The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7)

by Richard Sanders

  Calvin gave her a look. “Seriously, though,” he said.

  “Nimoux commanded us to take the third pod—the one you decided you didn’t need for your mission—and to fit as many of the off-duty personnel into it as could possibly fit.”

  “And you were off duty at that time?” asked Calvin, thinking it strange Summers would not have been on the bridge during such a crisis. Especially since, with Miles gone, she was the most experienced Defense officer on the ship.

  “Not exactly,” she said, and whatever lightness had been in her once faded. “I was on the bridge, when everything began to come apart. By then we all knew we were doomed. That was when Nimoux gave the order for everyone who could to evacuate the ship.”

  “And you went with them?” asked Calvin, shocked.

  “Not exactly,” said Summers. “And certainly not willingly, if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t do it to save my life in place of someone else’s. But Nimoux commanded me to go to the pod; in fact, he had to give me the command more than once. He insisted that the survivors would need a leader and that I was best qualified to fill that role.”

  “I see,” said Calvin, privately wondering if that had been Nimoux’s only motivation. True, Summers was an excellent candidate to be the leader for such a thing, but Calvin also suspected that Nimoux’s own feelings for Summers, which Calvin had picked up on that he had, may have colored his judgment just a little. Whether if so or not, Calvin certainly wasn’t going to bring it up to Summers. “So then what happened?” asked Calvin.

  “We got the pod as far away as possible from the Nighthawk and that damned energy-vortex thing, as fast as we could. Once the Nighthawk was confirmed destroyed, visually and by our sensors, I knew for certain that we were on our own and would have to fend for ourselves. The pod would never get us back home, but a starship could. And there just happened to be one holding position. A starship that the energy-vortex seemed to be leaving alone. So I ordered the pod toward it immediately and got the crew ready for a boarding action.”

  “That would have taken some real guts,” said Calvin. “Considering all you had were crewmen and a few side-arms.”

  “Well, it’s surprising how brave you can be when you literally have only one option of what to do,” said Summers. “We docked, discovered the hatch to be unlocked, which was a godsend, considering we had no means of forcing it open.”

  “We were planning to use some explosives,” said Calvin.

  Summers gave him a look, as if to say typical male plan.

  “What?” asked Calvin. “It was going to be placed strategically!”

  “Anyway,” said Summers, “We came on board, not sure what we were up against, only to discover two Rotham pilots were the only souls aboard.

  “Did you capture them?” asked Calvin, thinking they could be an excellent source of intelligence. Among other things, they could reveal what the ship was waiting for in the system.

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Summers. “As soon as they saw how many of us there were, they each shot themselves. That reminds me, if you go into the cockpit, mind where you step.”

  Calvin grimaced at the thought. “What did you do with the corpses?”

  “Loaded them into the pod. Then detached the pod from the ship.”

  “Then why didn’t I see your pod when I docked with the ship?” asked Calvin.

  “Because you docked on the starboard side and connected with that hatch. We did the same, only we connected to the portside hatch,” said Summers.

  “So, after you took the ship, why did you wait around? Why not jump into alteredspace and flee the system immediately? After all, Custos was still out there and you knew it.”

  “Well, we knew you were coming back and I insisted that we wait. Meanwhile, I had people on the lookout for Custos and others using the scanners to search for your pod, which turned out to be hard to distinguish from the Nighthawk’s debris. That is, until you fired your thrusters and headed right for us,” said Summers.

  Calvin nodded. “And now, here you are, having done all the dirty work for me. I was expecting a serious battle in order to capture this ship, and probably the loss of more of my men—possibly even myself.”

  “I had expected our effort to be even worse, consider how ill-equipped and under-trained the crewmen are for such a thing. But, in the end, we didn’t have to kill anyone. They did that themselves.”

  At that point, Calvin felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to see a welcome face. “Rafael!” he said, instinctively hugging the man. “I’m so glad to see you’re alive!”

  “And to you as well,” said Rafael.

  Calvin released him. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’ve come to tell me something, not just to say hello. Am I right?”

  Rafael nodded. “I understand you brought a prisoner with you,” Rafael scanned the room with his one eye. “Ah, there he is. The only Polarian in the room.”

  “He’s not a Polarian,” said Calvin. “He’s a Dark One.”

  “A what?”

  “A replicant,” Calvin clarified.

  “I thought he was no ordinary Polarian,” admitted Rafael. “Otherwise you never would have risked bringing him back with you.”

  “Correct.”

  “So, from that I deduce that you wish to interrogate him, yes?” said Rafael.

  “I do,” said Calvin.

  “In that case, I suggest you fly us out of the system, get the ship on track in alteredspace to return to the Empire, and then you and I interrogate Ozumire. The sooner the better.”

  “Oh,” said Calvin, pointing at Summers. “That’s the real reason you waited for me. You needed a pilot to fly the damn ship.”

  “Not true,” insisted Summers. “Look around, there is crew everywhere; you think not a single one of them can fly this starship?”

  “You two can resume this later,” said Rafael. “For now, though, I think it would be best for everybody if we left the system and got out of Forbidden Space—and Polarian space for that matter—as soon as possible.”

  “I agree,” said Calvin. “Show me to the flight controls.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Be honest with me,” said Kalila, looking up from the tactical display in the War Room and then staring into the eyes of each of her three advisors in turn. “How bad is it?”

  She was not stupid; she could tell the enemy vastly outnumbered her defense forces. Even a child could look at the display and notice how much more red there was than blue and green; Kalila knew they were losing, but she didn’t know exactly how badly or by how much. That was why her advisors were even there; if they could not tell her, then they were useless and she might as well be in the War Room alone.

  “The situation is…not good, Your Highness,” said Sir Vasquez.

  She gave him a critical look. “Don’t tell me what I already know,” she said, unhappily. “I want the clear and direct truth, no matter how brutal. So, I’ll ask you three again, in your expert opinions, how bad is it?”

  At first, none of them appeared willing to speak up, but then Fleet Admiral Lawson said, “It’s awful, Your Majesty. And getting worse by the minute.”

  “Go on,” said Kalila, encouraging the aged Fleet Admiral, who, so far, had proven to be the most candid of the three advisors—and therefore the least useless.

  “As you can see here, the defensive formation remains intact. There is immense pressure here and here, but most importantly here,” she pointed to various spots on the display, ending with what looked like the forward, left corner of the defensive formation, which seemed to be holding a region of space hotly contested by the enemy.

  “Why is that the most important part of the fighting?” asked Kalila.

  “Because this is where the formation collapsed before; that was what forced the disastrous retreat, and now the Dread Fleet is applying pressure there once again, probably trying to force a repeat of that same event.”

  “I think what the
Fleet Admiral is trying to say,” said Sir McTavish, “Is that, should those defenders fall, or retreat from that position, then the defensive formation will become vulnerable and inevitably the whole thing will collapse.”

  “I never try to say something,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, offended. “Either I say something or I do not say it. “And if I do say something, I always say exactly what I mean. The queen does not need you to translate what I say for her and, quite frankly, neither do I.”

  Kalila half-smirked at the sight of a Fleet Admiral, especially an ancient one, having the guts to challenge a Knight of the Crown and embarrass him right in front of the monarch.

  “But, is he right?” asked Kalila, the instant of mirth gone.

  “I’m afraid so, yes,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “That is why Sir Arkwright has moved significant forces to that location, to try to prevent its collapse. The Second Fleet is there, what’s left of it, along with Sir Doran. Fleet Admiral Zeller is there, along with whatever remains of the Fifth Fleet, and the combined remains of three Rotham flotillas are there as well, including the Nau.”

  “That sounds like an enormous amount of our forces,” said Kalila.

  “It sounds more impressive than it is,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “As you can see by the blue and green lights here, yes there seems to be quite a few of them yet but, believe me, they are dwindling by the second. Then compare that to the red lights here—this is the force that continues to pressure the defenders at that position.”

  “There must be…three times as many,” said Kalila, comparing the two groups.

  “Which is why Sir Arkwright continues to divert more and more forces to bolster that position. The only trouble is—”

  Sir Vasquez cut in abruptly, “The trouble is, Your Majesty, Sir Arkwright is running out forces to send to that position.” He rested his hands on the display as he spoke, gazing at Kalila. “Which means it’s only a matter of time before…well, you know…”

  Catching Kalila off-guard, and the knights as well, Fleet Admiral Lawson took her right hand and slapped Sir Vasquez right on top of his left hand…as if she were disciplining a child.

  “Do not interrupt me, young man,” she said in an angry tone.

  Sir Vasquez opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say. He looked like he was stuck somewhere between wanting to rebuke the old admiral and wanting to run from her.

  The scene made Kalila smile, but just for an instant. Even so, it was the first time she’d smiled in as long as she could remember. Truly, this old woman has no fear, thought Kalila.

  “Exactly how many capital ships remain, on either side?” asked Kalila.

  “Well, it’s difficult to say,” said Sir McTavish. “Because that number is changing all the time.”

  “Just give her some damn numbers,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “She knows they are changing, what she’s looking for is an estimate of what is left.”

  Kalila nodded. “All right,” said Sir McTavish. “When the battle began, we had assembled a force of over two-thousand capital ships. Then, when the enemy came, we couldn’t get an exact count, but we know it was somewhere between seven-thousand and ten-thousand capital ships, not to mention drones, which numbered about—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “Don’t recount the entire battle for her. She didn’t ask how many ships used to be here, she asked how many are still here.”

  “All right then, Fleet Admiral,” said Sir McTavish looking angry, “Since you seem to know everything, why don’t you tell her.”

  “Because, unlike you, I don’t have an earpiece in my ear that is telling me every detail of what is going on out there. All I have is this tactical display and a pair of blurry old eyes to examine it with. Would you have me count the number of lights? ‘Cause I’ll do it!”

  As the two of them continued bickering, a messenger hurried into the War Room and went directly to Kalila.

  “Your Highness,” he said, bowing. He wore a navy uniform, rank of Second Lieutenant, yet he seemed no older than seventeen to her.

  “Yes, what is it?” asked Kalila.

  “I have news, Your Highness.”

  “What news?” asked Kalila.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Your Highness, but, my commander thought you’d want to know. We just received a report from Fleet Admiral Zeller.”

  “And?” asked Kalila, unsure what the bad news could be, and therefore bracing herself for just about anything.

  “It’s about the ISS Black Swan, your ship, Your Majesty. It was reported destroyed in combat. I’m sorry.” With that, he bowed, and she dismissed him.

  The Black Swan…destroyed, she could scarcely process the thought. That means Captain Adiger and all aboard…

  She bowed her head for a moment, closing her eyes and allowing herself to feel the grief. It was a tragic loss, and one, she was sure, she would always remember. But, after the moment passed, she lifted her head, opened her eyes, and returned to being queen, the strong kind of queen that her people needed, especially during this dark hour. Not the kind of queen who weeps and moans and shrivels into despair over events—although tragic—over which she no longer had any control.

  At the sound of the news, her advisors had ceased their bickering. Each of them, in turn, said something kind and comforting, as if to help her rally her spirits or share her burden, or some-such thing. Kalila was not displeased at their efforts to do so; certainly their intentions were noble, but neither did she require their assistance in this matter, nor did any of their words undo the wounds she felt inside. Wounds that she must refuse to acknowledge, at least for now, while she had to be strong. Then, perhaps later, when she was certain she was alone, maybe then she would allow herself to weep for her losses.

  “Thank you, all of you,” she said, her voice still as authoritative and strong as ever. “But my loss is no different than what others have lost in trying to defend our Empire. And I too must accept sacrifice as part of the price of protecting and preserving all that we hold dear. So, if you would, all of you, please return to the task at hand.

  They further examined the tactical display. Not only was the defensive formation in danger of collapse, with minimal reinforcements left to render aid to its most vulnerable spot, it seemed, as Sir Vasquez pointed out, that several starships, including entire squadrons of starships, appeared to be quite far afield. As if routing from the battle, having lost all hope.

  Well, we certainly cannot have that, thought Kalila, as she watched one such ship blink and fade, and she wondered whether that meant it had been destroyed or if it had jumped into alteredspace.

  She used the controls before her to connect herself directly with Sir Arkwright’s bridge. After a moment, the ISS Victory accepted her hail.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” asked Sir Arkwright.

  “Please appraise me regarding the status of this planet’s defense,” commanded Kalila.

  There was a pause.

  “Honestly, Your Majesty,” said Sir Arkwright. “The defensive formation is on the verge of collapse. It’s really only a matter of time before the whole thing comes apart. And when that happens, I’m sorry to say, everything is over.”

  “You sound as if you have accepted defeat,” said Kalila. “This displeases me.”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t accepted it,” said Sir Arkwright. “What sort of commander would I be if that were the case? I’m just…submitting rationally to the facts as they are.”

  “If the game is rigged against you, Sir Arkwright, find some way to cheat. Some new strategy. Break the rules. Anything. Whatever it takes. But I command you to defeat this enemy and save this planet, is that understood?”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Majesty,” replied Sir Arkwright.

  “No,” said Kalila. “That was not my command. I commanded you to succeed. Now you must, for your queen and your country, find some way to achieve that directive. Not one enemy starship is to make orbit
above this planet. Not a single one. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” said Sir Arkwright. “I shall do as you require.”

  “Good,” said Kalila. “And you may begin by putting a stop to any routing starships. Use whatever charisma, intimidation, or other any other means available to you to put an end to it, and prevent any of the rest from routing, no matter how grim the battle may seem.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” said Sir Arkwright. “For that matter, I believe the presence of the ISS Victory in this battle is what has prevented any sort of major rout from already happening. The fleets see this ship as an indomitable bastion of hope.”

  “That is good,” said Kalila. “Then use that indomitability to defeat our foes and save this Empire.”

  “As you command, Your Highness.”

  ***

  Sir Arkwright could not do what the queen had asked of him. There wasn’t a battle commander alive, or from any point in history, that could have turned the tables against such odds as these. In all, the entire defense force had lost over a thousand capital ships and, to his knowledge, every last starfighter that had been deployed. Even the Star Chief Marshall had been slain, while attempting to help the Victory fend off some thousand drones that had swarmed it.

  “Something wrong, sir?” asked his XO, who stood diligently by his side. The man had his own seat, of course, but he preferred to stand, so he could walk about the bridge and help make certain Sir Arkwright’s orders were executed as ordered. “You seem…”

  “Morose?” suggested Sir Arkwright.

  “I was going to say frustrated,” replied the XO.

  “I’m that too,” said Sir Arkwright with a sigh, “And more.”

  “I believe we all share your same feelings, sir,” said the XO, “If that is any consolation.”

  “Not a whit,” said Sir Arkwright. “But, thanks all the same.”

  The Victory was enjoying a short reprieve, one of only two since the battle began. Currently, as near as they could tell from analyzing the tactical display, the greater part of the enemy formation—still at least four-thousand capital ships strong, probably more—was making adjustments, moving every group and starship into perfect position, all in preparation for what would prove to be, Sir Arkwright was sure, the final charge of the battle.