“I commanded our ships to be in that region. The people need not know Tiburon had the overall command any more than they need to know I’d sent those ships there for an offensive mission rather than a defensive one. All they need to know is that I sent ships to protect one of our systems, the pretender queen attacked, and my forces defeated her, despite her best efforts, including a high-ranking traitor she'd planted within our own midst.”
Now the others seemed to understand. “So long as we smear him enough that he dies a monster instead of a martyr, then I believe this plan will work,” said Caerwyn.
“And you think we can get him to go along with this for certain?” asked Sali.
“Nothing is for certain,” said Caerwyn, “but remember that saying about risk and reward. In this case, if I draft a letter of clemency and sign it, show it to the admiral along with a promise of gentle execution, I am convinced he is very likely to do whatever we ask him to. Then, after he’s dead, the letter of clemency gets destroyed and never sees the light of day; but he’ll never know.”
His advisors nodded, seeming to genuinely support the idea. Of course, as the suitable yes-men they were, they were likely to support any plan Caerwyn came up with, but this one, this one was a good plan.
“Excellent. Get it done.”
***
Virgil Prime cared not one whit regarding the manner of death; neither did he care about clemency for Kalila Akira any more than a black hole might care about the color of an admiral’s trousers.
Of course, that didn’t stop him from dancing the dance and making the show, giving his captors the leverage he knew they would need to take this next step, to hold him up as an example to the galaxy and then spill his blood. True, such would mean the end of his existence. Virgil Prime was not one who could return. But what the mortals didn’t understand, what so few creatures in the universe understood, was that it wasn’t the existing that mattered. Life wasn’t this tedious exercise of feeding and sleeping, just trying to survive one more day, or one more second, to squeeze out as much existence as possible. Such a thing was pointless and empty. No, life was about establishing meaning. And there were none in the galaxy better positioned to create meaning than the Primes. For we, Virgil Prime thought, are those who will usher in the last Great Darkness and commence the Reckoning. It has already begun…
And so he’d made up his lies about caring for the princess, as he knew the real Virgil Tiberon likely would have said, and he made his pretense of caring what happened to her, and had even gone so far as to beg these pathetic mortals for mercy for himself, a mercy he neither required nor wished for. Their mercy meant nothing, as did the concept of mercy itself. The one true rule of the universe was competition to survive despite the inevitability of death. Entire species must stomp each other out of existence out of the sheer selfish, pointless, internal craving to survive. The One True God had made something interesting when he’d formed the mortals. But now, as they’d gone so astray, as they’d proven so worthless, the Master was right to strike them down. And Virgil Prime was more than happy, honored in fact, to play the tiniest role in breeding the chaos necessary. The chaos which would make way for the fifth destruction. A glorious purging of fire and blood that would bathe the galaxy in a cleansing gale. Virgil Prime only wished he could be around to witness it when it happened. But, no matter; all proceeds according to the edicts of the One True God. His plan is supreme and can never be frustrated. This too, this farce of a trial Virgil Prime chose to participate in, it too was part of the plan, part of the chaos, part of the story of the end…of the unraveling of the various species who had grown too arrogant and too numerous to be spared the void.
“And so you do not deny it?” the voice boomed. Lights shone in his eyes, half-blinding him. He squinted from his stance upon the dais, where he stood shackled before the Assembly and, thanks to technology, all of the Empire. Many millions of eyes watched him, perhaps billions.
“I deny nothing,” he said boldly, recalling the line from the script they’d given him and made him memorize. The result was, as expected, sounds of shock and derision throughout the chamber. The various Assembly members fell into line exactly as Caerwyn Martel had predicted, allowing themselves to be swallowed up by this show trial, this play, and not give much consideration to the actual execution of justice or investigation. Which was all the better for Virgil Prime; he needed the Empire to believe him a guilty traitor, that the human queen had colluded with him. It would undermine her, just as Virgil Prime’s decision to spare the queen had undermined Caerwyn Martel.
Let the humans dig their own graves. It will make the Reckoning all the easier, the thought formed inside Virgil Prime’s mind. He believed them to be a manifestation of the words of the One True God himself. Who, despite defying understanding, was as true and obvious as the rising sun, and yet the mortals did not see Him. Not that it would have spared them if they had…
“Tell us, and the world, Fleet Admiral Tiberon,” the voice continued questioning him over the loudspeaker. “Why did you allow the traitor, the pretender queen, Kalila Akira, to escape when you could have easily captured her and brought an end to this war?”
It was the penultimate question in this farce. Which meant soon it would be over. “I spared her because she asked me to,” said Virgil Prime, repeating the words they’d given him. “I joined the war at the last minute, as I said, as an agent for the queen. She asked me to infiltrate the Assembly’s navy and destroy it, to slaughter as many of its soldiers as possible. I did all I could to comply with her wishes. Please,” he knelt then, just as the script had told him to. “Please, I beg of you, have mercy on me. Be gentle with my soul.”
“Will you then, now, before these witnesses and all of the Empire, recant and repent of your evil and treacherous choices?”
“Yes, My Lords and Ladies, and dear people of the Empire. I hereby renounce my allegiance with Kalila Akira. I condemn her as a criminal, a usurper, and ask any with courage to recognize the great leadership of Caerwyn Martel, our wise Steward, whose foresight got our fleets into position fast enough to thwart the queen’s attack. Whose leadership prevented even me, in my lofty position, from sabotaging the just war effort against the pretender queen. He thwarted my treachery, won the battle, and now I can see clearly he is the sword and shield of the Empire, not Kalila. Kalila is a dangerous criminal who must be stopped at all costs. And for this confession, which I give freely of my own heart and mind, knowing it cannot spare me from the execution I so justly deserve, I plead with my brothers and sisters of the Empire to rally to Caerwyn Martel’s banner and find peace. And I ask, for myself, only that I may have the blessing of a swift and merciful execution.”
“Stand.” The command boomed through the Assembly Hall. Virgil Prime stood, squinting against the bright lights raining down upon him. Just beyond them he could see glimpses of faces, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all mesmerized by this show trial. If any had their doubts or concerns, they wisely kept them close to their chests.
So many, many faces, thought Virgil Prime. And each and every one, in due course very shortly, shall be given to the void. Great is the One True God.
“By vote of this tribunal, your petition for a clean and gentle execution is granted. May you find peace in the great beyond that you never found here. Guards, take the prisoner away.”
***
The platforms of Eurosis were log jammed with queues of starships awaiting their turn to dock and resupply and repair. Kalila’s ISS Black Swan had taken first priority, along with the most critical starships. Efforts to return the Black Swan to fighting condition were ongoing, and utilizing one of the many platforms just unto itself. As for the others, those ships that’d accompanied her, they concentrated foremost on the starships in greatest need, and the less beaten warships would have to wait in a queue for any resupply or repair. Relieving injured officers and finding replacements for any who could not return, and for those they’d lost, was also of param
ount importance.
It was a slow process, but one which would have been much slower had she kept her entire force together rather than splitting it up across a dozen star systems where similar repair operations were running around the clock. Still, to Kalila, who felt agitated by the delay, the whole enterprise felt like something both too little and too late, especially considering Calvin’s warning, which looped in her head over and over as best she remembered it, in the words of Captain Adiger who’d delivered the message: “The Alliance has fallen, it can no longer deter Rotham aggression across the DMZ.”
We are vulnerable, she thought. Desperately vulnerable. Now more than ever. With half the Imperial fleet destroyed and the Apollo Yards gone…yet we continue to fight amongst ourselves. How can we possibly hope to survive?
She turned her attention briefly back to the broadcast display in her office. It showed, as was displayed on all frequencies, the farcical trial of Fleet Admiral Tiberon. The man who had, apparently, been the one to order the enemy vanguard to withdraw and spare the Black Swan. Spare her life. And yet rumors swirled from the Nighthawk that this man was not even the real Fleet Admiral Tiberon. That he was a replacement, a replicant, a fraud. Even so, why would he command such a devastatingly effective defense strategy, forcing Kalila’s fleet to bleed dearly for every gain, only to forgo seizing the ultimate prize, her, and choose not to win the war and all the glory? It was like the man, or replicant, or whatever it was, wanted the battle to be as bloody as possible, for Caerwyn’s forces to ultimately drive Kalila from the system. But at the same time, hadn’t wanted Kalila to be lost. Because if I am lost, she thought, that would mean the end of the war…But why would that matter? She knew the man’s superficial reasons for abetting her escape were false, despite his confession to the contrary; he most certainly had not been in cahoots with her on any level. Which left only mystery and the vague possibility he’d spared her to continue the war. If he was a replicant, then did that mean he worked for the Rotham? Hoping to spark further human civil warfare to weaken the Empire’s defenses? Or, though she almost dared not to think it, there was one other option. He might be working for…them. She felt a wave of shame shimmy up her spine as she considered the prospect, and then rubbed her hands together, which suddenly felt very hot. They were dry, but she could have sworn she felt blood upon them, still red and wet.
No! she sternly reminded herself. That hadn’t been her fault. Her father’s death, the deaths of her siblings, she’d never wanted any of that. That had been someone else’s cruel design. Some monster with a thousand faces and no name. All Kalila had done was fail to protect the ones she loved. And now her only family left was the Empire. And she’d sooner die than fail her subjects, her beloved children.
She turned off the display once the image cut away from Fleet Admiral Virgil Tiberon being strapped to the nitrogen machine in order to show a close-up of the least palatable thing in the known universe: the fat scheming face of Caerwyn Martel. The man who all alone, through his own avarice and lust for power, will likely be the one to singlehandedly bring down this Empire, stone for stone. “Justice to all traitors,” the fat deviant managed to spout before the audio and video were cut.
“Justice indeed,” murmured Kalila. She knew justice was a difficult concept, and one which seemed to grow ever more difficult each day, but if justice did exist somewhere, the last person to know about it would be Caerwyn Martel.
She got up from her chair and headed for the Bridge; there was no longer any time to dawdle. “Mister Adiger,” she said, immediately upon entering.
“My Queen,” he and the other saluted.
“I want a status report of our forces immediately.”
“Most of the warships in this system are still in queues for essential repairs. Life-support, atmosphere, and gravity systems have been restored on all ships, as have shields for the most part, since individual Engineering crews have been able to do those efforts themselves. Some fifty percent of armor has been replaced, though only twenty-something percent of munitions have been restored to inventory, including on this ship, Your Majesty. All critically and seriously injured personnel have been off-transferred and replaced. However, many ships are having difficulty restoring ops controls, navigation, and full alteredspace capability. Nevertheless, they are getting to the bottom of it as fast as they can.”
“And this ship?”
“We are currently being refit for new armor on our starboard side,” said Captain Adiger. “In addition, new supplies and ammunition are still making their way aboard and into storage.”
“And systems?”
“All systems restored, Your Majesty,” said Adiger.
“Glad to hear it,” said Kalila. At least now, if Caerwyn or some other menace attacked them, they'd be able to mount some sort of defense, although it ate at her that these repairs, no matter how expedient, would not be fast enough, or adequate, to openly oppose a hostile Republican fleet. Especially without support from Caerwyn’s fleet, which, for all Kalila could expect, would try to engage her in another pitched battle before the Rotham arrived, something Kalila absolutely must not let happen if at all possible.
“And the status of our other ships in the other systems?” she asked.
“Varied. Some squadrons report complete battle-readiness; most do not, however. The average seems to be on par with the situation here, with the worst performing system being that of Euripides, where thirty-eight destroyers in mostly bad condition are cycling for use of two orbital platforms.”
“Divide that force and spread them around the other systems,” said Kalila.
“Having them move would leave them vulnerable to ambush in transit,” Captain Adiger pointed out.
“True, but so long as they can’t get the repairs they need, there’s an entire squadron of them vulnerable to attack. I’d rather not keep all those eggs in that one basket.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I’ll send the order at once.”
“Have someone else do it, Captain,” said Kalila. “I need you with me.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he gave the appropriate orders and then followed her off the Bridge and into her office where she took her seat and he stood, resolute and attentive, ever the proper soldier. Despite the greying tufts of hair which showed under his uniform cap, he preferred dress uniform, and despite the unmistakable signs of aging, a wrinkling in the skin, a thinner, gaunter appearance, he remained a fixture of strength in her eyes, and in the way he carried himself, there remained something fierce.
“Tell me, and I wish you to be frank with me, sir,” said Kalila. “What is the latest status report of our loyal worlds? Do any starve or need supplies, are any in danger of attack, have any shifted so far that they risk defection?”
“Your Highness, that would require a far more detailed report than I am prepared to give.”
Kalila knew this, but she also knew Captain Adiger was a shrewd man who kept tabs on the big picture, always keen to root out any potential concern, even if he did have a bad habit of keeping those concerns to himself, in a benign but unhelpful way of trying to safeguard the queen from additional burdens. However, Kalila was no longer a child. And when she accepted the mantle of monarch over the Empire and claimed her father’s throne and declared herself queen regnant in her own right, she accepted to carry all those burdens, whatever they may be.
“Honestly, Your Majesty, the majority of our systems are holding their own independently. Unlike Capital World, and probably Renora at this point, none of our systems are resource upside down, even in the absence of regular trade due to the war. There are a few bold traders, and even some smugglers, who get desperately needed commodities from place to place, but each of our systems, at current estimates, is able to withstand siege unassisted for years if not decades, provided their ecosystems and industrial facilities are not bombed.”
Which, they both knew, would almost certainly be the case.
“All of our core worlds have been scra
mbling to increase their defensive capabilities, as per your previous orders, and the funds we’ve sent them to assist in this task have greatly accelerated the process.” That had been an unpopular choice among many of her senior knights and advisors, who wished the funds to go into rapidly building more battleships and shipyards. Perhaps that would have been the wiser course of action, considering the loss of the Apollo Yards, but at the time, Kalila had expected to take the Yards, not destroy them utterly.
“That’s all well and fine, Captain,” said Kalila, “but do stop sugarcoating it by giving me only the good news. Tell me of the bad; that's what requires my attention most.”
“A handful of our core worlds are having troubles of a sort,” admitted Captain Adiger.
Kalila looked at him as if to say, “Go on.”
“Cygnus III is the one exception to the adequate stores of food I mentioned earlier. They still have some stores, but the booming population there has not allowed the local agricultural industry to catch up. —And why should it have; up until recently they had a lucrative trade deal with Olympia for extra food. Now that the two planets are on different sides of the conflict, well, Cygnus III is rushing to plant for adequate crop yields, and estimations look good, but there is going to be a rough time between now and harvest.”
“I see,” said Kalila. “Arrange for a group of transports to travel from Leo-Venetici, under swift escort, to deliver additional food supplies to Cygnus III.”
“That brings me to Leo-Venetici. They are having a similar problem, but with water. This time not due to overpopulation, but rather contamination of springs and wells. Sabotage is suspected, and although Intel Wing had offered to look into it—”
“Intel Wing likely as not caused the poisoned water supply. Don’t let them go anywhere near the planet. In the meantime, make certain they are scrubbing and chemically treating their water sources to re-purify them.”
The Phoenix Darkness Page 2