The Phoenix War

by Richard L. Sanders

  No, this is all of us, thought Caerwyn, fighting a smile.

  And then the unthinkable happened. Someone else rose.

  “I put forward my name,” said Representative Zhang. The newly-appointed youth, Leor Zhang, who’d inherited his place in the Assembly to fill the vacancy caused by his father’s death. The late Ri Zhang had been mysteriously slain in the same attack that had killed the king.

  No, what are you doing!? Caerwyn resisted the urge to turn to the youth and shake him. He wanted to shout at the young fool, explain to him in simple, small words that he and his family belonged to the Martel faction of support! His father had been among the most ardent supporters of the Martels! For him to step forward and assert his own claim to the throne was not only a tremendous insult to the Martel House, and for nothing since the Zhangs couldn’t dream of garnering enough support to win the throne, it was also mathematically just enough to remove the inevitability of Caerwyn’s rule. Damn you and your whole shit family, Leor Zhang, you stupid insolent fool!

  Caerwyn resisted every urge to do otherwise and somehow forced a smile. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I miscounted, he thought, hoping that somehow he could still win the throne. And even if I don’t win, Zhang’s stupidity will, at worst, cause a deadlock. At which point, having received the fewest votes, he will of course bow out. He must! It would be the only proper thing to do. And then, after he bows out, he will naturally throw his support behind House Martel, where it always should have been. My throne is still inevitable, it’s just… delayed.

  “Is there no one else?” asked Representative Tate. When no one stood, she closed the floor to new candidates and invited each of the would-be kings: Lords Conroy, Doran, Savet, Martel, and Zhang to address their fellow noblemen, for fifteen minutes apiece, and attempt to persuade their fellow nobles to vote in their favor.

  Like Caerwyn had expected, the speeches were full of fluff and metaphor and were empty appeals, whether to logic or emotion it made no matter. They were merely a part of the ceremony of it all, a ritual, almost, more theatrics than politics. Not truly an effort to win votes. The votes were already decided and had been the instant the candidates declared themselves. Houses had their allegiances. There was no going against that. Only young Lord Zhang made a sincere effort to convince his fellow noblemen to vote for him. Of course, whether he knew it or not, his plea fell upon deaf ears. The youth has much to learn about politics…

  Once the charade of speeches was complete, the voting began.

  Each candidate standing was counted as a vote for himself automatically, and thus the Conroys, Dorans, Savets, Martels, and Zhangs were effectively removed from voting.

  Cole House voted first. Then Florence. Then Hernandez, and so on. As the votes were tallied, and each House declared their support for their closest political allies—as Caerwyn knew they would—the votes seemed to fall exactly as he’d predicted. The only surprise came when the Garcia House—supporters of the Akiras—declared for Zhang rather than the Savets. This had no effect on the projected outcome; Lord Savet would come up short on votes with or without the Garcias, and this was the first—and certainly the only—vote Lord Zhang would get. Caerwyn only hoped this show of support by the Garcias, empty and pointless as it was, didn’t go to Zhang’s head and encourage him to stay in the race. The vote will end in a deadlock. And then you, with the fewest votes, must gracefully bow out. That’s how this works. Caerwyn knew he couldn’t say as much aloud, but that didn’t stop him from wishing he could communicate telepathically.

  The Torres voted last and, to no one’s surprise, declared their support for Lord Savet. Long before they did, however, the outcome became obvious to everyone. It was a close run between Caerwyn Martel and Lord Doran, with the Savets trailing significantly behind, then the Conroys just after him, and Lord Zhang far at the bottom. But no candidate had won a sufficient majority to claim victory. Though if one more vote had gone his way, Caerwyn Martel would have.

  Damn you Leor Zhang. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you! Of all the people standing on the Assembly Floor when the assassin murdered the king, his second bullet just had to find Ri Zhang… if only it’d found someone else, almost anyone else… I’d cede an Imperial planet if it meant I still had Ri Zhang alive to cast his vote in my favor!

  With the vote finished and no clear victor decided, the Assembly adjourned. There would be more debate and more discussion, Caerwyn knew. Hopefully enough to remind Leor Zhang of his place and convince him to respectfully bow out. And then, in the runoff, Caerwyn would be victorious. It had to be so.

  Chapter 5

  Calvin lay in bed, wide-awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. He’d woken before his alarm and, unable to fall back to sleep, had decided to simply disable the alarm and seek peace the silence.

  Sleep came uneasily aboard the Black Swan, despite the fact that Kalila had kindly given him quarters that far more lavish and comfortable than any on the Nighthawk. He glanced at the time display for what felt like the millionth time.

  0527 S.T.

  He’d have to rise soon. In just over an hour, they’d be there. Their ship would arrive… But there was no reason to get up just yet.

  Calvin let his thoughts flow freely in the darkness as the minutes ticked by. He thought of his mother’s disappearance and felt a terrible, ominous feeling; it sickened him to the core. Where are you? he wondered. She’d vanished without a trace and hope of finding her seemed more fleeting than ever. She must have gone into hiding, he tried to convince himself in vain. Wishing he could believe she was safe somewhere, lying low.

  He thought about the replicants, how powerful and influential people had somehow been replaced, people like Captain Nimoux and Vice Admiral Harkov. Both of whom were likely watering daffodils somewhere now…

  He thought about his friends and shipmates, off somewhere in the galaxy, hunting after the deadliest weapons ever designed. Miles would be there, with that big dopey grin of his. Sarah too, and as for Shen… Shen was probably dead by now. Calvin remembered how gaunt and broken the ops officer had looked, restrained in the infirmary where Calvin had last seen him. And Calvin thought of the duty he’d charged Miles with—to make certain Shen did not suffer needlessly. Calvin doubted Miles truly had the constitution to pull the plug on Shen, but maybe he’d done so, if he’d seen that it would end needless suffering.

  What had happened to Shen had been unjust and unwanted; he’d sacrificed himself, thrown himself into the line of Remorii, as a means of protecting Calvin. Others had made the same sacrifice for him, even a complete stranger named Titus Antony, who’d been shredded by CERKO bullets while trying to save Calvin’s life at Samil’s behest… too much blood, Calvin thought. Far too much blood.

  Thoughts of Shen made him think about Monte and Rose, and he realized how much he missed them, especially the old doc. To think he was somewhere else now, in some sort of oblivion, perhaps not even existing at all. In the black hallways of death, likely with Shen now, and Christine…

  Calvin felt a strange dampness in his eyes as he imagined them all together, all of his friends and loved ones who’d passed on. For all he knew, his own mother had joined them.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes. And found himself wishing he could turn to his age-old lover and tormentor, equarius. But the instinct to take the drug wasn’t as strong as it once had been, not even as strong as it had been mere weeks earlier. That was a victory of a sort, he supposed, but small comfort.

  “If only…” he whispered, thinking of a thousand different ways he could finish that sentence. He searched his soul for the will to live, the strength to keep fighting even though he felt hopelessness strangling him on the inside. Chaos had emerged with prejudice on crucial Imperial worlds, and now there was no king. And the king that had been, the great sovereign leader Calvin had expected to ultimately guide humanity through the storm, had proven just as mortal and impermanent and unsafe as anyone else. He’d been murdered on the Assembly Floor, for hell’s s
ake! The Fleet was no doubt in disarray, the Knights of the King, the admirals, the Representatives of the Assembly, local governors, all sorts must be scrambling right now to seize as much of the pie as they could, for all the good it would do them once the Rotham and Polarians poured over the borders… humanity’s only hope was in common strength, in presenting a unified front, but now no one could force them to cooperate. To stand together. Not anymore. And so together they would fall.

  Even now the Rotham fleets are surely forming, he thought darkly. Readying to take whatever slivers of humanity they wish. Starting with Renora… a planet that had endured far more than its share of tragedy and bloodshed in recent weeks, and yet her citizens had been seduced by Rotham aid and deceived by Rotham promises. The planet would be the focal point of inevitable war. They were humans, Imperial citizens. But they’d declared for the Rotham Republic, and the Republic had embraced them. Which meant the Republic would take them, and Calvin doubted very much that Renora would be the only system the Rotham fleets would occupy along the way…

  The comm panel in his room beeped loudly. Its white light flashed on and off, seeming very bright in the deep darkness his eyes had adjusted to.

  He got out of bed. Has it been an hour already? A glance out the starless window told him they were still in alteredspace. But that didn’t mean they weren’t close to their destination.

  “Calvin here,” he said, after tapping the panel.

  “Her Grace requests your presence on the bridge immediately.” It was Black Swan’s chief of communications.

  “Understood. On my way.”

  The call terminated.

  He splashed some water on his face but otherwise made no real effort to clean himself up. He even wore his clothes from the day before, the white-and-black uniform he’d been given when he’d taken on the role of Executor. The only difference was he’d ripped the Insignia of the Office of the Executor off his lapel, since the office was defunct now anyway, and he didn’t deserve to wear the symbol. With no other insignia to take its place, he felt like an overdressed civilian.

  He went directly to the bridge. When the door slid open, revealing the Black Swan’s massive control epicenter, he took it all in before stepping out of the elevator.

  The different departments were fielding the many system controls that were setup throughout the bridge. About twenty people were busily working in small groups and communicating to the crews below decks. At the center stood Kalila, who was speaking with Captain Adiger. The bridge lights made her dark hair seem to shine, and even from this distance, Calvin could see that Kalila’s strength and sense of command had returned. The sad, seemingly apathetic Kalila who hadn’t quite known how to cope with the news of her father’s death was gone. Either banished or hidden under many layers of confidence, purpose, and determination. Whether or not this in-command version of Kalila was the true Kalila, it was certainly the version of her that Calvin knew. The one with fire in her beautiful eyes. Seeing it made Calvin smile.

  He stepped out onto the deck and a soldier saluted him. Calvin saluted back instinctively, thinking how different a vast dreadnought was compared to a tiny stealth frigate like the Nighthawk. On the Nighthawk there was no room, and no need, for a dedicated security chief to be positioned on the bridge at all times. Ready to coordinate a garrison of hundreds of soldiers...

  “Good, you’re here,” said Kalila once Calvin approached.

  Adiger and Calvin exchanged salutes.

  “I take it we’re about to arrive then,” said Calvin. He glanced at the array of windows and saw that the view was still empty and black.

  “We’ll be dropping out of alteredspace in a few short minutes,” said Kalila. “Hopefully surrounded by friends.” Her tone showed a hint of suspicion and Calvin understood why. They’d followed the coordinates provided by Raidan. And, while it was true that Raidan and his Organization had shared common enemies with them, and that Raidan led the Harbinger to their defense back at Capital World, his mysterious Organization was still extralegal and undefined, and Kalila did not trust him. Which was probably wise.

  “I don’t believe Raidan has hostile intentions,” said Calvin, unsure if he was trying to reassure the princess or himself.

  “Regardless,” said Kalila, “Captain Adiger, you will raise the shields the instant we arrive and have all defense systems standing by.”

  “Yes, Princess,” he said obediently. He relayed the necessary commands to his teams.

  Calvin hoped that wasn’t interpreted by Raidan, and whatever allies he brought, as a sign of aggression.

  As the chief of navigation counted down their exit from alteredspace, Calvin noticed that Rafael was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Kalila doesn’t trust him yet. Certainly he would have been summoned here otherwise…

  “Four. Three. Two.”

  Calvin stared out the dark windows ahead, watching with anticipation, as the alteredspace descent countdown finished.

  “One.”

  The view filled with stars. The local sun wasn’t visible, nor were any planets, but the appearance of thousands of tiny white dots announced their return to normal space.

  “We have arrived,” said the navigation chief. Defense reported the shields had been raised, as ordered and the ops chief called attention to multiple ships in the vicinity.

  “Identify those ships,” snapped Captain Adiger, pointing at the 3d display, where the other ships could be seen. Fixed at the center of the display was a projection of the Black Swan itself. Only one of the other ships matched it for size.

  “The ISS Harbinger, sir,” reported the ops chief. “Along with the de-commissioned ISS Liberty Sun, a non-military vessel marked as the Aurora, and another non-military vessel marked as the Penelope.”

  “Sir, my scans indicate that all identified vessels bear military-grade armaments and defensive armor,” added the ops deputy chief.

  Before Captain Adiger could respond, the communication chief spoke up. “Captain, we are being hailed by the ISS Harbinger.”

  Captain Adiger turned back to Kalila. “Your Grace?” he asked, obviously seeking her instructions.

  Kalila gazed back at him with a face of steel. “Inform them that the raising of our shields was for defensive purposes only, please communicate our non-hostile intent.”

  “And shall I answer the hail?”

  A thoughtful look came over her face as she seemed to consider this for a split second. “They can wait.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  As Adiger relayed his orders, Kalila took Calvin aside.

  “Your thoughts, Lieutenant Commander?” she asked in a quiet tone.

  “I don’t think Raidan wishes us any direct harm,” said Calvin, speaking quietly because Kalila had. “I would absolutely listen to what he has to say, but I would proceed with caution.”

  “Do you suspect him of something?” Kalila asked, her eyes probing him shrewdly.

  Calvin thought of the suffering that was happening on Cepheus, Rotham civilians dying by the thousands. He’d all but convicted Raidan in his mind as the guilty perpetrator of that slaughter; after all he had the weapon ingredients and the means to deliver them, but Calvin had to keep in mind that he couldn’t be completely certain—there wasn’t quite enough proof.

  “Out with it,” said Kalila when Calvin seemed hesitant.

  “Princess,” said Calvin, noting, with a trace of sadness, that Kalila’s eyes seemed to stare back at him with the gaze of a monarch addressing one of her subjects, and not as a woman looking pleasantly upon a man, or even the gaze of a close friend... No trace of the intimate connection he’d thought they’d shared. “I believe Raidan, or at the very least the Organization he represents, is responsible for the brutal attack on Cepheus.”

  Kalila seemed to consider this for a moment. “And how solid is your evidence?”

  “I have good intelligence that Raidan acquired the kind of materials used in the attack not long before it took place,” said
Calvin. As shady as the Roscos were, Calvin believed the intelligence they gave him.

  “Thank you,” said Kalila. She turned away from him.

  “Wait,” said Calvin, stopping her before she had the chance to walk away. She turned back and looked at him curiously. “I do have one recommendation,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  He hesitated for a moment, a little worried that the idea might affect him badly but also knowing it needed to be done. There were replicants out there, replicants who needed to be stopped, such as the ones posing as Nimoux and Harkov, who’d fooled the Assembly and testified against him on the Assembly Floor. If any were working for Kalila, they would sabotage every effort to restore the Empire. And Calvin knew he couldn’t let that happen. “Princess,” he cleared his throat. “This is going to sound strange, but, you need to have everyone in your operation, everyone you trust, all of your commanders, your royal knights, your advisors, everyone in every position of importance… they must all be given a standard dose of Xinocodone right away. And they need to have witnesses watch them take it, and verify that the doses were administered correctly.” He looked into her beautiful dark eyes and wondered if she was a replicant herself. Raidan had said that none of the royal family had been replaced with replicants yet, but his information could be wrong. It was best to take no chances. “And Princess,” Calvin added. “You’ll have to take it too.”

  Kalila looked understandably baffled. Calvin continued before she could interrupt. “Do you recall how Captain Lafayette Nimoux and Vice Admiral Harkov spoke up on the Assembly Floor, against us, trying to discredit me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “They were not the true Vice Admiral and Captain, they were duplicates. Like how the enemy managed to produce a duplicate Black Swan. They can also, apparently, produce duplicate people. These duplicates are called replicants. Zane and the Phoenix Ring managed to replace people in key positions with these very convincing look-alikes. But we now know what the replicants are, they’re Polarians!—Sort of.” He thought of what Rain had told him and knew he didn’t completely understand the science of it, but he did understand what mattered most. “Xinocodone, a standard pain medication for human beings, will kill them. Exposing any replicants. And anyone who takes Xinocodone and lives, you can be confident he hasn’t been replaced.” Calvin realized how insane he must sound, but everything he said was factual. And it was of critical importance that any remaining replicants be purged at once. Had he been more aggressive about such a policy back when he’d still been the Executor—despite how insane it would have made him appear—and if he’d somehow managed to pull it off, he might still be the Executor today, and the king might still be among the living...