The Phoenix Crisis (8 page)

The more he considered it, the less
plausible it seemed, certainly such a theory did not fit with
Kalila’s behavior every time he’d interacted with her. She’d wanted
him not to attack Raidan, for instance, and she seemed very aware
that a threat was growing deep inside the very roots of the Empire,
she’d spoken of it herself. But that was not enough to acquit her
of the Renora attack—no matter how much Calvin wished it was. More
evidence would be needed.

His mind wandered as fatigue finally set in
and as his thoughts became emptier, he began drifting off to sleep.
Only to be abruptly awakened by the noise of the intercom
panel.

“
What?
” he yelled hoarsely, almost rolling off the bed as he tried
to get his bearings.

The alert on the comm panel went off again.
He staggered to get up and then rushed over to the panel. He
slapped the button. “What is it?” He tried not to sound cranky but
knew he did a poor job of it.

“
Midshipman Hughes here,
sir.”

“
Did you find out more about
that listening device?” asked Calvin. He knew that Hughes was
putting in extra hours at the analysis lab, now that so much of
their staff had left the ship, and for that Calvin was
grateful.

“
No, sir. This is about the
murder investigation of Staff Sergeant Patterson.”

Calvin felt a solemnness overtake him. “Go
on,” he said.

“
We’ve finished analyzing
the DNA evidence found at the scene. In addition, after further
study of Staff Sergeant Patterson’s remains, we’ve identified the
cause of many of his injuries.”

Calvin recalled the gruesome
sight, probably the ugliest and most revolting thing he’d ever laid
eyes on. The body had been thoroughly eviscerated, in particular
the head which had been smashed to a pulp. The victim’s blood had
then been used to paint a message on the wall in bone-chilling
letters.
JUSTICE
.

“
It looked to me like the
cause of death was severe blunt injuries and… a head smashing in,”
said Calvin.

“
We were able to determine
that Staff Sergeant Patterson died before his head was smashed in.
There was an altercation—a very short one—and after physical blows,
which cracked some of his bones, he was repeatedly slashed and
stabbed by a sharp blade. Blood filled his lungs and that was the
cause of death. After he was dead the attacker stomped on his head
with significant force, enough to crush it. By studying the
remaining bone fragments we were able to get an idea of the shape
and texture of the boot.”

Hearing these details made Calvin sick to
think such an action had taken place on his ship, and therefore
under his watch. It was hard to believe, and he’d be tempted not to
if he hadn’t seen the corpse for himself. “I’m guessing the boot
was a Polarian boot,” he said.

“
Yes, sir.”

It all added up. The Polarians had motive
for the slaying—the victim had interrupted their sacred ritual.
Polarian DNA had been found on the scene. The victim had been
slashed and stabbed to death by a knife and Polarians were the only
personnel who carried knives around—the humans used bayonets and
only when deployed. The corpse had been slaughtered and displayed
almost ritualistically and Polarians were well known for their
value of rituals, and lastly the boot that had crushed the
deceased’s head had been a Polarian boot. In Calvin’s mind this was
certainly enough evidence for conviction. Sure it was technically
possible that an extremely clever person with a lot of resources
could have framed the entire thing to blame the Polarians, but
Calvin could think of no one on the ship able to do so, and
certainly no one with incentive to arrange all of that. It was time
to put the issue to rest.

“
So which Polarian was our
attacker?” he asked. He sincerely hoped the offending Polarian the
DNA belonged to was one of the many who’d died on Remus.

“
After comparing the DNA
sample to samples taken by Dr. Poynter during the inoculation
process, we found a perfect match. The DNA belongs to
Grimka.”

Calvin felt a sick feeling in the pit of his
stomach. Not only was Grimka one of the Polarians that had survived
the Remus Nine mission, Grimka was also Rez’nac’s son. He did not
look forward to breaking the news to the Polarian commander.

“
Thank you, was there
anything else?” asked Calvin.

“
No sir.”

Calvin shut off the comm and returned to
bed. He stared up at the ceiling once more, in the darkness, and
thought of what he was going to say to Rez’nac. And he wondered how
the mighty Polarian leader would take the news.

Calvin debated for some time
whether or not to even deliver the news to Rez’nac, he considered
delaying and even the idea of having someone else send him this
information—
sounds like a perfect job for
Summers!
But even as he thought it he knew
those options were unacceptable. For whatever reason, Calvin was
the only one Rez’nac truly respected, probably a cultural thing,
and the news really needed to come from him. And, Calvin reasoned,
some things were just better to get out of the way rather than let
fester.

He left his bed and returned to the comm
panel. He instructed the computer to bypass his communication
lockout and send a message to the Arcane Storm. He hailed Rez’nac
by name and waited.

After a couple of minutes the screen
flickered to life and showed the large, square, greyish face of
Rez’nac. His features were fierce but his eyes were kind, and he
seemed glad to see Calvin. “Hello Captain,” he said in a warm
tone.

“
I have some bad news for
you, I’m afraid,” said Calvin. He took a moment to collect his
thoughts.

Rez’nac looked ready to hear it, in fact he
looked ready for anything. “Go ahead,” he said.

“
I was able to identify the
murderer. The one who slaughtered Staff Sergeant
Patterson.”

“
And who was it?” Rez’nac
looked more curious than anxious. He’d taken a keen interest in the
investigation and no doubted expected to be kept in the loop
regardless of Calvin’s findings. He’d personally seen to the safety
of Calvin’s investigation officers—who’d conducted interviews of
each Polarian after the murder had happened—and even though the
interviews had produced no suspects, Rez’nac was still very
involved in trying to solve the mystery. No doubt he hoped to
acquit his people of the tragic deed. Calvin wished he had better
news…

“
I’ll have my lab send all
of the information to you, evidence, reports, everything… you’ll
want to see the proof,” Calvin rambled, somewhat avoiding answering
Rez’nac’s question.

“
Who was it?” Rez’nac asked
again.

Calvin had trouble forming the words but
when he did, he didn’t falter or hesitate. “The murderer was
Grimka.”

“
Ah,” was all Rez’nac said.
His face remained hard and strong but something showed in his eyes.
Not tears, for all Calvin knew Polarians had no tear ducts, but
there was a pain visible in them. It made Rez’nac look almost
human.  

“
Like I said, I wish I had
better news…”

“
Do not apologize,” said
Rez’nac. “The truth is the truth. It respects no man and offers no
quarter. It is better that you speak a painful truth than a
pleasant lie.”

Calvin nodded.

“
Please, send me all of the
reports and evidence,” said Rez’nac. “I do not doubt your findings…
I just… would like to see this for myself.”

“
Of course,” said
Calvin.

“
And Captain,” Rez’nac said
just as Calvin was about to terminate the call, “thank you for
telling me. You have my sacred word that I will take care of
this.”

***

Rez’nac did not have to look at the evidence
Calvin had sent him. He knew the kind of man Calvin was, he knew
Calvin was not the type to dishonor himself with such a perverse
lie. But Rez’nac checked over the data all the same, checked it and
checked it again. Not wanting to believe what he saw. But as he
looked at it, there was no escaping the conclusion.

“
All the many souls of
Khalahar, forgive me,” he said aloud. “I have failed my own
son.”

He stormed away from the public office—it
was one of a few rooms on the Arcane Storm that had been converted
for general use. On this ship, like the Nighthawk, outward
communication was restricted, but access to the basic networks and
applications was not forbidden. In a strange way Rez’nac wished it
had been, maybe then he could have delayed learning the truth a
little longer. But he knew that was foolishness even as he thought
it, it served no man and no purpose to delay knowledge. As cold and
brutal as it often was, the truth was the only mistress a man could
ever trust.

He went to the converted barracks—a single
crewman’s quarters that’d been made into lodgings for the
Polarians. There was sufficient room for them to spread out more
but such was not their way, they preferred close quarters with
their brethren.

“
Grimka!” Rez’nac said the
instant he entered the room.

“
He is not here,” spoke the
only other in the room. He bowed his head slightly when he
addressed Rez’nac, but not as much as he should have. He and the
other surviving Polarians were young and untempered, they had yet
to learn their place.

“
Where is he,
Ki’lar?”

“
He is on the flight deck,
preparing for the Pon’yor.”

Rez’nac felt some anger at
this news. He was glad his son valued the Pon’yor and their other
tender rituals, but it was not his place to prepare for the
Pon’yor, or to organize one. He, like the others, belonged to
Rez’nac. It was
his
place, not Grimka’s. “It would seem the offspring of my body
has overstepped himself,” Rez’nac said.

Ki’lar did not answer, except to bow his
head again.

Rez’nac left him and made for the flight
deck. As he took swift long strides his hand curled and uncurled
around his ceremonial dagger. More of an anxious habit than
anything, but it helped him to focus his mind, and to ignore his
pain. The physical beating he’d sustained on Remus ached him from
head to toe, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his soul at
the thought of his son’s actions. And what he had to do.

“
Grimka!” Rez’nac said
boldly as he pushed through the door and stepped out onto the large
flight deck. It wasn’t large compared to the flight decks of many
spacefaring ships but it was larger than any room on the
Nighthawk—which didn’t even have a flight deck or carry any
launch-capable craft.

Grimka stood in the middle of the room. His
hair had been pulled back into a ceremonial braid and he wore his
finest clothes. Around him were two of the other Polarians, the
same ones that Rez’nac knew to be Grimka’s closest friends.
Regardless of the friendship, they too belonged to Rez’nac and it
would be fitting for them to witness what was about to take
place.

“
Yes, father?” asked Grimka.
He turned and looked at Rez’nac as he approached. His eyes were
like steel but none of his body language showed any real defiance.
That was wise.

“
You have dishonored
yourself, and in so doing you have dishonored me, and the Polarian
race, and worst of all you have dishonored the very Essences
themselves,” Rez’nac did not stop until he was but a meter away
from his son.

“
I am of the Essence of
Qi’lara. I know no dishonor,” Grimka replied simply.

“
And
I
am of the Essence of Khalahar and I
say that you do.” Rez’nac pointed at him. “I know that you slew the
human soldier on the Nighthawk. Slaughtered him in cold blood. And
I know that you dishonored yourself further by denying your actions
when questioned by the humans. Do not dare to deny it to me,” his
eyes narrowed and he stared at his son, teeth clenched.

Grimka looked at the other Polarians, as if
for support, then his eyes met Rez’nac’s again, and there was a
change. He stood a little straighter and his muscles tightened, his
face looked like steel and fire filled his eyes. “Yes, father. I
did those things. And I was right to do them.”

Rez’nac felt like he’d been
dealt a lethal blow. He had come here expecting this, convinced of
Grimka’s guilt, but a small part of him had still wished all of it
to be a great mistake. Now that Grimka had confessed, and showed
neither remorse nor regret for his deeds, a small part of Rez’nac
died. “I am the one who decides what is right and what isn’t,”
Rez’nac said fiercely. “For it is
I
who is of Khalahar. I am the master here. I am not
yours. You are mine.”

“
The human deserved what he
got,” grumbled one of the other Polarians, a youth by the name of
Hrokki.

“
Silence!” Rez’nac said,
turning his attention to the others. “You will not speak again
until I allow you,” he looked from one to the other. They both
lowered their heads, perhaps in shame. Rez’nac looked again to
Grimka.

“
Hrokki is right,” Grimka
said. “The human defiled our sacred ways. There is only one
appropriate response, the Blu-qi! I did not murder him as a dark
one in the night, I performed the Blu-qi as our ways
demand.”

The Blu-qi was a punishment
ritual reserved for only the most heinous of crimes. And had it
been Grimka’s place to decide the sentence, and had the victim
understood the Polarian ways, Rez’nac conceded that his son would
have been in his right. But it had
not
been Grimka’s place, it had been
Rez’nac’s, and the slain human had
not
known their ways. “It was not your
place to decide.”