The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (51 page)

Immediately afterward had been the final exchange of fire between the starships. It didn’t go well for the
Arcane Storm
or the
Harbinger
, although it went even worse for three or four of the battlecruisers, which were completely destroyed. As for the
Harbinger
and the
Arcane Storm
, they lost the rest of their systems and both of them sustained enough hull damage that neither could survive.

Then, evidently, they left us for dead
, thought Raidan. It made sense, why waste the ammunition when both the ships had lost their systems and were irreparably tearing themselves apart, inside and out? Not to mention losing atmosphere and, wherever atmosphere remained, everything was probably on fire! At least based on what Raidan had seen, that was the case. He didn’t want to think of how little oxygen remained on the bridge now that the fire had consumed so much of it.

Some of the crew managed to escape—or, at least, tried to. Raidan definitely remembered giving permission to his bridge staff to make a run for any remaining escape pods, if they so wanted to. As for him, he chose to remain with the dead and the dying, and he stayed on the bridge. A fitting end for Raidan and the
Harbinger
; they came into this fight together, they ought to go out of the fight together too. In fact, he had been just about to stand when he’d gotten impaled by the…
what the hell is this thing anyway?
wondered Raidan as he tried to stare down at it and get a good look. As near as he could tell, it had been some kind of fixture, probably something cosmetic, or maybe it was some kind of a separator, there would really be an irony in that, wouldn’t there, thought Raidan. For the fragment of a separator to do the exact opposite and force him and the chair to become one.

His thoughts were interrupted by the creaking and groaning of what had to be failing metal. For an instant, he thought the time had arrived, that the ship was about to collapse inward on itself, but the
Harbinger
remained strong, a few moments longer anyway.

Well since I’m a dead man, anyway
, thought Raidan,
I’m not going to die here, like this, stuck to this damn chair.

With a great deal of effort and a whole lot of pain, Raidan tugged the debris out from both the chair and himself, only to discover it was some kind of warped piece of metal that could have come from just about anything. He tossed it aside, then used his right hand to put pressure on the wound, it hurt—a lot—but he wanted to stymie the bleeding. And though every bridge had at least one medkit standard, he couldn’t find either of the two he knew for certain were on the bridge. Then again, the force created by the collision, or whatever else it had been, had been enough to break the bridge into shambles, hurl crewmen across the room, and spray debris in all directions, both pinning the captain to his chair and slicing about an inch deep into Mr. Gates’s skull.

It didn’t help his hunt for the medkit that the bridge was still quite smoky, although it seemed the fire suppression system had eventually won out against the fire; nothing on the bridge was burning, even though it still smelled like burned plastic everywhere.

Feeling lightheaded, either from the lack of oxygen due to the fire, or else from a lack of blood—he wasn’t sure which—Raidan stumbled forward until he reached a surface that could support him. It happened to be the portside window. It had a massive crack across it, though whatever had caused it had failed to penetrate all the way through.

Raidan wasn’t too surprised, the transparent materials they used on starships had incredible strength.
That would have been bad
, he thought, examining the crack, and imagining what the explosive decompression would have been like. Then again, who says it would have been worse than what actually happened?

Mister Gates had been sliced by debris that cut through his skull and into his brain; Mister Ivanov and Mister Fredrickson had both burned to death at their stations; Mister Watson had actually drawn a sidearm and shot himself in the head, soon after they’d lost flight control. Just before he did, he had rambled something about not wanting to explode or get captured. Commander Mason and Mister Demir both managed to get off the bridge, at least, Raidan had last seen them making a run for the ladders, hoping to get to a lower deck and use an escape pod. Had it worked? Raidan had no idea. For all he knew, since there was no starfighter cover anymore, the Dread Fleet’s drones were assigned to hunt and destroy the many hundreds of escape pods that were probably floating all throughout Capital System.

Raidan squinted and thought he saw something through the window, out in space. It was hard to tell for sure what it was, because the
Harbinger
’s running lights were all deactivated or destroyed, and they were at the wrong angle to benefit from any light coming from the local sun. However, he knew he could see something, because there was a large blank spot where the stars could not be seen and the color was less black and more of a dark grey.
Yeah, there’s something there
, thought Raidan. It was either a ship that had lost power or else the corpse of a ship that had been destroyed but hadn’t blown completely apart.

Could that be…is that the Arcane Storm?
he wondered. There was no way to confirm it but, from what he could tell regarding its size and shape, it fit the profile. He even recalled from the tactical display, when last it had worked, that Tristan preferred to keep the
Arcane Storm
on the
Harbinger
’s port flank, and close, to avoid enemy fire that was mostly coming from the
Harbinger
’s starboard side, or else aft.

Are you in there, Tristan?
Raidan wondered.
Are you alive?

He took his now blood-saturated right hand and pressed it up against the glass, as if to say goodbye. Or hello. The gesture meant both. So, too, did Raidan, when he thought about it.

It was
goodbye
. After a long and twisted journey together, that began out of mutual self-interest and continued throughout the years because of promises made and kept, debts owed and paid, but, above all, loyal friendship. So loyal, in fact, that Tristan had followed Raidan here, to this deathtrap of a battle, when he must have known the whole time that neither of them were likely to survive this battle. And yet fighting for Capital World had been
that
important to Raidan. And so it somehow also became
that
important to Tristan too.

Sure, he had come up with his reasons and excuses for why he had to do what he did—he always had them ready to roll out when asked, almost like they’d been pre-prepared—but at the end of the day, he was always there and he always had Raidan’s back. It didn’t matter what Tristan said, “Raidan owes me this, so protecting him is really just protecting my investment,” or, sometimes the reverse, “I’m helping protect Raidan to repay the debt I owe him.” It worked either way, because, the bottom-line truth of it was loyalty. If Tristan did not have loyalty, then Raidan did not know who did.

Now that their ships were failing, with slowly collapsing hulls, and Raidan was bleeding and choking on the lack of air, and Tristan, well, for all Raidan knew, Tristan was dead already, over on the other starship. So this was goodbye.
Death is the end, the last step on the journey
, reflected Raidan. And so the hand gesture he was making on the window was a wave goodbye.
You take your path into that last, final darkness
, thought Raidan.
And I’ll take mine
.

But also, no one really knows what—if anything—happens when you die
, thought Raidan. Raidan did not believe in an afterlife, and he still didn’t believe in one. Or a god, for that matter, since the concept of god seemed purely illogical. If for no other reason than the infinite regress one made when trying to figure out where “god” came from. Raidan had always said, if one observes the marvels of the universe and asks, “Where did all this complexity come from?” and answers it with “God,” that was no different than answering it with “An even greater and higher order of complexity,” which then must also be explained to have come from a yet greater still form of order with even more complexity, and so on, ad infinitum.

But, as he found himself staring down the barrel of life’s gun, knowing the trigger had been pulled and that the bullet of death was fast on its way to come and claim him, Raidan looked at things slightly differently. His beliefs were unchanged. God still made no sense. But that didn’t mean he could claim to know that
nothing
happens when you die, as an absolute certainty.

And so, under the seemingly very unlikely premise that death was not simply the end of one’s journey but rather the transition from one journey to another, his outstretched hand, still pressed against the glass, was also
hello
.

Since we both die together this day
, thought Raidan,
should it prove to be so that we begin some kind of new journey, I should hope to find you there
.

He thought he saw something then. A flicker of tiny lights near the blob in the night sky that he was convinced was the
Arcane Storm
. He didn’t know what he saw—if anything. It might have been a reflection, or a trick of the mind, or a drone passing by quickly, or, just maybe, it might have been an escape pod exiting the ship. However unlikely that seemed. The lights had seemed wrong for an escape pod, and so had the shape, but, despite those thoughts, Raidan preferred to believe that it was an escape pod. And that Tristan was on it. And, for all he knew, he was right. The thought made him smile. And, though the air seemed thinner than ever and he felt even more off-balance, he continued to stand and stare out the window. Thinking,
this is how I want to go. Standing tall, on the bridge of my ship. Our fates intertwined
.

He watched through eyes that had gotten a little blurrier as the ship-like blob out the window came apart, breaking into many, many pieces, its hull finally giving way.

“Goodbye,
Arcane Storm
,” said Raidan. “Goodbye,
Tristan
.”

With that, he wandered away from the window, leaving behind his hand print, in blood, on its surface. He felt like he was on the verge of collapse, and caught himself gasping for air more than once along the way, but Raidan refused to fall, and, although it required breaks now and again, where he would lean on something to rest before continuing, he finally made it to the bow of the bridge to stand right in front of the forward window.

Yes, this is it
, he thought.
This is where I die
.

If he did
have
to eventually die, as all mortals must, he could think of no more fitting place nor any prouder circumstances. Here he was, standing tall, master of this great warship. Their fates intertwined.

Here is where he chose to make a stand, voluntarily, against the evil Dread Fleet, in the defense of the Empire that he so loved. His final act, the one that had ultimately gotten him killed, had been a desperate effort to save the lives of billions, even if for only a few days, by throwing all of his might, force, and will into an attempt to destroy the devastators. Something he would proudly do again, if given the chance.

Ultimately, however, he had failed at both. The Empire was not safe from the Dread Fleet, nor had all the devastators been destroyed. Still, he held his head high, feeling proud that, at least, for as long as he had been alive, he had done his part to save and protect the Empire.

As he heard noises that could only have been the beginnings of complete metal failure on the part of the
Harbinger
’s inner skeleton, he knew his time was up. He stayed standing, no matter how much he wanted to collapse; he stood as tall as he was able, leaning against the window, gazing forward from the bow of his bridge, until the very last moment.

As the ship began to come apart, he uttered his final words, “My blood for the Empire.”

CHAPTER 20

“Your Highness,” said Sir McTavish, I fear…it is over, and that we have lost.”

“Look here,” said Sir Vasquez, “The devastators are on the move again, once more headed toward the planet.”

“Is there any way to identify their targets?” asked Kalila, thinking perhaps she could organize massive evacuations, but if she emptied out even one major city, where would she send them? Capital World was covered in the tallest and grandest buildings in the galaxy. So many people called this planet home that it was actually resource-upside down and required supplies, including fresh water, to be brought in by starship on a regular basis. This, despite the many, many desalination plants spread across the planet.

“No, Your Majesty,” said Sir Vasquez. “Even if we could, it would be a far simpler thing for the devastator warship to switch targets than to move the people somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

“Not to mention that nowhere is safe,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, a darkness coloring her croaking voice.

“Explain,” said Kalila.

“Your rogue, the traitor, Asari Raidan, for as many problems as he has caused you, he is not incorrect about the threat these devastators represent. They were, in fact, banned by treaty, due to their very nature—carpet bombing civilized planets with weapons meant specifically to obliterate any sort of defenses and to eradicate life, wherever it may be hiding. That was ever the sole function of these ships. Not for starship-to-starship superiority, not for targeting planetary military defenses in assistance with a legitimate invasion. Oh, no, these machines—monsters, really—can make no meaningful discrimination between hostile and civilian life forms; it slaughters them all. And the body count, should they fire even so much as one volley of their weapons, I’m afraid to say, My Queen, would rival the total amount of deaths which occurred during the entire Great War.”

That fact, if true, seemed beyond shocking to Kalila. That such ships had once existed, banned or not, she should have known about it. “Did we ever build such weapons?” asked Kalila.

“Oh, no,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “And neither did the Rotham, for that matter. These were created by Polarians for the act of cleansing planets—some sort of religious hullabaloo or another—but, as you can plainly see, their usefulness as a threat and deterrence created a military advantage, which ultimately led to the negotiation of their ban. Had the treaties not been signed, then, mark my words, every fleet, human, Rotham, and Polarian, would include devastators among their standard complement of warships in every attacking fleet. The fear of such escalation led to cooperation, which led to peace—for a time. But now the Polarians have brazenly brought forward these banned weapons, flaunting the treaties as they do so.”

“With all due respect, Fleet Admiral Lawson,” said Sir McTavish. “I do not believe this enemy, the Dread Fleet, represents the interests of the Polarian military or takes commands from the Polarian civil government.”

“Of course not,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, firing right back. “Do I look like I was born yesterday? I was out there, with the Seventh Fleet, defending our star systems, day in and day out, having to worry about such things before you could use a toilet. I think I know what I am taking about on this matter.”

Kalila decided her advisors could settle their own petty squabbles amongst themselves, just not on her time. “How long before the devastators are within attack range?” she asked.

“That is the one good thing about them,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, “They’re slower than my colleague, Sir McTavish’s wit, Your Majesty.”

As much as Kalila appreciated a clever remark, she did not have patience for them when they stood in the way of her and the information she needed to make whatever decisions she could to best protect her people—assuming it was even possible at all. “Technically, Admiral, you did not actually answer my question.”

“I can answer it,” said Sir Vasquez.

“Sycophant,” Fleet Admiral Lawson whispered under her breath, but made certain it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Damn
, thought Kalila,
for an old lady, this retired Fleet Admiral had more fire and more passion than half the navy. Perhaps she had been forced into retirement too soon
…

“The answer,” said Sir Vasquez, ignoring Fleet Admiral Lawson’s smart remark. “Is approximately fifteen minutes. Assuming they are going to open fire on pre-designated targets, for maximum efficiency. Should they simply begin firing on the planet at random, then they could do so at almost any time, from here onward.”

“And how many devastators emerged from the fleet?”

“Two squadrons, under heavy escort by a number of battlecruisers.”

“Translate that for me, two squadrons of devastators is how many ships?” asked Kalila.

“There is no exact size of a squadron,” said Sir Vasquez, “Your Highness. But it is a force smaller than a fleet; the most common size is probably around ten starships.”

“And here?” asked Kalila, somewhat annoyed that her questions were not being answered directly.

“Squadrons of ten, Your Highness, for a total of twenty devastators,” said Sir Vasquez.

“And how many have been eliminated by Captain Asari Raidan and his group of allies?” asked Kalila.

We believe that, not counting four battlecruisers involved in the engagement, the total losses to the enemy from that skirmish was…fifteen capital ships, all devastators.”

“Meaning five remain?” clarified Kalila.

Sir Vasquez nodded. “That is correct, Your Highness, and they are the ones, under extremely heavy escort, that are approaching the planet now.”

“And what kind of damage can five devastators do to Capital World, as opposed to twenty?” asked Kalila.

“With twenty…operating at full strength, with a complete arsenal…the entire population would be destroyed in less than one hour,” said Sir Vasquez. “Raidan had spoken that truthfully.”

Kalila looked to Fleet Admiral Lawson for confirmation. The old admiral nodded once, her arms folded defensively.

“And with five devastators?” asked Kalila.

“Estimates vary,” said Sir Vasquez. “But…most figures suggest that, given how tightly bunched together the citizens of Capital World are, that decreases the number of targets. I mean, essentially this is an oceanic planet with some few landmasses, each of which are saturated with massive skyscrapers and other buildings everywhere.”

“Get to the point,” said Kalila, though she was reasonably certain she knew where Sir Vasquez was headed—and she did not like it.

“It means the devastators can eradicate the populace, despite how numerous it is, at a much faster rate than usual,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. She then looked to Sir Vasquez. “Wasn’t that what you were going to say?”

“Effectively, yes,” said Sir Vasquez.

“And they will begin this attack, which will take…what, six hours or so to achieve?” asked Kalila.

Sir Vasquez shrugged. “Perhaps less,” he admitted, obviously not wanting to.

Kalila felt a chill trace her spine at the thought of what was going to happen to her precious citizens and, worst of all, the fact that she could do practically—if not literally—nothing for them whatsoever.

“And they will begin this attack,” repeated Kalila. “In approximately fifteen minutes?”

“Just over eleven now, Your Majesty,” said Sir McTavish.

Eleven
thought Kalila.
What could possibly be done with eleven minutes? Certainly nothing from down here
…

“Is there any possibility that Asari Raidan and his squadron will successfully eliminate the remaining five devastators in time?” asked Kalila.

Her advisors looked at her with some shock in their eyes. “You haven’t heard?” asked Sir Vasquez.

“Heard what?” demanded Kalila. Again, she suspected she would not like this news.

“That’s my fault, please forgive me, Your Highness, I should have reported to you the moment I got a report through my earpiece.”

“Tell me
what
?” said Kalila, abandoning any pretext of patience.

“The
Harbinger
and its flotilla have been confirmed destroyed,” said Sir McTavish. “But…the good part of that news is, one more official Enemy of the Empire can be scratched off that most wanted list.”

“You imbecile,” said Kalila, unable to control herself. She knew she had to be careful how she reacted, though, lest she give away too much. “Asari Raidan and his forces were the only ones bold enough to warn us about the threat and attempt to oppose it. That makes him a hero. More ships should have come to his assistance.” She paused for breath. “How many defense ships have survived, not including any who have routed?”

“Let’s see,” said Sir Vasquez. “It might take a moment to tell, all our defense forces are completely scattered—for the most part. There is no longer any defense formation to speak of.”

“I have reports,” said Sir McTavish. “Of the First Fleet and its five-hundred ships, one-hundred and fifteen remain, who have not routed. They are spread all over the system; in fact, that’s true for most of these.”

“Just continue the report, please,” said Kalila, resting her head in her hands, feeling a wave of defeat threaten to overwhelm her. “Its flagship, the ISS
Victory
is destroyed; there is no fleet commander that has stepped in to retake the reins. Hence, the chaos.”

“Sir Vasquez,” said Kalila, “Assign a new commander to the remains of the First Fleet, call it a direct appointment from me, then order any ships belonging to the First Fleet to immediately approach the planet at all speed and prepare to engage the devastators.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Sir Vasquez, “Though I do not believe any will arrive in time.”

“Just do it!” commanded Kalila.

“Yes, Your Highness, at once,” he began relaying commands into his earpiece.

“As for the Second Fleet,” said Sir McTavish, “Commanded by Sir Doran, reported to have been killed in action, along with his vessel the ISS
Frontier
. The remains of his two-hundred capital ships stand at thirty-two—not including forces that have routed.”

“Sir Vasquez, relay the same order to the remainder of the Second Fleet. Again, inform them it comes directly from me.”

He acknowledged.

“The Third Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Ravinder of the ISS
Hyperion
along with a strength of one-hundred and one ships. The report is…one-hundred percent casualties, Your Highness. Not a ship remains.”

Dammit all
, thought Kalila. And, despite her embarrassment at Centuria V—which really had been unavoidable—Kalila had considered Ravinder to be something of a real talent, a rising star.
What a waste
…

“Report of the Fourth Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Sullinger of the ISS
Seeker
, his vessel remains intact, along with seventy-nine of his original two-hundred and seven capital ships.”

“Sir Vasquez,” said Kalila.

“Same order?” he asked

She nodded. “And it applies to all our fleets, henceforth.”

“Understood.”

“As for the Fifth Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Zeller of the ISS
Assassin
, his flagship remains, as do fifty-three capital ships of his original two-hundred and seven.”

“Go on.”

“As for the Sixth Fleet,” continued Sir McTavish. “It is commanded by Fleet Admiral Faried of the ISS
Colossus
, he retains command of the fleet and his flagship. Their original force of two-hundred and seven capital ships has been reduced to one-hundred and thirty-five.”

“Not bad,” said Kalila automatically, and then she sighed, thinking it was rather sad when
only
thirty-five percent, or so, casualties sounded like good news, after only
one
battle. And a defeat besides!

“As for the Seventh Fleet, commanded by Captain Adiger, of the ISS
Black Swan
,” said Sir McTavish. Kalila braced herself, knowing what the next would be. “The report is…one hundred percent casualties, Your Highness. I am terribly sorry.” And that was the extent of the entire Imperial Fleet. And without the Apollo Yards available to swiftly attempt to recover their strength. That meant, even if the Empire miraculously survived the attack by the Dread Fleet—which seemed impossible on every level—the Empire would remain weak and vulnerable, compared to the other powers of the galaxy. For all she knew, the Rotham Republic’s seven-hundred ships they had sent to assist in the battle, might have been as few as half of their overall military power.

Perhaps their entire goal had been to nominally fight beside the humans, observe the failure of the Empire and the collapse of Capital World—the lifeblood of the Empire, and then, once the Dread Fleet threat had moved on, somewhere else, far away, the Rotham would use their superior military power to begin conquering Imperial star systems, effectively unopposed. Kalila could
not
allow that. Though it finally explained what game they were playing at by sending “help” to the unwinnable battle.