The Phoenix War (3 page)

“Did they apprehend the coward?” Kalila asked
through clenched teeth. A newfound fire raged in her eyes. Burning
in place of the thousands of tears she somehow held back.

“Not yet, Princess,” said Adiger. “But I’m
sure it is only a matter of time.”

With the heir to the throne, Genjiro Akira,
slain, along with the next two in the line of succession, Kanna and
Azumi, and the King himself dead—killed before ever revealing if he
intended to submit to the Assembly or maintain his claim to the
throne—that meant Kalila herself was heir to the Empire. All that
her father was, all that her family had, everything now belonged to
her.

“The Harbinger reports it can no longer
remain in Capital System and is about to jump to alteredspace,”
said the communication chief, loud enough for Captain Adiger to
take note.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Captain
Adiger.

“Captain Asari Raidan sends his condolences,
and strongly advises we leave the system immediately,” added the
communications chief.

“Duly noted,” replied Captain Adiger. “Ops,
give me the position and heading of the Eighth and Ninth
Fleets.”

“The Ninth Fleet is two minutes away; the
Eight is two and a half. They are closing in on Capital System.
Containment pattern likely.”

Calvin knew what that meant, and so did
Captain Adiger—by the grim look that appeared on his face. If the
Black Swan was still in the system when those fleets arrived… it
wouldn’t matter in the slightest that the Black Swan was among the
most powerful ships ever built. It might as well be an unarmed
shuttle for all the good it would do them. Calvin saw Captain
Adiger’s eyes flick to the 3d display where the ISS Victory sat
idle, the fiercest ship in the galaxy, uselessly docked at port. By
rights it belonged to Kalila now, and yet she hadn’t the slightest
chance of taking it—certainly not with those fleets bearing down on
them.

“Raidan’s right, you know,” said Calvin. He
didn’t want to intrude upon the Princess’s grief but he saw no
value in remaining here. The King was dead. The eldest heirs to the
throne were dead. Zane Martel and the Phoenix Ring leaders were all
dead. And the Empire was perhaps the most upside-down it’d ever
been. But Kalila was still alive, and so was the hope that the
Empire could be restored—provided Kalila didn’t allow the Eighth
and Ninth fleets to trap the Black Swan.

They needed to leave. There was much they
could still do, no matter how bleak things seemed—they had to at
least try.
I’d rather die trying than live to see what fresh
hell awaits humanity
, he thought. Knowing that, looming just
beyond the edges of human space, were forces far darker and threats
far deadlier than even the fleets bearing down on them. The
Rahajiim, the Enclave, the Rotham Republic, and others were eager
to carve out slices of human space for themselves—slaughtering and
enslaving in their wake, perhaps even the Polarian Confederated
States would join them. And somewhere out there, in the nethermost
regions of the blackest space, isotome weapons still existed,
Calvin had no doubt. He hoped desperately that Summers got to them
before they could be used.

“I agree with Calvin,” said Rafael, speaking
up. “If we allow ourselves to be caught by the Eighth and Ninth
Fleets, it would not serve anyone…”

Captain Adiger nodded, his dark eyes seemed
to reflect the reality of their situation; he understood the danger
as much as Calvin and Rafael did. But he remained Kalila’s
ever-loyal servant.

“Your Grace,” Adiger said, trying to get the
Princess’s attention. She seemed lost to her thoughts. Her eyes
were once again staring past the ship’s walls, well beyond the
people surrounding her. Perhaps she was in some distant galaxy
where her troubles should never find her. Yet find her they would.
“Princess Kalila,” said Adiger. Calling her by name seemed to get
her to wake up and notice of them.

“Yes, what?” she asked. A part of her looked
defeated, yet another part of her still burned. There was danger in
that fiery part. Calvin knew what it was when he saw it.

“We must depart the system, Your Grace,” said
Adiger. “Our allies are fleeing the system… it would not serve for
us to remain.”

Kalila stared at him, as if to say “what is
the point? Why bother?” but instead she said nothing.

“The King is dead,” added Rafael. “We
remained behind to assist him should he need it. But now… well, we
know the answer to that. So there is no more reason for us to stay.
Except to offer our throats to the enemy.”

Kalila stared at Rafael with narrow eyes that
were sharper than a laser drill. Her look was so piercing, and so
hostile, it made Calvin shudder. And yet Rafael’s words had
agitated something in her, Calvin could tell. The lowly lieutenant
with the eye-patch and not enough fingers had gotten to her with
his bold words and callous tone. He’d crossed a line, to be sure.
But, by the look of her—half mysterious and half-ready to
explode—perhaps it was what Kalila needed to hear.

“Jump the ship,” said Kalila, at last. She
shot Adiger a look and waved her hand dismissively, as if to say
“do what you will” and then she turned away and walked defeatedly
toward her private office. Calvin watched her go until she
disappeared behind the sliding door.

Meanwhile Captain Adiger ordered his bridge
crew to clear the ship to a safe distance and jump the instant they
were able. At last count, the Ninth Fleet was only thirty-five
seconds from alteredspace descent.

Summers stood to the side, pretending not to
be there, as she observed Green Shift. The “third watch” was filled
with the bridge-duty officers with whom she was least
acquainted—except one.

“Status report?” asked Midshipman Cassidy
Dupont from her seat at the command position.

The man at ops—a twenty-something year old
officer whose black uniform sported the same white bar Cassidy’s
did—looked at her with a hint of jealousy as he replied.
“Alteredspace depth of ninety-percent potential, stealth system
active, ten hours and nineteen minutes from destination at present
depth.”

“Thank you, Mister Petersen,” said Cassidy.
She gave Summers a glance, as if asking if she was performing
acceptably. Summers nodded.

With the ship’s original crew, what was left
of them, mixed-in so thoroughly with new arrivals, Summers had
needed to get extra creative with the duty assignments. Not only
did she want to effectively distribute the crews talent across all
three shifts, she wanted everything to run efficiently. Above all,
she wanted someone she knew personally, and could trust, in charge
of the bridge at all times. Since she didn’t know anyone on Green
Shift particularly well, and trusted no one on the ship more than
Cassidy Dupont, Summers had made the unconventional move of
elevating Midshipman Dupont to the position of Acting Third
Officer. And given her command of the Green Shift. That left Second
Lieutenant Vargas as Acting Second Officer with command over the
Red Shift—something Summers wasn’t particularly thrilled with. She
disliked Vargas, but other than having a weak spine there wasn’t
much she could truthfully hold against him, certainly he hadn’t
proven disloyal, and he was still a mountain’s-worth more competent
than the idiot Miles Brown who remained in the role of Acting
Executive Officer…

My 3O is more capable than my 2O, and my
XO is less capable still…
Summers shook her head, thinking how
backwards the Nighthawk was in so many ways. When Calvin finally
returned, once his work on Capital World was complete, Summers
would be grateful to return command of the ship to its rightful CO.
He made this bed, let him sleep in it.

“Sir,” reported the man occupying the pilot’s
chair. He wore the communications headset that went with the post,
but it seemed to bend more than it should to fit around his
unusually large head. He wasn’t overly obese, not truly, but
certainly was the closest thing to it on this ship. Summers looked
at him with scrutiny, thinking he was in even worse shape than
Lieutenant Iwate Shen. Certainly this man,
this Tully
,
wouldn’t have passed the physical requirements to be an active-duty
service member of Intel Wing, or probably any branch of service.
Tully had come aboard with other new recruits when they’d docked
with the Harbinger for resupply and repair.
We’re getting
increasingly desperate for help, aren’t we?
she thought
darkly.

“What is it, Mister Tully?” asked Cassidy. In
truth, the younger woman was proving to be a capable leader in
addition to being a fine officer. Command-skill seemed bred into
her just as surely as she was gifted with computers and technology.
But Summers would have liked her to use a stricter tone of voice.
No doubt that would come with practice, once she was used to the
center chair.

“
Sir
,” replied the fat man. “Message
coming in. Encrypted. Highest priority.”

Calvin
. Summers felt her heart quicken
but she remained still and quiet, content to watch Cassidy handle
this.

“Identify the source,” said Cassidy.

“It’s the ISS Harbinger,” said Tully.

Not Calvin then…
Summers felt a wave
of disappointment, but also a kind of morbid curiosity.
What new
hell is this, Raidan? More lies for us?

Cassidy looked to Summers for direction.
I
won’t always be here to hold your hand
, Summers thought. But
considering that it was Raidan on the other end, it was probably
for the best that Summers take control. No one else understood him
like she did; no one else would be prepared for his treachery.

“On speakers,” said Summers. It was bad
enough having to hear Raidan’s snake-like voice, she’d rather not
have to look into his snake-like eyes on the main display while
doing it.

“Aye, sir.”

Summers took the command position from
Cassidy, who seemed almost too eager to relinquish it.
One day
you’ll learn to appreciate that chair.

“Commander Presley, are you there?” a
familiar gravelly voice crackled over the speakers.

“I’m here,” Summers replied, trying to sound
completely indifferent.

“What is your status and position?” Raidan
asked.

As if I make reports to you
… for the
briefest instant she considered saying nothing more and terminating
the connection right then and there. But Raidan already knew what
Summers’ current mission was—his intel was what’d convinced her to
take her present course of action, and Raidan knew it—not to
mention the fact that Raidan wasn’t the type to reach out and make
contact unless he had something important to say. Usually something
thickly laced in ulterior motive. Summers was curious to know what
that was—if for no other reason than to stay one step ahead of
him.

“We remain on course for the Kynar Asteroid
Field,” she said, deciding to reply truthfully. “That is where the
jump signatures coalesce, according to our calculations. Hopefully,
when we get there, we’ll find the isotome weapons. Or at least
identify the ship carrying them.”

“Or ships.”

“Yes,
or ships
.”

“Good, the trail hasn’t gone cold,” said
Raidan. “That, at least, is some good news. Yes, your news is much
better than mine.”

Summers felt her heart stop.
News about
Calvin?
she wondered. Even if it was, Raidan could be lying.
Raidan was not to be trusted…

“What news?” she asked coldly.

“The operation on Capital World has failed,”
Raidan spoke slowly and clearly, probably so there would be no
mistaking what he’d said. And what the message was beneath the
words. Summers knew what it meant…

“The Phoenix Ring?” she asked.

“They will not be brought to justice. Much of
their leadership is dead—murdered apparently. No one knows who is
responsible, but I have a theory.”

“What is your theory?” she asked. News that
the Phoenix Ring was dead didn’t seem like such bad news—though if
they were killed by an even deadlier, more pervasive influence,
that was indeed a chilling thought. If only Summers could throttle
this elusive specter to death and forever purge the Empire of the
corruption, finally restoring it to order once and for all, she
would. Even if it cost her own life. She’d do it in a
heartbeat.

“The Phoenix Ring had an operation on Capital
World, and that is the operation that suffered a violent incident,
but they’ve also had connections with an element in Rotham space.
You yourself have seen the evidence of these connections with your
own eyes, Commander.”

Indeed she had. She remembered Abia all too
well. She had waking nightmares of the images she’d witnessed, and
what they meant—the Fifth Fleet destroying itself while an illegal
alien squadron watched, unchallenged.

“Recently,” said Raidan, continuing, “these
two elements…. came to something of a disagreement.” He seemed to
tip-toe around the words. “I believe the bombing of Cepheus was the
work of the Phoenix Ring element back on Capital World, the one
that Calvin was hunting, and what happened to them—the murder—well,
it was revenge of a sort.”

Summers had heard about the savage attack on
Cepheus. A non-descript, seemingly pointless Rotham world, about as
pointless of a world to the Republic as Renora was to the Empire.
But sadly the commonality hadn’t stopped there; much like Renora,
Cepheus had accumulated quite the body count, most of it
civilians…

“Why would the Phoenix Ring attack its own
connections?” asked Summers, unable to think of any reason why the
Phoenix Ring would do that. Why, after receiving Rotham help, would
they spontaneously attack their Rotham co-conspirators, only to be
massacred by them in retaliation? Summers was no Intel Wing officer
but that sounded like defective reasoning to her.
No, it has to
be something else
, she thought.
Raidan must be
lying
.