The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7)

by Richard Sanders

  But, as he found himself staring down the barrel of life’s gun, knowing the trigger had been pulled and that the bullet of death was fast on its way to come and claim him, Raidan looked at things slightly differently. His beliefs were unchanged. God still made no sense. But that didn’t mean he could claim to know that nothing happens when you die, as an absolute certainty.

  And so, under the seemingly very unlikely premise that death was not simply the end of one’s journey but rather the transition from one journey to another, his outstretched hand, still pressed against the glass, was also hello.

  Since we both die together this day, thought Raidan, should it prove to be so that we begin some kind of new journey, I should hope to find you there.

  He thought he saw something then. A flicker of tiny lights near the blob in the night sky that he was convinced was the Arcane Storm. He didn’t know what he saw—if anything. It might have been a reflection, or a trick of the mind, or a drone passing by quickly, or, just maybe, it might have been an escape pod exiting the ship. However unlikely that seemed. The lights had seemed wrong for an escape pod, and so had the shape, but, despite those thoughts, Raidan preferred to believe that it was an escape pod. And that Tristan was on it. And, for all he knew, he was right. The thought made him smile. And, though the air seemed thinner than ever and he felt even more off-balance, he continued to stand and stare out the window. Thinking, this is how I want to go. Standing tall, on the bridge of my ship. Our fates intertwined.

  He watched through eyes that had gotten a little blurrier as the ship-like blob out the window came apart, breaking into many, many pieces, its hull finally giving way.

  “Goodbye, Arcane Storm,” said Raidan. “Goodbye, Tristan.”

  With that, he wandered away from the window, leaving behind his hand print, in blood, on its surface. He felt like he was on the verge of collapse, and caught himself gasping for air more than once along the way, but Raidan refused to fall, and, although it required breaks now and again, where he would lean on something to rest before continuing, he finally made it to the bow of the bridge to stand right in front of the forward window.

  Yes, this is it, he thought. This is where I die.

  If he did have to eventually die, as all mortals must, he could think of no more fitting place nor any prouder circumstances. Here he was, standing tall, master of this great warship. Their fates intertwined.

  Here is where he chose to make a stand, voluntarily, against the evil Dread Fleet, in the defense of the Empire that he so loved. His final act, the one that had ultimately gotten him killed, had been a desperate effort to save the lives of billions, even if for only a few days, by throwing all of his might, force, and will into an attempt to destroy the devastators. Something he would proudly do again, if given the chance.

  Ultimately, however, he had failed at both. The Empire was not safe from the Dread Fleet, nor had all the devastators been destroyed. Still, he held his head high, feeling proud that, at least, for as long as he had been alive, he had done his part to save and protect the Empire.

  As he heard noises that could only have been the beginnings of complete metal failure on the part of the Harbinger’s inner skeleton, he knew his time was up. He stayed standing, no matter how much he wanted to collapse; he stood as tall as he was able, leaning against the window, gazing forward from the bow of his bridge, until the very last moment.

  As the ship began to come apart, he uttered his final words, “My blood for the Empire.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Your Highness,” said Sir McTavish, I fear…it is over, and that we have lost.”

  “Look here,” said Sir Vasquez, “The devastators are on the move again, once more headed toward the planet.”

  “Is there any way to identify their targets?” asked Kalila, thinking perhaps she could organize massive evacuations, but if she emptied out even one major city, where would she send them? Capital World was covered in the tallest and grandest buildings in the galaxy. So many people called this planet home that it was actually resource-upside down and required supplies, including fresh water, to be brought in by starship on a regular basis. This, despite the many, many desalination plants spread across the planet.

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Sir Vasquez. “Even if we could, it would be a far simpler thing for the devastator warship to switch targets than to move the people somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

  “Not to mention that nowhere is safe,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, a darkness coloring her croaking voice.

  “Explain,” said Kalila.

  “Your rogue, the traitor, Asari Raidan, for as many problems as he has caused you, he is not incorrect about the threat these devastators represent. They were, in fact, banned by treaty, due to their very nature—carpet bombing civilized planets with weapons meant specifically to obliterate any sort of defenses and to eradicate life, wherever it may be hiding. That was ever the sole function of these ships. Not for starship-to-starship superiority, not for targeting planetary military defenses in assistance with a legitimate invasion. Oh, no, these machines—monsters, really—can make no meaningful discrimination between hostile and civilian life forms; it slaughters them all. And the body count, should they fire even so much as one volley of their weapons, I’m afraid to say, My Queen, would rival the total amount of deaths which occurred during the entire Great War.”

  That fact, if true, seemed beyond shocking to Kalila. That such ships had once existed, banned or not, she should have known about it. “Did we ever build such weapons?” asked Kalila.

  “Oh, no,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “And neither did the Rotham, for that matter. These were created by Polarians for the act of cleansing planets—some sort of religious hullabaloo or another—but, as you can plainly see, their usefulness as a threat and deterrence created a military advantage, which ultimately led to the negotiation of their ban. Had the treaties not been signed, then, mark my words, every fleet, human, Rotham, and Polarian, would include devastators among their standard complement of warships in every attacking fleet. The fear of such escalation led to cooperation, which led to peace—for a time. But now the Polarians have brazenly brought forward these banned weapons, flaunting the treaties as they do so.”

  “With all due respect, Fleet Admiral Lawson,” said Sir McTavish. “I do not believe this enemy, the Dread Fleet, represents the interests of the Polarian military or takes commands from the Polarian civil government.”

  “Of course not,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, firing right back. “Do I look like I was born yesterday? I was out there, with the Seventh Fleet, defending our star systems, day in and day out, having to worry about such things before you could use a toilet. I think I know what I am taking about on this matter.”

  Kalila decided her advisors could settle their own petty squabbles amongst themselves, just not on her time. “How long before the devastators are within attack range?” she asked.

  “That is the one good thing about them,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson, “They’re slower than my colleague, Sir McTavish’s wit, Your Majesty.”

  As much as Kalila appreciated a clever remark, she did not have patience for them when they stood in the way of her and the information she needed to make whatever decisions she could to best protect her people—assuming it was even possible at all. “Technically, Admiral, you did not actually answer my question.”

  “I can answer it,” said Sir Vasquez.

  “Sycophant,” Fleet Admiral Lawson whispered under her breath, but made certain it was loud enough for everyone to hear. Damn, thought Kalila, for an old lady, this retired Fleet Admiral had more fire and more passion than half the navy. Perhaps she had been forced into retirement too soon…

  “The answer,” said Sir Vasquez, ignoring Fleet Admiral Lawson’s smart remark. “Is approximately fifteen minutes. Assuming they are going to open fire on pre-designated targets, for maximum efficiency. Should they simply begin firing on the planet at random, then they could do so at
almost any time, from here onward.”

  “And how many devastators emerged from the fleet?”

  “Two squadrons, under heavy escort by a number of battlecruisers.”

  “Translate that for me, two squadrons of devastators is how many ships?” asked Kalila.

  “There is no exact size of a squadron,” said Sir Vasquez, “Your Highness. But it is a force smaller than a fleet; the most common size is probably around ten starships.”

  “And here?” asked Kalila, somewhat annoyed that her questions were not being answered directly.

  “Squadrons of ten, Your Highness, for a total of twenty devastators,” said Sir Vasquez.

  “And how many have been eliminated by Captain Asari Raidan and his group of allies?” asked Kalila.

  We believe that, not counting four battlecruisers involved in the engagement, the total losses to the enemy from that skirmish was…fifteen capital ships, all devastators.”

  “Meaning five remain?” clarified Kalila.

  Sir Vasquez nodded. “That is correct, Your Highness, and they are the ones, under extremely heavy escort, that are approaching the planet now.”

  “And what kind of damage can five devastators do to Capital World, as opposed to twenty?” asked Kalila.

  “With twenty…operating at full strength, with a complete arsenal…the entire population would be destroyed in less than one hour,” said Sir Vasquez. “Raidan had spoken that truthfully.”

  Kalila looked to Fleet Admiral Lawson for confirmation. The old admiral nodded once, her arms folded defensively.

  “And with five devastators?” asked Kalila.

  “Estimates vary,” said Sir Vasquez. “But…most figures suggest that, given how tightly bunched together the citizens of Capital World are, that decreases the number of targets. I mean, essentially this is an oceanic planet with some few landmasses, each of which are saturated with massive skyscrapers and other buildings everywhere.”

  “Get to the point,” said Kalila, though she was reasonably certain she knew where Sir Vasquez was headed—and she did not like it.

  “It means the devastators can eradicate the populace, despite how numerous it is, at a much faster rate than usual,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. She then looked to Sir Vasquez. “Wasn’t that what you were going to say?”

  “Effectively, yes,” said Sir Vasquez.

  “And they will begin this attack, which will take…what, six hours or so to achieve?” asked Kalila.

  Sir Vasquez shrugged. “Perhaps less,” he admitted, obviously not wanting to.

  Kalila felt a chill trace her spine at the thought of what was going to happen to her precious citizens and, worst of all, the fact that she could do practically—if not literally—nothing for them whatsoever.

  “And they will begin this attack,” repeated Kalila. “In approximately fifteen minutes?”

  “Just over eleven now, Your Majesty,” said Sir McTavish.

  Eleven thought Kalila. What could possibly be done with eleven minutes? Certainly nothing from down here…

  “Is there any possibility that Asari Raidan and his squadron will successfully eliminate the remaining five devastators in time?” asked Kalila.

  Her advisors looked at her with some shock in their eyes. “You haven’t heard?” asked Sir Vasquez.

  “Heard what?” demanded Kalila. Again, she suspected she would not like this news.

  “That’s my fault, please forgive me, Your Highness, I should have reported to you the moment I got a report through my earpiece.”

  “Tell me what?” said Kalila, abandoning any pretext of patience.

  “The Harbinger and its flotilla have been confirmed destroyed,” said Sir McTavish. “But…the good part of that news is, one more official Enemy of the Empire can be scratched off that most wanted list.”

  “You imbecile,” said Kalila, unable to control herself. She knew she had to be careful how she reacted, though, lest she give away too much. “Asari Raidan and his forces were the only ones bold enough to warn us about the threat and attempt to oppose it. That makes him a hero. More ships should have come to his assistance.” She paused for breath. “How many defense ships have survived, not including any who have routed?”

  “Let’s see,” said Sir Vasquez. “It might take a moment to tell, all our defense forces are completely scattered—for the most part. There is no longer any defense formation to speak of.”

  “I have reports,” said Sir McTavish. “Of the First Fleet and its five-hundred ships, one-hundred and fifteen remain, who have not routed. They are spread all over the system; in fact, that’s true for most of these.”

  “Just continue the report, please,” said Kalila, resting her head in her hands, feeling a wave of defeat threaten to overwhelm her. “Its flagship, the ISS Victory is destroyed; there is no fleet commander that has stepped in to retake the reins. Hence, the chaos.”

  “Sir Vasquez,” said Kalila, “Assign a new commander to the remains of the First Fleet, call it a direct appointment from me, then order any ships belonging to the First Fleet to immediately approach the planet at all speed and prepare to engage the devastators.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Sir Vasquez, “Though I do not believe any will arrive in time.”

  “Just do it!” commanded Kalila.

  “Yes, Your Highness, at once,” he began relaying commands into his earpiece.

  “As for the Second Fleet,” said Sir McTavish, “Commanded by Sir Doran, reported to have been killed in action, along with his vessel the ISS Frontier. The remains of his two-hundred capital ships stand at thirty-two—not including forces that have routed.”

  “Sir Vasquez, relay the same order to the remainder of the Second Fleet. Again, inform them it comes directly from me.”

  He acknowledged.

  “The Third Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Ravinder of the ISS Hyperion along with a strength of one-hundred and one ships. The report is…one-hundred percent casualties, Your Highness. Not a ship remains.”

  Dammit all, thought Kalila. And, despite her embarrassment at Centuria V—which really had been unavoidable—Kalila had considered Ravinder to be something of a real talent, a rising star. What a waste…

  “Report of the Fourth Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Sullinger of the ISS Seeker, his vessel remains intact, along with seventy-nine of his original two-hundred and seven capital ships.”

  “Sir Vasquez,” said Kalila.

  “Same order?” he asked

  She nodded. “And it applies to all our fleets, henceforth.”

  “Understood.”

  “As for the Fifth Fleet, commanded by Fleet Admiral Zeller of the ISS Assassin, his flagship remains, as do fifty-three capital ships of his original two-hundred and seven.”

  “Go on.”

  “As for the Sixth Fleet,” continued Sir McTavish. “It is commanded by Fleet Admiral Faried of the ISS Colossus, he retains command of the fleet and his flagship. Their original force of two-hundred and seven capital ships has been reduced to one-hundred and thirty-five.”

  “Not bad,” said Kalila automatically, and then she sighed, thinking it was rather sad when only thirty-five percent, or so, casualties sounded like good news, after only one battle. And a defeat besides!

  “As for the Seventh Fleet, commanded by Captain Adiger, of the ISS Black Swan,” said Sir McTavish. Kalila braced herself, knowing what the next would be. “The report is…one hundred percent casualties, Your Highness. I am terribly sorry.” And that was the extent of the entire Imperial Fleet. And without the Apollo Yards available to swiftly attempt to recover their strength. That meant, even if the Empire miraculously survived the attack by the Dread Fleet—which seemed impossible on every level—the Empire would remain weak and vulnerable, compared to the other powers of the galaxy. For all she knew, the Rotham Republic’s seven-hundred ships they had sent to assist in the battle, might have been as few as half of their overall military power.

  Perhaps their e
ntire goal had been to nominally fight beside the humans, observe the failure of the Empire and the collapse of Capital World—the lifeblood of the Empire, and then, once the Dread Fleet threat had moved on, somewhere else, far away, the Rotham would use their superior military power to begin conquering Imperial star systems, effectively unopposed. Kalila could not allow that. Though it finally explained what game they were playing at by sending “help” to the unwinnable battle.

  “And so, as a complete count, what does that leave us with?” asked Kalila.

  The Imperial Fleet in its entirety, not counting losses we are about to sustain in our efforts to eliminate those devastators, and also not counting vessels that have routed from the battle, that leaves us with a strength of…four-hundred and fourteen capital ships.”

  “It goes without saying,” said Kalila. “But that is the smallest the Imperial Fleet has ever been. Between the nonsensical civil war, and now the unstoppable Dread Fleet, we have far too few warships left to defend all of our territories.”

  There was no response from her advisors, but they seemed to agree with her.

  “And what of our seven-hundred Rotham friends?” asked Kalila. “How many casualties have they sustained?”

  Sir McTavish launched right into it, “The Alpha Flotilla, commanded by—”

  “Spare me the details,” said Kalila, again remembering that within very few minutes her planet was going to be bombarded by warships that would slaughter billions of lives with impunity.

  “Of the entire force of seven hundred capital ships,” said Sir McTavish. “Several proxitors were killed—about half. But the Nau survived.”

  “The ships,” said Kalila. “How many ships?”