The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  Her heart was racing and she couldn’t help but think that she was next. They were next. She and her wingmen had been luckily enough deployed farther away from the star than most of the other short range craft, but that didn’t matter if they couldn’t escape this shockwave.

  “Not long left for us,” said MacDouglas.

  “Keep it together, Hellcat Three,” said Kenzie.

  “Wing Commander, it’s over. We’re done for,” said Dahlmans.

  “We’re all right, just keep that throttle wide, wide open!”

  “It’s right behind us,” said Dahlmans.

  “Look forward and stay strong,” said Kenzie, not sure whether she meant her wingmen or herself.

  “It’s right on top of me, I—” Dahlmans’s voice was lost.

  “Hold steady.”

  “He’s gone!” screamed MacDouglas. “He’s bloody gone.”

  “But we’re not! Now hold!”

  “Sir, it’s been an honor serving you.”

  “I said hooooooold!”

  “It’s right on top of us!” said MacDouglas.

  Kenzie dared a glance behind her and saw that he was right. They were done for.

  “Do you think it will hurt?” asked MacDouglas.

  “I don’t kn—”

  CHAPTER 02

  Calvin was in his office. It felt strange to be back here. Even though Summers had made the gesture of redecorating the office to how Calvin had left it, or rather un-decorating it, he still felt a mixture of emotions to be in the chair.

  Part of him was thrilled to be home, and even felt possessive of the chair, the office, and the ship. Yet, another part of him was still out there, back on Capital World, or else out in Alliance Space, or Rotham Space, haunted by the regrets of mistakes he’d made while he was away. He wished he could reverse the clock and do it again, do it differently, do it better. Yet another part of him wanted just as badly to reverse the clock and not do it at all. To give a firm “no thank you” to the princess when she asked him to accompany her to Capital World, and instead have spent his past several months here, where he belonged. Perhaps they would have even found and destroyed the isotome weapons.

  Then again, had he not gone, they wouldn’t have the intel they had. And there was no reason for him to think he would have recovered the isotome weapons when Summers had failed. Sure, he knew the ship and crew better and had more experience commanding it in the field, and he had the benefit of Intel Wing training, but, after a survey of her reports, there were no obvious mistakes that she had made. Not as far as he could tell. She had put forth a sincere and intelligent effort to recover the weapons, and—the way he saw it—her failure was not her own fault. Though he was pretty sure she saw it differently.

  He took a sip from his water bottle and instinctively thought about equarius. Something about being back here reminded him of the drug. He didn’t want anything to do with it, other than to weaponize it against the replicants. Certainly he didn’t want to relapse and fall back into his old, unsustainable ways. And now that the terrible withdrawals had finally gone away, going back down that road would be the stupidest thing he could possibly do. And he knew it.

  But still…there was some part of him that brought it to his mind from time to time. He didn’t like that part of himself, nor did he seek out to think of it, but, like any thought, it was fleeting, and ethereal, and the more one tried not to think it, the more futile the endeavor became.

  Perhaps I will always be haunted by equarius, he thought. He told himself that he was strong, and that he was still that same strong person that had flushed his stash down the toilet never to use it again to dull the pain. But, if he were being honest with himself, being here, alone, in this office, with the door locked, and should he chance to find one last bottle of the drug lying around…he could not say for certain that he had the willpower to throw it away again. He hoped he did. Even believed he did, mostly. But he could not be sure.

  Fortunately, although he was indeed alone in his office, and it was locked, there existed no such temptation to torment him. No equarius around made it easy to choose not to partake of it. That kept things simple, even if his thoughts wandered now and again, and some small permanently enslaved part of himself, however tiny and shriveled, would always want the drug. At least he didn’t have to let that monster out again; it no longer controlled his life. And he swore, and swore again, that he’d never walk down that road again. Now that Rain had helped Calvin to find a sort of peace with Christine’s death, to at least accept that it wasn’t entirely his fault, what had happened to her, he felt less of a need for the equarius. Even though the memories remained bitter and the scars still hurt.

  “It wasn’t my fault; it wasn’t my fault; it wasn’t my fault,” he repeated quietly, almost like a mantra. Rain had damn near convinced him of this, and, in that moment they’d shared together on the Rotham ship, Calvin had been able to let go of the weight tugging him down, and for the first time in so many years, he’d felt free. He wanted to feel that way again. Which meant he wanted to believe that Rain was right.

  “I loved you, Christine. I still love you. And I miss you. But what happened to you was not my fault. It was out of my control. I didn’t make it happen. It is not my fault.” He stopped whispering after this and took a deep breath, feeling some of his anxiety melt away.

  “Okay, now to business,” he said to himself. He cleared his throat, then input the transponder code that would connect him to Grady Rosco via an encrypted kataspace channel.

  “Look, whoever you are, Imperial starship,” said Grady. “Now is not a great time. So if you’d kindly shut up and call me back…never, that would be better for me. Buh bye—”

  “Grady, it’s me,” said Calvin.

  “Calvin! You’re alive!”

  “Of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t you think I’m alive?” asked Calvin.

  “Well…that Rotham ship we loaned you.”

  “Gave me,” Calvin corrected.

  “All right, all right, gave you. A friend of a friend of a friend swore he saw it blown into space dust. You can’t blame a guy for putting one and two together.”

  “I think you mean two and two.”

  “No, one and two. What would two and two together mean? Makes no sense? That’s just crazy.”

  Grady seemed more animated than usual. It was hard for Calvin not to notice that. It was possible that Grady was under the effect of something, perhaps a stimulant; the Roscos weren’t above using some of their own products, now and again. But more likely, Calvin believed, Grady was happy to hear Calvin’s voice because Grady wanted something from Calvin. If that was true, then perhaps a deal could be made after all. Calvin hoped he was right.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Grady.

  “I need some stuff,” said Calvin. “Stuff you can give me.”

  “Oh yeah, and what kind of stuff is that?” asked Grady. “Getting back into the old equarius racket?”

  “No,” said Calvin. “And I was never in the racket…I was on the losing end of it…I was the guy getting swindled into buying it.”

  “Hey, I’m not one to judge. But if you change your mind, I can help you, for the right price, of course.”

  “I need something…a little bigger,” said Calvin.

  “I knew it,” said Grady. “You give a guy a ship one time and he comes back asking for a starbase.”

  “Not a starbase.”

  “What then?”

  “Do you still have any shipwrights that work for you on Aleator One?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got shipwrights. Loads of them. Most of them are out of work right now, matter of fact.”

  “I mean ones that you trust. Ones on the payroll,” Calvin clarified.

  “Ohh,” said Grady. “Depends, who’s asking?”

  “I am.”

  “On behalf of whom? That uppity queen of yours? Or maybe that fatass who runs the Assembly? I can’t remember who is on what side…it
gets confusing. All I know is, if it’s for them, then forget about it. I’ve got my own problems.”

  “On behalf of me,” said Calvin. “My ship has a hull breach and I need it fixed, stat. And I need it fixed by somebody I trust.”

  “I’m flattered, Calvin, truly flattered. You could get it fixed for free at some swanky Imperial outpost, but instead you think of your old friend Grady out here in Aleator.”

  “So, can you help me?”

  “Sure. For the right price.”

  “And what is that?” asked Calvin, ready to wince when he heard the number.

  “Depends how bad the damage is, but probably a few hundred thousand Q. Special discount being taken into consideration, of course.”

  That, actually, didn’t sound too bad.

  “Of course, if the damage is extensive, the price moves up…oh, what’s the word…logarithmically. Yeah. That one.”

  There was the Rosco bargaining scheme Calvin had expected to encounter. “That’s not all,” said Calvin. “I need food, supplies, and munitions that fit my guns, including missiles.”

  “Phew, that’s a tall order. I hope you brought the queen’s credit signature. Anything else? Why not some moons and stars while you’re at it?”

  “There’s some other, minor starship repair work that needs to be done,” said Calvin.

  “No big deal; I’ll just add that to your tab when it’s finished,” said Grady. “That all?”

  “Oh, and one other, minor, trivial request,” said Calvin.

  “Name it and it’s done.”

  “I need twenty of your most loyal Rosco soldiers to come with me, report to me, and follow my commands without question; oh, and you might not get all, or any of them back, depending on how things go…”

  “What?”

  “I’m actually dead serious,” said Calvin. “I don’t have much of my Special Forces unit and I need good fighting men, the kind I can trust. The kind that don’t work for anybody political.”

  “Okay, well, if you’re serious, I’m sure I could figure something out. But I’ve gotta tell you, Cal, this is one tall order, even for a friend of the family, such as you are.”

  “And don’t forget the special discount,” Calvin added.

  “Right. Special discount, got it. Okay, well, I can make this work for you for…about twenty-five million Q.”

  “Twenty-five million?” asked Calvin. “Come on, that’s outrageous.”

  “Hey, you said you wanted the best. The most trustworthy. Yadda yadda; that’s twenty-five million, take it or leave it.”

  “What about that favor you owe me?” asked Calvin.

  “Paid for in full, remember? We shook on it.”

  “Right,” said Calvin, knowing that was going to be Grady’s answer. “Well, what about some kind of credit arrangement, you know, since I’m such a good friend of the family?”

  “I don’t think so. No one has credit that good, especially with all your talk about my soldiers maybe never coming back. I assume that means maybe you’re never coming back, and then I’m the one left holding the bag. Ain’t that right?”

  “I’m not planning to die out there,” said Calvin. “I can assure you of that.”

  “Ain’t none of us planning to die. But some of us die every day. I’m not going to be the one hanging on to the risk, sorry Cal, not even for you,” said Grady.

  There went his two best options. All that left him with was an unpalatable option three. “Well, what about this, then?” said Calvin. “If I scratch your back, you scratch my back. I’m sure there’s something you want that a phantom-class Imperial stealth frigate could get you that you couldn’t get alone, something worth twenty-five million Q?”

  Grady didn’t say anything for a moment. Calvin assumed it was a negotiation tactic. “Maybe,” he finally replied, speaking slowly, as if thinking hard, when Calvin knew full well Grady had already been planning his pitch since the moment Calvin called.

  “Tell me. What do you want?”

  “You said your ship had a hull breach, that right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s just isolated to deck four,” said Calvin.

  “Does that mean it can still fight?”

  “Yeah, why?” asked Calvin, wondering how much he was going to regret striking this bargain.

  “In that case, I have a proposal for you.”

  ***

  A high-pitched ringing hounded his ears. Through it, he could make sense of bits and pieces. Everyone who was still alive seemed to be shouting, but, although their mouths were wide open, clearly screaming, they sounded either muted or silent.

  “…auxiliary…fire…main…portside…malfunction…secondary…armor…hatch…

  destroyed…get…people…abandon…”

  He stared through hazy eyes, squinting against the smoke that stung him. He coughed, long and hard, but could barely hear himself coughing. He sat in the command position, tied in place by the restraints, and stared directly ahead.

  The Ops officer was dead; he’d been impaled onto an exposed piece of metal. With his corpse bent out of the way, his station’s monitors could be seen. They were difficult to read from here, especially through the smoke, as many fires burned throughout the bridge—some officers ran around hopelessly fighting them with extinguishers, but it was too little and too late—however, Sir Reginald could plainly see that the readout of the ISS Renown was littered with red blips, bow to stern, indicating fires and failing systems and nearly everything threatened to go offline that hadn’t.

  Sir Reginald wanted to move, to get up, to see what more could be done, but his entire left side was paralyzed. It felt nothing. And probably for the best, as, now that he looked at it, he saw a deep gash in his leg bleeding profusely. It didn’t hurt, because of the feeling he’d lost, but he knew losing this much blood this fast was likely fatal.

  It seemed like every possible alert was going off, lights flashed—lighting up the smoke in bright red—and the dull, muted klaxon could be heard. Along with it was an automated voice. Sir Reginald could barely make it out, “Abandon ship…abandon ship…abandon ship,” repeating in a loop.

  He could tell from the display that their crippled starship was trapped by the gravity well of the Ophiuchus System’s primary planet. If they weren’t destroyed first, either by further enemy attack or fires within their own ship, the ISS Renown would impact with the planet, hopefully striking an ocean. Whatever the case, they were all doomed.

  Sir Reginald had no more fight left within him, so he leaned back, clamping his right hand down over the gash on his left leg, and watched the 3D display as the enemy fleet continued their advance toward the planet, ready to destroy the few surviving ships that stood in their way.

  I hope I did you proud, Queen Kalila, thought Sir Reginald. I gave three times as good as I got. But in the end, no matter how fiercely he’d led the defense, nor how hard and desperately the defenders fought, they were always outmatched, and victory for them had never been in the cards. All they could do was bloody the enemy’s nose a little, and that they’d done—and then some.

  New sparks appeared as the defense post caught fire, scorching the officer who had taken the station, the third to do so in the battle. Another officer ran to his aid and tried to beat the fire out. It was no use. None of it was any use. Not anymore.

  Sir Reginald was about to close his heavy eyelids, which, with all of his injuries, and the lack of oxygen, had become very hard to keep pried open, when something caught his attention. It was too late to be of any hope to him, or his ship, or any of the defenders, whatever few remained. But he could have sworn he saw the enemy ships on the 3D display stop their advance and then reverse, hard and fast, as if fleeing the system. When he tried to get a better look, which was difficult with all of the smoke, the 3D display failed and went offline. But Sir Reginald was quite sure he’d seen the enemy reverse course.

  Did we do it? He wondered, thinking perhaps he and the other defenders had held onto the
system long enough for the queen and her fleet to arrive. It didn’t make sense mathematically, he knew that, there was no way the queen could have made it here already. Not if she’d fought in the Thetican System like she’d planned. That was all the way out in The Corridor. She couldn’t be here. But if it wasn’t her, then what was it? What had caused the enemy to turnabout as if to leave the system?

  Maybe it was us, he thought proudly, just as he was overtaken by a fit of coughing while struggling for each breath. Maybe we showed them the prize was too costly to take. Maybe they fear the defense on the ground is as stalwart as the defense was in space, and they don’t want to lose their men three to one.

  Whatever the reason, whether Sir Reginald and his forces had played a large role in the enemy’s withdrawal or none at all, he was pleased to see that Ophiuchus would remain a free system. At least for one more day. And, if he’d had anything to do with that, then he considered that the crowning achievement of his life’s legacy.

  At last, he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

  ***

  “Now that you’re all here, perhaps one of you can explain to me just what the hell happened back there,” said Kalila, looking at each of her gathered advisors. Most of her knights were not present; in the chaos, every ship had jumped randomly away from the Thetican System to escape the shockwave, and so she was limited to those who had either been aboard the Black Swan, or who had followed it.

  “Your Highness,” said Sir Gregory, “the Thetican System’s parent star experienced a super-collapse. The result of it was…I’m sorry to say, unfortunate for anyone who failed to escape the system.”

  “Yes, I saw the collapse,” said Kalila. “I meant, how did it collapse? Why? Did our analysis turn up anything?”

  “Initial analysis is complete, Your Majesty,” said Captain Adiger. “All signs indicate that your suspicion was correct, the star was collapsed by an isotome weapon.”