The Phoenix Darkness (12 page)

But the universe was not kind, which she soon
discovered as a first-class passenger aboard the civilian transport
Midnight Waltz.

At approximately 0100 hours standard time,
she left her quarters. She knew the other passengers would be
asleep and only essential crew members would be awake and about the
ship. This, she reasoned, made it the safest time to unlock her
cabin and go use the ship’s head. It was down the corridor and to
the left, she recalled; she’d seen it on the way in. With no one
else up and about, no one would recognize her, minimizing her
chances of being found and discovered, and potentially dealt with,
or so she hoped.

After unlocking the door and exiting her
cabin, she told her two bodyguards, who had been vigilantly
standing guard outside her door, she was going to go relieve
herself and that she shouldn’t need any escort.

“If I don’t return in five minutes, then come
after me,” she said. It was an unnecessary precaution, she
believed. The corridors were silent but for the hum of the
equipment and the rustle of the cool air flowing from the vents.
There wasn’t another soul to be seen or heard anywhere on the deck.
The head was located a mere nine yards away and just around the
corner. Surely it was perfectly safe, especially since she had
cleared so much distance between herself and Capital World. Now it
was just another two starports and another two ships and she’d be
on her way to the queen herself, ready to announce her identity as
she arrived.

“Very good, ma’am,” said the nearest guard
with a respectful nod. The other remained silent. As she looked at
him, she thought perhaps he was asleep. He leaned against the wall
in a slouched position, eyes too obscured by shadow to see.

“Thank you,” she said, speaking to the awake
guard, and then she proceeded onward. No one disturbed her on the
way.

The head was well lit and surprisingly clean
for a bathroom on a starship, even for one in a first class
section. The mirrors were spotless, there was no trash on the
floors, and pleasant-looking hand towels with floral patterns on
them were folded in a clean pile. By all accounts, no one was
there. But before Addison got comfortable, she checked each and
every stall, paranoid one of them was hiding a knife-wielding
maniac who was going to carve her up and drag her disemboweled
corpse back to Caerwyn Martel to display before all of the
Assembly.

“I’m
not
a traitor,” she whispered,
partly to remind herself she hadn’t betrayed her oath and was still
performing her patriotic duty, and partly because the complete
silence made her uncomfortable.

Satisfied she was sufficiently alone, she
selected a stall and took care of her business. She did not dawdle
or linger and, as soon as she was able and had done her trousers
back up, she went to the sink. She glanced around, then checked in
the mirror and made certain she was alone still. No one could be
seen. She looked down to find the soap and she lathered then rinsed
her hands. As she reached for one of the floral hand towels, she
thought she heard something. A faint noise, barely more than the
slight squeak of a shoe. She glanced up at the mirror and saw a
man’s face there, standing right behind her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the man’s
gloved hand clamped down over her mouth while his other arm wrapped
around her neck tightly, cutting off her air supply.

“Now, ma’am, take it easy, there’s nothing to
worry about,” the man whispered. And, for a moment, she relaxed.
Suddenly, she recognized the facial features in the mirror, and the
familiar sounding voice, as belonging to one of her bodyguards. The
one who she’d thought was asleep.

She let herself go limp and calm, realizing
the bodyguard had only restrained her to stifle her scream, and
he’d only come after her because she must have exceeded her five
minutes. She was ready to thank him for his diligence as soon as he
let go of her mouth and throat, but he didn’t let go. Rather, the
more she went limp, the tighter he held, now squeezing at her
throat, locking closed her windpipe with an iron grip.

The panic seized her in a flash, with the
ferocity of a thousand lions. She made every effort to scream,
speak, squeal, or make any noise at all, unsuccessfully, while she
kicked at him, wriggled violently, and clawed her fingernails into
the arm around her throat.

“
Shhhh
,” the man whispered, apparently
undisturbed by her efforts. Her fingernails pressed deeply and
sharply, but could not penetrate the man’s jacket.

She was feeling lightheaded now. The lights
seemed to blink on and off. What was happening? Just what the hell
was going on? This was her bodyguard! He was here to protect her!
He was…

“There you go,” the man whispered.
“Goodnight, little birdie.” Everything darkened. She felt herself
go limp, no longer able to resist, the blackness on the verge of
overwhelming her. “Don’t worry,” the voice whispered. She could no
longer register who it was or what was happening. “Dad and boy are
already waitin’ for you. You’ll all be buried together.”

The darkness consumed her.

***

Trapped at the stardock of Taurus while
awaiting the final essential repairs to the
Harbinger
,
Raidan felt like a prisoner. He spent the time pacing, thinking,
drinking, and generally trying not to obsess over the fact that
critical events were happening out in the galaxy, ones that would
make or break the Empire, and he was limited to the role of, at
best, a puppet-master forced to trust his subordinates to perform
the jobs he should be doing personally. At worst, he was an
advisor, doling out intel and suggestions to the real players of
the game who, for all he knew, would disregard his orders and
ignore him.

No, it’s not that bad
, he told
himself. He didn’t have to blindly have faith in the loyalty of his
contacts to do his bidding. He owned their loyalty. They would
perform. They would do as he needed. But would they succeed…? That
was an entirely different matter.

After waiting for what felt like years
without hearing word from any of his various contacts, he finally
got a message from Tristan, his primary asset for the operation.
Raidan elected to take it in the privacy of his office, even
deciding to lock the door. He trusted his crew, with a few noted
exceptions, but sometimes there were things a captain needed to
keep to himself. This was one of them.

“
Report
,” said Raidan in a tone more
demanding than he’d intended.

“I got back to you as soon as I could,” said
Tristan, looking more amused than insulted by Raidan’s
angry-sounding tone. The Lycan wore a navy uniform as he was prone
to doing these days, and had apparently given himself a promotion
to Second Commodore; the amethyst insignia gleamed on his lapel.
The game of rank gave Raidan no concerns whatsoever, he knew, they
both knew, Raidan was the superior in their arrangement and Tristan
the subordinate. In fact, Tristan was likely Raidan’s most trusted
subordinate in all of this. At least he had sufficient reason to
know Tristan could not betray him.

“Were you successful?” asked Raidan. “Did you
find them?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Tristan. “Our old
friend was here, there are even traces of jump signatures from his
starship, but by the faded looks of it, he left quite some time
ago.”

“Damn,” said Raidan, lowering his head for a
moment. He’d expected as much; Tristan’s ship was too slow and
distant to overtake the
Duchess
. But if only it had…the game
would have changed. “Were you at least able to get a fix on his
likely heading?”

“Yes, we did that. And we’re en route now,
about to jump the system as a matter of fact. But, between you and
me, I don’t believe there is any chance of us overtaking him.”

“Unless he stays in one place long enough,”
said Raidan in a dour attempt at hope.

“Even so, he’ll see us coming,” Tristan
pointed out. “Not to mention, when have you ever known Zander to
stay in any one place for long?”

“Never,” Raidan conceded.

“There is one silver lining, however,” said
Tristan, his blank expression twisting into a smirk. “Our scans
also found evidence of the
Nighthawk’s
presence. By the
indications of their jump imprints, they left Izar Ceti about the
same time as Zander, no doubt in fast pursuit.”

Raidan felt a feeling of hope return,
although it was mixed by a conflicting sense of concern. The
Nighthawk
overtaking Zander was a lot better than Zander
getting away. But it was also considerably riskier than if Tristan
and the
Arcane Storm
had been the ones to manage it.

“Since it’s now abundantly clear I will never
be able to catch up,” said Tristan. “I believe it’s time for you to
do whatever is necessary to activate those
other
arrangements
you so enigmatically spoke of before.”

Raidan knew Tristan was right. It wasn’t his
first option, and in fact he didn’t even like the prospect of
thinking about what would be necessary for the arrangements to
properly occur, but it seemed the only move left available to him
if he wanted to win this war.

“I agree. In the meantime, keep me apprised
of any new updates to the situation,” said Raidan.

“Of course, Captain,” said Raidan. “I
wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then he signed off.

With a deep sigh, followed by a shot of
whiskey, Raidan knew it was time to make the call. From the privacy
of his office and using the precise transponder code, he linked to
a very secure, very private connection on a distant ship utilizing
maximum possible encryption. Even with all those precautions in
place, he preferred to make such calls brief and few. While he had
been assured by multiple experts this method made it extremely
unlikely such a transmission would be noticed, by either the source
ship or the recipient ship, it remained possible. If that happened,
there was no guarantee the contents of his message would remain
secure. So Raidan made it a point to be only as specific as was
necessary.

“Go ahead,” said the voice on the other
end.

“It’s on you,” said Raidan.

“Understood.”

“Primary effort is strongly advised and
preferred,” said Raidan.

“Primary was attempted and failed.”

“Make a second attempt,” said Raidan.

“Not possible.”

“Unfortunate. Is that certain?”

“Affirmative.”

“I see,” Raidan paused and took a moment to
think about the ramifications of what he was about to say, what he
had
to say.
There’s simply no other choice
, he
reminded himself. “Then proceed as necessary.”

“Clearance granted?”

“Clearance is granted,” said Raidan, somewhat
hesitantly. “Just remember how I want it done.”

“It’s under control.”

***

The ringing was too much! It was like
tinnitus, except instead of a slight ringing or buzzing in his ear,
a minor and persistent irritant, it was more like a fire-alarm bell
combined with the infuriating sound of buzzing so loud and
obnoxious it was exactly as if a bee had flown directly into his
ear.

“
Stop
…” said Shen weakly, as he
stumbled, walking along the corridor of deck four. By now it had
gotten to the point that he could hear nothing else. Back on the
Bridge, the noise had been faint, at least at first, only gradually
growing until it made it difficult to hear and understand the
Commander’s orders. Now, though, now it was deafening and maddening
and all he could think about was what he could possibly do to end
it.

He thought of stabbing glass deep inside his
ears or ripping his ears off in frustration, though he knew neither
solution would help. He even considered knocking himself
unconscious or taking his own life in one final desperate effort to
end the pain, the confusion, and now the awful, terrible
ringing.

What would it matter anyway
? he
thought.
I’m a freak. A monster. A Remorii…

When he’d left the
Nighthawk
’s bridge,
abandoning his post to Captain Nimoux, Shen had meant to go to deck
eight where his quarters were, just two decks below the Bridge. But
instead he’d jammed the button for the third deck, which housed the
infirmary among other things. Yet as the elevator had whizzed
downward, he found himself ever less interested in being a specimen
under a microscope and quickly pressed the
Stop
button,
careful not to smash it with his newfound strength, and the
elevator had halted just shy of his original destination. This left
him to wander out onto deck four, aimlessly, as if hoping walking
in circles would cause the torture to stop. Of all the decks to be
on, wandering about, he supposed this one was as good as any. Like
nearly all decks on the ship, there were rooms devoted to crew
quarters, though far less than usual. The aft section was largely
dominated by the auxiliary lab, where an analyst or two would be
busy helping the ship’s many computer systems to crunch important
data. While Shen had always had a penchant and talent for
computers, numbers, analysis, and the like, it wasn’t the aft
section of deck four which appealed to him. Rather, he found
himself drawn to the bow.

The door opened and he stepped inside the
largest room on the ship. It was eerily empty, just as he liked it,
and no lights snapped on automatically as he stepped inside. He
could command them on with a word, he knew, but what would that
offer him? The chance to see his own reflection in the mighty
windows of the observation deck? To see a monster in a man’s body,
wearing an officer’s uniform, like some kind of joke?

No, it was the darkness he craved. It soothed
him. And, as he stepped farther along, reaching the center of the
deck, the buzzing and ringing faded away entirely, leaving him in
peace to stare out at the great vast blackness, the nothingness of
alteredspace, a vast void if ever there was one, and contemplate
upon himself and his destiny. Shen had never been a religious man;
the entire concept of higher orders of intelligence directing
around lesser beings had always smacked of thought-policing and
mind control. If something greater than him had made him as he was
and set him inside the universe just so, then what did that make
him if not a puppet or a plaything of that greater power? …An actor
upon a stage reading lines from a script he didn’t remember, but
which had already been written. All the while believing, indeed
being programmed to believe, his choices were his own, that his
will was free. Yet it was a farce, a dark irony to be a creature
forced to believe it is free; what a cruel jape! No, it could not
be so.