank 3d display that’d been tracking the Nighthawk.

  “No, sir,” said the ops officer. “Their last known position was inside the mine field. It could be that a stealth field created by the mines is masking heat emissions from the Nighthawk.”

  “Can you scan for gravitational discrepancy?” Nimoux wasn’t overly familiar with the capabilities of his starship but knew they could track the gravitational effect of larger ships on other objects as they passed by.

  “Not reliably, sir. The Nighthawk is too small and there are too many objects within too close of a proximity to distinguish them.”

  Nimoux pressed his fingers together. Too bad...

  “Sir,” said the pilot. “The Rhea is requesting further instructions.”

  “Tell them to continue sweeping the minefield; we’ll do the same.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then order the rest of the squadron to reorganize into a larger containment pattern. Block all possibility of alteredspace withdrawal from any ship exiting any point of the minefield. It ends here. The Nighthawk can’t hide forever.”

  Chapter 24

  Calvin shielded his face from the heavy downpour, thinking perhaps he’d abandoned the climate suit too hastily. The trek from the gunship to the facility’s entrance was probably not more than fifty meters but his uniform and tactical gear were soaked within seconds.

  “Keep that tablet dry,” Calvin shouted over the no
ise of the driving rain. A deep thunder crash rolled and lightning split the sky, lighting up the clouds. “We need those instructions.”

  “I left it on the gunship,” said Tristan. “I memorized the route.”

  “I hope so,” said Calvin.

  Their boots sloshed through deep puddles that covered the black, torn pavement. On either side of them, large, ominous urban buildings loomed darkly. None was lit up or showed any sign of recent use. Many of the windows were shattered and claw and scratch marks could be seen on doors and walls. Other than the rain and thunder, the world seemed quiet, and Calvin saw no indication that type one Remorii had been here recently.

  “Looks like our host cleared the area for us,” said Pellew.

  “More likely they hunted this place to death and the horde moved on,” said Tristan.

  “Whatever the case, keep your guard up,” said Calvin.

  They reached the facility’s large grey door and found the automated switch broken. Shen got to work on the manual override and Calvin waited, clutching his firearm tightly, shivering as water streamed down his face.

  “Got it,” said Shen. The large door unlocked with a snap-hiss. Pellew, Calvin, and two of the Polarians worked together to pry the door open and push it aside. Darkness and stale air awaited them. Calvin entered the facility, followed closely by the rest of the group, and switched on his IR goggles.

  He raised his carbine, ready for anything. What he saw was a long stretch of tiled corridor with several doors on both sides. There was some machinery strewn about—whose function he could only guess at—and old computer parts had been shattered and tossed onto the floor. No one seemed to be waiting for them, and there were no obvious hiding places.

  “Looks clear,” said Calvin.

  “Let’s move,” said Pellew, taking the lead. Rez’nac fell in behind.

  “Go through the fourth door on the left, then down the long hallway,” said Tristan.