The Phoenix War (38 page)

He’d started by joining a group called the
Organization, and had even risen to a position of prominence among
them as a group leader. That had been when he’d captained the
Arcane Storm. But, as it became clear that the Organization, for
all its passion and effort, was a force of nationalist idealism
that was outmatched on every level by their sworn enemy, the
Phoenix Ring, Zander had known it was time to adapt or die. And so,
when the opportunity was ripe, Zander had changed sides. Taking
some small amount of his crew with him, the ones he could persuade
and trust. The rest had been tricked, gassed, killed, and
jettisoned into space. They had failed to adapt and therefore
nature had deselected them.

He’d then worked for Phoenix Ring in their
dealings with the Enclave, and during that time Zander had taken
his orders from Zane Martel himself, the linchpin of the entire
Phoenix Ring network. That arrangement had enriched Zander greatly.
But in doing that work, he’d learned of the superior might of the
Rahajiim, and the expert craftiness of the shrewd and cunning
Enclave. He could smell a foulness in the wind and knew it was time
to change loyalties again, and so he had. And the Enclave had used
him, used him to safeguard half of the weapons as they went to sell
the rest to the Rahajiim, in defiance of their deal with the
Phoenix Ring. And, just as Zander had predicted, the Phoenix Ring
had collapsed after that. Its leadership slaughtered and hunted. It
was still a mystery exactly who had been behind it, though reports
of their violent deaths had spread far and wide, but Zander was
sure the Rahajiim had been the ones to order the killing blow.
Ridding themselves of a dangerous enemy and eliminating their only
true rival in one swift stroke.

And ever since, the Rahajiim had done
everything possible to make good on their deal with the Enclave,
despite the failure of the Enclave to perform their part of the
bargain and deliver the weapons on Remus Nine as agreed. The
Rahajiim knew that there were still fifteen more warheads, and that
they were in the Enclave’s possession, and more than anything they
wanted them. And so they’d been all about forgiveness and second
chances, bending over backwards to please the Enclave and secure
the remaining isotome weapons from them. Doing everything possible
to get their hands on weapons for which the rest of the galaxy had
no answer.

The Enclave, persuaded by the Rahajiim’s
efforts, seemed bent on repossessing the weapons and transferring
them to the Rahajiim right away, just like the Rotham group wanted.
And had sent notice to Zander to deliver them accordingly,
promising him he would be compensated for his efforts. After all,
he’d had to abandon the Arcane Storm and change ships, and even
hide the weapons, in order to keep them safe from the Organization
which, by all accounts, still vehemently pursued them. Compensation
was owed to him.

But would it be enough
? Zander
wondered.
I have in my possession the most valuable cargo in all
the galaxy. And I am expected to simply hand it over in exchange
for some small fortune of money
?

And that was assuming the Enclave would honor
their agreement with him. He expected they would, they seemed to
see the business sense in remaining true to their deals—other than
the one they’d broken with the Phoenix Ring, though that betrayal
of contract had been part of a larger bargain they’d made with the
Rahajiim. But still… a part of him sincerely wondered if, once he
gave them back their weapons, they wouldn’t simply kill him, and
his crew, to better protect the secret and avoid having to pay
out.

It was a thought that gave him chills and
kept him awake at night. If the Enclave was after him, or the
Rahajiim, then nowhere was safe. Even Zane Martel and all of his
compatriots, for all their wealth, and power, and cunning, had been
no match for the Rahajiim’s wrath once they’d decided it was over.
How could Zander expect things to be any different for him?

The safest thing, for all its implied
dangers, was to do what they wanted. Give them back their weapons,
accept whatever compensation they offered, no matter how meager,
and then be on his way. Seeking out the next business
opportunity.

But, while that might have been the cautious
thing to do, it was also the least opportunistic. And that grated
against his instincts. He often dreamed of the vast wealth
governments would give him for these deadliest of weapons.

The Imperial military was a potential buyer,
though the government seemed to be fracturing into a state of civil
war, the respective sides in the conflict still had significant
wealth and incentive to want the isotome weapons.

Another prospective buyer was the Polarian
military, or any of the independent states of the confederacy. None
of them could marshal the kind of wealth the Empire could, or even
that of the Republic, but they were a warrior culture and one with
a deeply ingrained sense of honor and truth of word. He could trust
them to both want the weapons covetously and to honor whatever
bargain was struck.

Of course, the Rotham Republic itself
presented a great mountain of opportunity as well. Even though the
Polarians fostered the culture that most reveled in the glory of
violence, history had shown it was actually the Rotham who were
most willing to strike the first blow and seize opportunity to
advance the Republic and annex more territory. Their latest
efforts, which had resulted in the Great War, had been decidedly
thwarted and in recent memory their fleets, mighty as they were,
had been kept at bay by the even mightier war-machine of the
Imperial Navy. Though a handful of isotome weapons could tip the
scales, especially after the vast Imperial fleet destroyed itself
in the seemingly inevitable political contest for the throne. Now
that the King was murdered.

Zander even considered cutting out the
middleman and selling the weapons directly to the Rahajiim itself.
They were more dangerous and more cunning than even the Enclave,
many hundred times more, and they would no doubt pay handsomely for
the weapons regardless of the identity of the seller. So long as it
meant they got what they wanted. They could even protect him from
the Enclave’s wrath, if they wanted to. He could make it a term of
the sale, but that didn’t mean they’d keep their word. Indeed
everything he knew about the group caused him to harbor very deep
suspicions. All groups, like all people, were motivated by
self-interest, but the Rahajiim seemed particularly effective at
finding ways to promote their own benefit and not care about the
welfare of those who were no longer of any use to them, which would
certainly be Zander the instant he’d transferred them the
weapons.

What to do, what to do
? He thought.
Wrestling with the dilemma. Knowing that the extra time he’d
purchased himself was soon to run out. And once it did, there was
very little he could do to delay further without openly defying the
Enclave.

Meanwhile his crew remained in the dark as
much as Zander could keep them, doing as they were bid, accepting
pay and following his instructions. They had some idea that their
cargo was valuable, and Zander had promised them a share of the
profits once they closed the deal—he’d had to in order to insure
against betrayal—but they didn’t understand how truly valuable
their cargo was. And Zander meant to keep it that way. No matter
what he ultimately decided.

“We are being hailed,” said Rolland. He was
one of the few who’d been with Zander since the beginning, when
they’d worked for the Organization. Of all the souls on the ship,
Zander doubted there was one he trusted more than Rolland. Not that
it had made any difference, Zander had kept Rolland in the dark
just as much as everyone else.

“By whom?” asked Zander.

“It’s Anton again.”

Damn. Of course it is
.

The crew knew that name, Anton had been in
regular contact with them for a long time. Since even before the
sale on Remus Nine had gone haywire. The crew also knew that Anton
was a representative for the purchaser of the cargo they carried,
though most of the crew did not know—didn’t even suspect—that their
buyer was the Enclave itself, and that Anton was a member. One of
the nightmarish Remorii that seemed to thirst for human blood and
the taste of flesh between his razor-sharp teeth.

“What does he want?” asked Zander. Annoyed
that the Enclave was calling again, no doubt meaning to pressure
him into delivering the weapons to them as soon as possible.

“He demands to know why, when his ship passed
through the Kynar Asteroid Field, he found no one there to meet
him,” reported Rolland.

“
What
?” said Zander, confused. He’d
deliberately sent Julio and Todd in a shuttle he’d purchased with
his own private money into the asteroid field to meet with Anton
and buy Zander some time. And then Zander remembered how he’d let
it slip to Julio and Todd that they would be meeting with the
Enclave, and to expect approach from an almost undetectable Hunter
ship.
Damn those cowards, they must have run off in a spray of
their own piss
, Zander realized. He cursed himself too for
letting them know too much.

“Yes,” said Rolland. “Anton says his ship
made a pass of the coordinates we gave him and found nothing,” said
Rolland. “He demands to know why we wasted his time. He says we
were supposed to deliver the cargo to him there and collect our
reward.” Anton had been expecting to meet with Zander in the Kynar
Asteroid Field and the fact that Zander had sent Julio and Todd in
his place, with none of the weapons, promised to be an unpleasant
surprise. No wonder Julio and Todd had run off, they must have
calculated that Anton and the rest of the Enclave would be
livid.

Zander knew he had to come up with something
good, but unfortunately he was under the gun and had no time, so he
went with the first thing he thought of. “Tell him that we were
unable to make the rendezvous because of a systems failure, but
we’re on our way to meet him. We just have to stop at port for
repairs first.”

Rolland looked at him blankly for a second,
before relaying the message. He knew there had been no such systems
failure, and that they were lying to Anton, which didn’t make sense
to the rest of them because Anton was their buyer. And the crew
wanted the reward they’d been promised. Why delay, and why risk
offending their buyer to do so? But Zander wasn’t quite ready to
hand over the isotome weapons just yet. Not until he’d made up his
mind for certain what he should do.

For all he knew, the reward the Enclave had
in store for them was death. And Zander just couldn’t stop thinking
of the tremendous value the weapons had and how, once he emptied
his cargo bay, the opportunity would be gone forever.

“He wants to know our position,” reported
Rolland. “He says he’ll come to us.”

“Tell him to meet us at Izar Ceti,” said
Zander, picking one of his favorite ports. It was a small place
near the edge of the Empire with no local colony to protect and so
it was given very little attention and maintained only a small
garrison. Activity there was often…
less-legitimate
. Of
course, there wasn’t truly any need for the Duchess to make port,
no repairs were necessary and the ship had enough stockpiles of
fuel and food to last a couple of weeks. But it was the only thing
Zander could think of to delay Anton further. “Tell him it will
take us some time before we are able to get there. We are far away
and need to finish some minor repairs before we arrive at Izar Ceti
to undergo major repairs.”
So many lies
, Zander wondered how
many he could tell before one slipped back to the Enclave and they
decided to end him.

“Okay…” said Rolland. He relayed the message
and Anton told them he was on his way. And that they should leave
the minute they were able. But Zander had other plans.

“Setting course for Izar Ceti,” said Jasmine
from the helm.

“Not just yet,” said Zander. Deciding then
and there what he was going to do. “We have to make a stop first,
on the way.”

“Where?” Jasmine spun her chair and looked at
him. The crew was getting tired of him delaying the rich payout
they all expected. And he knew, if he kept this up, they’d
eventually mutiny.

“There is one important stop we must make,”
explained Zander. “And then we will go to Izar Ceti and claim our
reward. I swear it.”

“And what is this stop?” Jasmine’s dark eyes
probed him, and Zander felt almost naked before her.

“Open space,” said Zander with a knowing
smile. “One point two clicks on the far side Rana Kentaurus.”

“That’s really, really far away from Izar
Ceti…” said Rollund, looking confused.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Zander. “It’s
also out of sight from even the most prying of eyes.” Of course
just about any position in open space, that wasn’t near a shipping
lane, was well out of sight. But Zander liked the delay going to
Rana Kentaurus would create. It was a worthless neutron star with
nothing of value anywhere near it.

“We can’t claim our reward yet because first
we have to go make a stop in the middle of nowhere?” Jasmine
pressed him.

“Patience,” said Zander. “All will make sense
in time. Now go.”

Calvin was the first through the Nighthawk’s
jetway; it was an experience he always loathed because he could
imagine himself being blown out into space, and he didn’t feel
secure again until he found himself on the other side of the
airlock on Aleator One. The rest of his team followed, they were an
unlikely bunch: Rez’nac, a large and powerfully muscular Polarian
with fierce bruises and scars; Alex, a cunning-eyed Rotham who
looked extra small standing next to Rez’nac; Rain, a harmless,
almost naïve-looking human doctor with fiery red hair, intensely
blue eyes, and a relentless smile; Miles, a big-framed,
nervous-looking human who was at the same time thrilled to be
re-united with Calvin and terrified be back on Aleator; Rafael, who
looked like he could actually blend-in here with his eye-patch and
scars; and of course Calvin himself. They were each casually
dressed, as Calvin had ordered, and most of them had a concealed
side-arm, everyone but Alex. Who Calvin was not ready to trust any
more than he had to.