The Phoenix Darkness

By Richard L. Sanders

The hour is grim for the Empire, which has split into opposing sides. Civil War rages between Queen Kalila Akira and Steward Caerwyn Martel. As all Imperial forces are dragged into the conflict, threatening to destroy the once mighty Imperial fleet, enemies abroad have their sights set on the juicy, and ever more defenseless, human worlds. Rotham invasion seems imminent and unstoppable.

Summers and the Nighthawk race against Blackmoth and Tristan, each hoping to reach Zander first, and get to his stockpile of isotome weapons. Meanwhile Raidan has underhanded plans.

Calvin and his team venture into Rotham space to spy on the enemy. It is vital that they collect intelligence on the Rotham fleet and get it back to the queen so she can stop any Rotham invasion. But, unbeknownst to them, one member of the team is a traitor, and has put them all in grave danger.

In the deepest regions of Forbidden Space, whispers abound that the Dread Fleet has awoken, charged with the purpose of purging the galaxy, and bringing to pass the Final Darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard L. Sanders
• Release date: Sep 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311605535

Richard L. Sanders

Richard is 34 years old (and holding) and is a Salt Lake City native where he currently lives with his beautiful fiancé Emily and their dogs: June, Bentley, and Mia. (The last of which is technically a cat.) Richard is an attorney admitted to all Utah state and federal courts, but he primarily works as an investigator for the Utah government. He began publishing in 2011 while a first-year law student, and was very prolific with nine publications including eight novels, within five years. In 2016 he took a hiatus from writing, in response to emergent and challenging life circumstances that lasted until 2019. Richard spent these years focused on family, personal growth, and pro bono legal causes. He is excited by his return to the publishing world with several titles planned for release in 2021, including The Gods Who Bleed and Legacy of the Phoenix. In his spare time, he's an avid swimmer, skier, and chess player. (Up for a game? 1. e4 ...)His official website is www.blackoceanbooks.com

Book preview

The Phoenix Darkness

Book Five in the Phoenix Conspiracy Series

Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords 2021 Edition

Copyright 2012 Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords 2021 Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold for profit, however I (the author) don’t really care if you share it with others. Just keep in mind that at the time of publication I am an indebted student and every purchase is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your support and understanding.

Note to the reader: this is book five in an ongoing series. If you have not read the first book The Phoenix Conspiracy it may be found from this same retailer. I strongly advise reading it first.

www.blackoceanbooks.com

the sequel to this book is The Phoenix Reckoning, available now.

Chapter 1

In the blackness of alteredspace, Hunter Four slipped between the stars themselves. Black stars, stars unseen, a vast void and ocean of emptiness which stretched beyond the utter reaches of eternity itself. If there could be a picture, a glimpse, of all that ever was and would be captured into one solitary moment, it would be this. Utter darkness: a raw and awesome beauty without equal.

This, Blackmoth knew, was a taste of the void. It wasn’t the real thing, no. This…this alteredspace was a mere parlor trick compared to the void itself. This was a superficial pretender, the meager result of technology given to each sentient species when that species became sufficiently clever. This was a gift and nothing more. A chance for each species of its kind to peer into the infinite future and witness its own ultimate destiny and despair. And always, it was the same: blackness.

Yet most who used this gift lacked the intelligence to even understand that much. No matter: once they brushed so much as a finger against the true nature of the void, as all mortals are destined to do, there was no coming back…an experience this entire galaxy would soon be blessed with. For such was the will of the One True God.

Three destructions have come forth and rained their havoc. Three of five. Three, just as the One True God has commanded. And yet the galaxy remained in its ignorance, blind to the forces that tossed them about like feathers in so much wind.

When the final two destructions come, the luxury of ignorance will be gone. Blackmoth knew the day of the mortal had waxed and waned and now, as was the true order of the Most Divine, there would be only an ending for them, no more beginnings. Three of five, he repeated quietly, as he adjusted the controls of the small starship and double checked his heading: Izar Ceti.

Three of five. I am the fourth, the sword that brings the darkness. And I am coming for you, Zander. You shall not live to see the glory of the final two destructions. For such is the pitiful nature of your soulless being.

***

In a semi-circle around him sat all his ministers. Sergei, the Minister of Strategy was seated at his right with Oliver, his Minister of Finance, seated at his left. Of all the six buffoons that Caerwyn had puffed up to the lofty perches of his cabinet, he found these two the least useless. Though that said little for their credit.

In the center of the room, shackled, stood Fleet Admiral Virgil Tiberon. He wasn’t as tall as Caerwyn had expected nor as fierce in appearance as he’d assumed the man to be. A hero of war, Tiburon had distinguished himself multiple times during the Great War and most recently as the field commander, leading Caerwyn’s entire naval force in the great victory at the Apollo Yards. By all rights, this man should have been standing here, in the presence of lords, decorated in medals, not chains. Yet here he was, head bowed in submission, shame bleeding from his face, flanked by two of Caerwyn’s most trusted, and brutal, guardsmen.

Do you know where you are? asked Caerwyn, keeping his eyes shrewdly on the prisoner, who, by all accounts, seemed to have no explanation for his actions.

Yes, My Lord, the Admiral said.

Where?

In the Honor Chamber of the High Tower of Fleet Command.

And do you remember the last time you were here? asked Caerwyn.

Yes, My Lord Steward.

Why were you here then?

I was here then, standing in this very spot, to be offered overall command of all His Lord Steward’s naval and marine forces.

The Assembly’s forces, Caerwyn corrected him. A correction he hoped he needn’t be making soon, but for now he was still a prisoner of making proper appearances, even within the privacy of these trusted gentlemen lords. If Caerwyn had learned anything as a member of an Honor House and a Representative of the Assembly, it was to trust gentlemen little and lords even less. As for the combination…their loyalty could only be depended upon through sheer force of power or the lubricating persuasion of money. In Caerwyn’s case, he was fortunate enough to have both. But he still had to maintain appearances.

Of course, My Lord Steward, it was the Assembly’s forces, not yours. I meant no offense.

And now, weeks later, you stand here again. Pray tell us, Fleet Admiral, for what reason do you stand before us again now, as you do? Caerwyn paid close attention to the man’s eyes, which was not easy to do, as Tiberon seemed to keep his head bowed in solemn shame, though eyes open.

I do not know, he replied. Caerwyn’s instinct was to fill with anger; of course, he knew, the blathering idiot. Don’t play games with me, Caerwyn thought. You damn well know why you’re here. But instead, Caerwyn retained his calm; after all, it was conceivable the Fleet Admiral did not know for certain why he’d been brought here. The moment his ship arrived in the system and he’d accepted the summons from Steward Caerwyn Martel to appear on Capital World, he’d been captured, taken under cover of darkness, and dragged here in shackles. Had the man’s crime been any less severe, or any less obvious, Caerwyn would not expect him to know what he’d done to offend the powers that be, but in this case, there was precious little room for legitimate doubt.

You, sir, said Sergei, Minister of Strategy, now speaking up, are standing before us as a traitor.

And whom did I betray, exactly? asked Tiberon.

"Silence," bellowed Caerwyn, still only just managing to contain his fury. You will speak when spoken to.

Fleet Admiral Virgil Tiberon did not reply.

Sergei cleared his throat and continued, "You stand here as a traitor, sir, because we have numerous reports that forces under your command, a strength of more than sixty ships of war, were closing in on the ISS Black Swan, which had no adequate defense, and the opportunity was presented whereby you could have captured the pretender queen, or else destroyed her, and in either case you would have brought an end to this war. And yet, despite your numbers, the righteousness of the cause, and the certainty of the strategy, you did knowingly, and without good provocation, order your forces to withdraw and instead allow the rebel instigator, that wretched, insurrectionist, pretender queen to escape unharmed. Do you deny it?"

Don’t bother, Caerwyn was tempted to add. The evidence was indisputable.

I do not deny it, said Tiburon, saying perhaps the first intelligent thing since he’d arrived.

Then you admit you are working on behalf of the pretender queen and that your sympathies lie with Kalila Akira, enemy of the state?

No, My Lord, I am neither working with her, nor do my sympathies align with hers. She is a criminal, a usurper, and she does not deserve the throne she seeks.

Again, Caerwyn was nothing but baffled. Why would this fool even pretend, after admitting he let her go, that he stood on the side of righteousness against her?

Sergei looked at a loss for what to ask next, so Caerwyn resumed the questioning. You say you are against her, and yet you let her go. Explain.

My Lords, I joined the navy to defend the Empire. I joined the battle to defend the Assembly’s throne against a usurper. But I never joined His Majesty’s Forces, peace rest his soul, to shed Akiran blood and slaughter the last living child of Hisato Akira. He was a great man.

Caerwyn wished he could punch a beggar for every time he heard someone pay lip service to the dead king. The man was a royal imbecile and he deserved the death he got, violent and terrifying as it was, but just because he came from a famous family, had reigned, mostly incompetently, for many years, and happened to be murdered on the Assembly floor didn’t elevate the man to some kind of sainthood. And yet, to maintain his good image with the people, and continue to nurture his own claim to the throne, even Caerwyn Martel himself had to bow and stoop and give lip service to the idol that was King Hisato Akira. May his rotting bones be eaten by beetles…

You had sympathy for our late king, as did we all, said Caerwyn, delicately. But you admit his daughter is a usurper and a criminal. Why not disable her ship, storm it by force, and capture her alive? That would have ended the war, satisfied justice, and you would have no Akiran blood on your hands. Why not do that? Caerwyn resisted the urge to stand up out of his chair and strike the man in the head for his stupidity. But it had taken enough work just to get into the chair, so the last thing Caerwyn wanted to do was find the energy to wiggle out of it in, no doubt, an undignified manner.

My Lords, I loved and knew her family well, said Tiberon. "As I said before, she is all that is left of Hisato’s bloodline, and to capture her would still have meant a death sentence. I still had hope, as I do now, that she will see the wisdom of laying down her arms and submitting to you lords and come about it peacefully. I am no fool; I know this is an idealist’s dream and the war will likely end with her blood. But I knew then, as I do now, that I couldn’t be the one to spill it. A man has nothing if he hasn’t got hope. And I hope against reason, against probability, and against logic itself, that she will give up her cause, bow her head to you, and that you will grant her clemency. It was that hope which forced me to stay my hand in the battle, and that is what I ask of you now. No, I beg of you, my most glorious and righteous lords. I ask for a swift death, not a painful one, and for a promise that, should Kalila lay down her arms, she will be granted an offer of clemency. If I could have but those two things…"

You’re in no position to be asking for anything, snapped Sergei. And, Caerwyn had to admit, Sergei had the right of it. But Tiburon’s wishes did give Caerwyn something useful. So long as he knew what Tiberon wanted, he could use that to control him and perhaps make something useful of this debacle yet.

Gag him, said Caerwyn. And cover his ears. One of the two guards violently tied a gag around Tiberon’s mouth, while the other placed soundproof block puffs in his ears, then covered them with his hands as an additional measure of security. Also blindfold him. The first guard complied.

Friends, lords, ministers, said Caerwyn, looking at the cabinet of advisors he’d selected, mostly out of an ability to trust and control them rather than any merit, skill, or insights any of them had to offer, except perhaps Oliver and Sergei, whose expertise was not something Caerwyn believed he understood adequately in his own right. Do you believe him?

I don’t see why not, said Abhishu, Minister of Commerce.

Because he might be working for the false queen, said Caerwyn.

I agree with Minister Abhishu, said Sergei. The man commanded the battle with skill and expertise, far more than mere competence. If he’d wanted to sabotage our war effort, he could have ordered the ships into bad formations, maneuvered the support ships into positions of vulnerability, and otherwise made tactical mistakes which would have given Kalila Akira the upper hand, perhaps even victory outright. Yet, instead, he manages a perfectly respectable war effort on our part, commits to tactics with the methodical precision of a textbook, and only errs by allowing the pretender queen to escape.

Which is a colossal error, let’s not forget, said Oliver.

Hear, hear, said Caerwyn.

Yes, I admit it, said Sergei. And one probably deserving of death. But it’s not a suspicious mistake. If a commander fights valiantly in the field and makes no effort to sabotage our battle, and then merely chooses not to pursue and capture the enemy, that is hardly proof of collusion with that enemy. More like it is an old-fashioned act of mercy.

A highly antiquated notion, and dangerous, to carry around with you on the battlefield, said Caerwyn.

I also agree, said Sergei.

So now, the question is, what is to be done with him? asked Caerwyn.

The matter seems simple enough to me, said Sali, Minister of Justice. The punishment is death, and the evidence abundant. We try him and then we execute him.

It’s not so simple as that, said Caerwyn, wishing his advisors didn’t so often need the political consequences of such decisions to be spoon-fed to them in such small pieces. The man is a hero of war and, by all rights, a hero of a battle. A battle which we have made very large efforts to spread the joyous news, far and wide, was a complete success. What would the people think of our victory if we then go and judicially sentence and execute the man who commanded the battle and, in the eyes of the people, won us the victory?

We do it here, tonight, suggested Sergei. No one knows he's here, and no one will know it’s his corpse when we send it away in very small containers to be incinerated. The man simply disappeared. A mystery for the ages.

Not bad, said Caerwyn, but not quite the opportunity I’m aiming for here. Think about it; we already know the two things he most desires, a swift death and a promise of clemency for Kalila. If we promise him those things, then we can use him. If he is under our control, we give him a script, feed him a story, and then he will come forward, declaring himself for the enemy, and we can execute him as a traitor; make an example out of him. Stymie the traitorous feelings of others by showing what happens to those who betray the Empire, and at the same time creating a vacuum of wartime leadership heroism which can be filled by me.

Forgive me, My Lord, but you, sir? asked Oliver. Because it was Oliver, Caerwyn decided to overlook the slight and instead explain.

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, neither 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 from 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 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 He 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 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 priority. 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 paramount 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 dress uniform cap, along with other unmistakable signs of aging, such as a wrinkling in the skin, a thinner, gaunter appearance, and so on, he remained a fixture of strength in her eyes, and in the way he carried himself, there persisted 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, most 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 scrambling 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."

They are, Your Highness, and there is more than enough water there for the population, once they manage to restore its purity. But, until then…

Does Cygnus III have any excess water, or are they as behind on water as they are food?

They have some excess water, Your Highness, but most of it is reserved for the rushed cultivation of crops.

Order them to set aside a sufficient amount to be given over to the convoy we’re sending from Leo-Venetici in exchange for the food supplies. Have the convoy make repeat trips if necessary.

Such an effort is dangerous, and all convoys will be at the mercy of any Assembly patrols, or even pirates, said Adiger.

Pirates? Kalila furrowed her brow.

There have been strange reports, Your Highness. But I will see to it that your orders are carried out and that, should multiple trips be necessary, the convoys take different charted paths each time.

Very good, said Kalila. Now, what of Ophiuchus? Ophiuchus was something of a crown jewel on the queen’s list of loyal systems. The Ophiuchus system, while boasting nothing nearly so impressive as the engineering finesse of the former Apollo yards, did lay claim to the largest natural supply of ores and minerals of all known types compared to any other system in the Empire. Such resources, which were desperately demanded for building and repairing starships and interstellar structures, were treasures beyond reckoning, and promised to become increasingly valuable as the battles continued.

I’m happy to report the system is stable, loyal, well-defended, and all mining operations are operating at full capacity, said Adiger.

That, at least, was some good news. What about neutral-leaning or potentially disloyal systems; did our alleged defeat at Apollo shoo away any of our more important supporters?

Difficult to say at this point, said Adiger. Carina, Pisces II, Pegasus Minor, and Capricornus are each systems worth keeping a sharp eye on. But, for now, none has taken any action, or made any statement that they are disloyal or uncooperative. They've just been…slow and cautious in their contributions to the war effort.

Delicately put, Captain. How slow, exactly? Kalila needed to know what she could trust and what she could not. And, unlike Captain Adiger, she could not force herself to speak only of the optimistic side of the cloud when there was a chance that, should she look underneath, it was grey and storming.

I’ll have reports made and sent to you directly, Your Highness.

Very good.

Adiger saluted, clearly expecting to be dismissed, but there was another thing which, after a moment, he picked up on. Something else, Your Majesty?

Have you given any thought to the warning Mr. Cross sent us?

Of course, Your Majesty.

And? Kalila sat up straighter, staring Adiger down with her regal gaze. If he’s right and there is a fleet of Rotham warships able to slip through the DMZ and attack the Empire, what are we to do about that?

My hope is that his intelligence is incorrect, said Adiger, or the attack is not so imminent that…

We both know hope alone is no kind of defense at all, said Kalila. What do we do when hundreds of Rotham warships storm The Corridor? Those systems cannot defend themselves.

With respect, Your Highness, many of those systems have declared for the Assembly or, even more commonly, have taken no side. How can we be expected to protect those subjects who do not recognize your sovereignty?

Typical, thought Kalila. Adiger was not a cold man, she knew, and he was choosing not to think of the devastation and slaughter of innocence he was essentially arguing they should allow to happen for purely pragmatic reasons. We must look to the defenses of such subjects, whether or not they kneel before me now, because I am queen of an empire. And those systems, whether they acknowledge it or not, are part of that Empire. Now tell me, Captain, what sort of queen would I be if I cannot defend my own people?

Adiger looked at her as if he expected this to be some sort of trick question. A pragmatic queen, he answered, after a moment’s pause. Still, clearly, married to his idea of not throwing her forces, possibly to their demise, in defense of worlds which had yet to bow to her. But she could forgive him his pragmatism as he did not shoulder the weight she carried, nor the guilt. Deep inside, Kalila had demons who haunted her dreams, night and day, and would do all she could, including laying down her own life if necessary, to right the many wrongs which had unfolded before her. The wrongs she’d failed to stop, she had allowed. In most cases, she’d failed even to understand them, and the risks, before it was too late.

I would be no better than Caerwyn Martel, she said, her voice firm as steel. He looks to himself and his own, because that's what is good for him. What kind of monarch is that? This Empire needs a leader who will defend the whole of the Empire and see to the needs of all. Not just the politically convenient, wouldn’t you agree?

Adiger looked trapped by the question but gave his assent. Despite his obvious concern that committing to such an engagement would never result in Kalila successfully retaking her father’s throne. If she should fight the Rotham, her fleet would be decimated, if not destroyed outright. With what, then, could she hope to challenge Caerwyn Martel and the Assembly of fools he has under his thumb back on Capital World?

Then, it’s decided, said Kalila, should the Rotham threat appear, we will defend our countrymen.

Yes, Your Majesty.

But that doesn’t mean we absolutely must fight them alone, said Kalila. Now, tell me, how do I look?

Adiger looked taken aback by the question. Regal, Your Highness, was all he could make himself say.

I intend to send a message, clarified Kalila, and it’s important that I look my best and appear my strongest.

Who is the message to?

The entire Empire.

Chapter 2

Repairs were ongoing at Taurus, but the Harbinger was beginning to look like the spectacle of death it was always meant to be. Each new battle brought it new scars, which added to its ferocious mystique and, as Raidan stared at the magnificent dreadnought through the window of the shuttlecraft, he couldn’t help but feel a chill trace his spine. She was still battle-damaged; there was no denying that. And it was clear, from the various tugs, bots, and other machinery working the starport that new armor was still being outfitted onto the ship, while other systems were repaired and replaced, each undergoing a series of tests and diagnostics.

Raidan had mostly enjoyed his time on the red, oxidized surface of Taurus IV, inside the safety of the above-and-below ground biodome network, of course. Raidan considered himself to be rather well-travelled, but this had been something new. A desert planet, and a relatively minor one in the system, with a population of only ten thousand, whose primary work was

Reviews for The Phoenix Darkness

[Monika Tovari · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The first and the second were very promising.
I struggle to read this one.