The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) (28 page)

“I still advise against it,” said Cassidy from the Ops post. “There is strange radiation coming from that star, radiation that this ship cannot properly identify; it’s possible that it could be harmful to us.”

“Raise the shields,” ordered Calvin, to be on the safe side.

“Shields up,” said Miles, as he leaned back in his chair, feet on the console. Summers watched him with a glare, but somehow managed to say nothing.

“I cannot guarantee that our shields will protect us from the radiation,” said Cassidy, “since I cannot identify what it is.”

“Captain,” said Rez’nac, who loomed large over Calvin who sat in the command position. “We must enter into orbit around that star. For my sake, I need it. I know I am a dark one now, lost and abandoned, but it has been too long.”

Calvin only partially understood what Rez’nac meant. He knew that the Polarians would make religious pilgrimages to certain stars known as “Shrine Stars” from time to time and medical science had shown that those visits were what gave the otherwise grey aliens’ skin the blue hue they were so famous for. Considering how grey Rez’nac now appeared, Calvin could understand why the Polarian wanted to orbit the star so badly. No doubt the radiation—which Cassidy could not identify—was what was responsible for giving the Polarians the blue color they seemed to hold in such high religious regard.

However, Calvin was not about to risk the ship, or the health of the rest of his crew, in order to indulge some sort of superstitious religious practice that meant something to Rez’nac and no one else.

“We should continue on our way,” said Summers. “My advice is to resume the mission; dropping out of alteredspace like this…it only serves as an unnecessary delay.”

“She has a point,” said Calvin, looking up at Rez’nac, as if wanting the mighty Polarian to come up with some sort of convincing rebuttal. Calvin wasn’t sure whether that was because he had a soft spot for the Polarian warrior, or if it was because—despite all they had been through—Calvin’s default position remained the opposite of whatever Summers’ position was.

“This is something I must do,” said Rez’nac. “We, followers of the light, and of the Essences, we must make pilgrimage to these stars every year at least, more if we are righteous and dutiful. I am deeply ashamed to say that, for me, it has been many years. My son condemned me for this…and he was right to do so. But please, Captain, I beg you, allow me this favor. I belong to you, I am yours. I shall respect your decision. However, if there be one thing I may ask of you, it is this. Allow me the chance to make one final pilgrimage before we sail in to the great, black unknown.”

Calvin wasn’t sure whether the “great, black unknown” referred to Polarian Forbidden Space—which he had hopes Rez’nac had some knowledge of—or whether it referred to the future, he hoped the latter.

“Cassidy, what is a safe distance from the star?” asked Calvin, wondering if somehow some kind of compromise could be reached.

“Sir, you’re not honestly thinking—” said Summers.

“If it were my decision,” said Cassidy, “I would not maneuver the ship any closer.”

“Rez’nac,” said Calvin. “Can you conduct your pilgrimage ritual from here?”

“No,” said the Polarian dourly. “It is impossible.”

Then the obvious solution occurred to Calvin. “Rez’nac, you have my permission to take one of our three detachable pods and go into orbit around your shrine star.”

“Calvin, that will add an unnecessary delay,” said Summers.

“Noted, Commander,” said Calvin, giving her a look. Then he turned back toward Rez’nac. “You may have one hour to conduct this ritual, then you and the pod must return. Is that sufficient?”

Polarians were not really capable of beaming, or looking gleeful, but Rez’nac seemed to make his best effort to do so. His fanglike teeth curled into a smile. “Thank you, Captain. As Master of this ship, you are a wise master.” He bowed.

***

The pod was not fast, but it was adequate. Rez’nac imagined he could feel the warmth of the essences pouring into him with each further MC he moved, ever nearer to the shrine star.
Sacred Fountain
, he thought.
It has been far too long
.

Rez’nac felt lonely, despite the pleasantness of finally making the pilgrimage again after so very long. It was unusual for a Polarian to pilgrim alone; for that matter, it was unusual for a Polarian to be alone. And yet he was, utterly and profoundly alone. It had been something of a relief when the human, Lafayette Nimoux was his name, had joined him in the ritual of the Urikh-jang. Nimoux was no Polarian, and Rez’nac had needed to coach him through the various motions of the rite—which the human, despite his sincere efforts, had failed to do correctly. But the experience was one for which Rez’nac remained grateful and had, for a brief moment in time, alleviated his loneliness. He had almost considered inviting Nimoux to join him on this pilgrimage, and likely would have had it not been for the humans’ discussion that the radiation of the Shrine Star, the breath of the Essences themselves, might be toxic to them.

They do not have souls
, he reminded himself. They come not from Essences and so they return not to the Essences. Therefore, their frail, mortal vessels of clay, which live and die and then enter oblivion, they cannot withstand the breath of the Essences. Calvin had been wise to keep the
Nighthawk
far away. He was a good master, for a human.

Eventually, the pod reached the star and Rez’nac commanded the machine to go into a close orbit. Like the
Wanderer
, and even the
Nighthawk
, this vessel, this mobile pod, had no soul. As he touched the metal, it did not resonate with life. It was cold, it was empty, it was a husk of material and nothing more. Nonetheless, it would be suitable.

Rez’nac could feel the heat of the Essences now, radiating into him, breathing in him new life. He orbited the star at full speed, as close as the pod allowed, for as many times as he could within the narrow window of time Calvin, his master, had given him.

There were no words to describe the experience. As he bathed in the warmth of the Essences, reminding himself of all that it meant to be Polarian, he chanted the rite of the Shrag’nal’cham. It was a prayer of gratitude. It was a promise never to forget. It was a vow of duty. Rez’nac felt unworthy as he spoke the words—the memory of the Arahn-Fi flashed before his eyes, his dagger poised and ultimately failing to strike down Grimka.

I do not deserve to recite the Shrag’nal’cham
, he thought to himself sorrowfully.
No more than I deserve to be here, making this pilgrimage, as though I were still of Khalahar; this feeling I feel, this warmth…it is empty.
I am a fraud
, he thought.

Nevertheless, he continued to bathe in the glow of the Essences until the allotted time had expired, then he plotted a course away, feeling ever colder and lonelier as he retreated from the Shrine Star. He looked down at his hands, pleasantly surprised to see that they were a vibrant blue. Not so vibrant as they should have been, not blue like Grimka and those souls belonging to him, but bluer than he had seen them in years.

Although I have no Essence, although I have been rejected of Khalahar, although I am a lost soul…perhaps, nonetheless, I am Polarian. At least until I die. And therefore I can still be granted strength and vigor from the Sacred Fountain
. And with that hopeful thought he left the Shrine Star and returned to the
Nighthawk
, ready to resume his lonely watch, a sentinel for the humans, a guide into the Forbidden Space, a rakh like them…destined for the oblivion that awaited the soulless.

***

“We have arrived,” said Raidan. At last count, the entire battlegroup had dropped from alteredspace. They were now in Remus System, a white-hot star surrounded by many planets. Because of what had transpired on the ninth planet, the entire system had been blacklisted and removed from all Imperial starcharts. This was the birthplace of the Remorii, and, if all went well, the new home for Tristan and his kind. However, Raidan knew they were not alone here, even though his initial scans reported no sign of any unwanted ships.

“Mr. Gates, please warn the rest of the battlegroup that, although the mines around the planet should all be destroyed by now, a few might remain. Tell them to proceed with caution as they begin their orbits.”

“Aye, sir.”

Raidan folded his arms and gazed out the window. The
Harbinger
had moved close enough to Remus Nine that the planet dominated the view out the forward window.
What a strange thing
, he thought. The planet chosen by rogue scientists to create genetic abominations. The birthplace of the Remorii. The temporary hiding place for a cache of isotome weapons. And now, looking abandoned, destitute, and—based on reports—overrun by Type I Remorii, it was now to become the home to a lost and migrant band of misunderstood people—the Type III Remorii. All that stood in their way was an endless horde of Type I Remorii and, unfortunately, the competing ambitions of the Enclave.

Ever since the defeat of the Rahajiim’s main force in the Thetican System—including the rumored destruction of most of the isotome weapons—except of course the one that somehow had been deployed against the system—the news was that the Enclave had experienced a falling out with the Rotham. The Rahajiim were fighting for their very existence, and had severed ties with the Enclave; the Enclave had then turned to the Khans for an alliance—and had experienced defeat in Aleator at the hands of the Roscos. It was hard to imagine a family of gangsters being able to defeat Enclave soldiers, but stranger things had happened. Now the remaining members of the Enclave—the threat that remained to the Type III Remorii—were allegedly hearing the calling too and coming here, in whatever droves and numbers remained to them.

There will be a battle for this planet
, thought Raidan. He knew that much was inevitable. The best predictions of his intelligence analysts had even suggested that the Enclave should have beaten Raidan and his battlegroup to the system, yet there appeared to be no sign of them.

“Incoming hail, sir,” said Mr. Gates, “it’s the
Arcane Storm
.”

“Of course it is,” said Raidan. “On main viewer.” Tristan’s face appeared.

“It looks like we beat them here after all,” said the lycan hopefully.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Raidan. “For all I know they are hiding their ships on the far side of the planet, or else they have already begun landing them—permanently.”

“If they are here, we’ll deal with them,” said Tristan, his eyes suddenly glowing red.

“One thing I can promise you,” said Raidan. “With only a few ex-Alliance ships available to them, and no backing from the Rahajiim, they don’t have anything that can stand against this battlegroup.”

Tristan nodded. “That is my assessment as well. If there is a battle here, it will be on the ground.”

“Do you think they know about the solution?” asked Raidan.

Tristan nodded. “If they are here, then they know. Otherwise, they would never come here. Without the solution, landing on a planet infested with Type I Remorii is suicide.”

Raidan nodded, supposing that was true. “Well, for all we know they aren’t even here; my ship has detected no sign of them.”

“Neither has mine,” said Tristan. “Which is why I am hopeful.”

“Of course, if I were them, and had to go up against a battlegroup such as this,” said Raidan. “I would hide my ships on the far side of the planet. Which is why I am going to provide you with the best solar support I can, beginning with a complete orbit around the planet.”

“What if they orbit opposite you?” asked Tristan.

Raidan smiled. “It won’t matter. I’m dividing the battlegroup in half and sending each half in opposite orbits; if they are here, we’ll find them. And if we find them—”

“You’ll destroy them,” said Tristan eagerly.

“Yes,” said Raidan. “However, I must warn you, I am not going to risk deploying any of my people to the surface, so, if they are down there, there is nothing I can do for you except to prevent them from receiving any reinforcements.”

“It will be enough,” said Tristan; his eyes glowed like fiery rubies. He was in a state of rage, blood-thirst, or excitement, Raidan could not tell which, perhaps some of each.

“I recommend you begin deploying your people now,” said Tristan. “I will order my support ships to assist and to unload all of the Remorii they carry,” said Raidan. “As for the rest of the battlegroup, they will begin their sweep of the planet, then the system, to destroy any Enclave ships that might be here.”

“Won’t that leave my ship and the support ships vulnerable while we deploy?” asked Tristan, “that will take some time.”

“No, you’ll be perfectly safe,” said Raidan. “I’m going to personally protect that operation with the
Harbinger
. And, I promise you, they have nothing that is a match for this ship.”

“On that we can agree,” said Tristan. “Very well, I will begin deployment.”

“Good luck to you.”