The Phoenix Reckoning

By Richard L. Sanders

As Kalila's forces battle the Rotham invasion, Blackmoth is attempting to detonate an isotome weapon in close proximity.

After a coup against White Rook, Raidan now controls the Organization. He has taken his remaining warships to Capital World, the planet he loves most in the galaxy, and is threatening to destroy it, unless Caerwyn Martel is surrendered to his custody.

Calvin has returned to the Nighthawk and together he and his crew attempt their most dangerous adventure yet, an excursion into Forbidden Space where, Calvin believes, he will uncover the ultimate truths behind the remaining secrets. Including who the mysterious human is that the Rahajiim intelligence failed to identify.

Rain and Calvin have developed romantic feelings for one another, but can there be any future for the stalwart adventurer and dying doctor? Summers also has feelings for Calvin, though she denies them.

Tristan demands what was promised. Nimoux struggles to recover from a gunshot wound. Rez’nac is desperate to reclaim his honor. Shen wants desperately for Sarah to give him another chance—meanwhile he must struggle with the debilitating pain of The Calling. The Khans threaten to take Aleator One, with the help of the vicious Enclave.

All the while, the Dread Fleet has begun its campaign of extermination, starting with the Polarian Worlds it deems too secular. Their unstoppable march of death and devastation leads them to human space where, either the Empire will find some way to stop them, or else humanity will fall as fulfillment of Polarian prophecy. The Final Battle. The Final Darkness. The Final Reckoning!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard L. Sanders
• Release date: Dec 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310461347

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 Reckoning

Book Six in the Phoenix Conspiracy Series

Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords 2020 Edition

Copyright 2015 Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords 2020 Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is licensed for your personal use but may not be resold for profit. There is no DRM, I will never utilize DRM, and I encourage you to share this ebook with everyone you know. Most importantly, however you got this ebook, I hope you enjoy it.

Note to the reader:

This is Book Six 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.

Book Seven, The Phoenix Reckoning, the finale of the Phoenix Conspiracy Series, is now available.

Check out these and other titles by the author at:

www.blackoceanbooks.com

Chapter 01

In his final minute, as the ship melted all around him and the heat threatened to overwhelm him—heat so intense it would have killed a normal man long ago—Blackmoth praised the One True God with a final prayer. It was one he’d memorized long ago, even before he’d been given this honor, to be the Harbinger of the Reckoning. His lips formed the words of the Last Sacrament.

In this Moment! Hear my Prayer! Great Almighty, Everywhere! Now is Come! To Lay to Rest! The Darkness of the Wretchedest! And as they March, thy Soldiers True! Leading an Eternal Coup! For they Must Come! To Ring the Hour! And Sound the Trumpet of thy Power! In Ashes Born, in Ashes Die! The Chaos now shall Multiply! And all must Perish by thy Sword! Submitting to thy Divine Word. And with our Blood we do Baptize! And from the Nothing it Shall Rise! A Glory and a Heaven new! A Universe so Pure and True! But First We Hear the Beckoning! The Hour of the Reckoning! So, let us All Rejoin the Void! As Everything Must be Destroyed! A Sacrifice of all that’s Flawed! A Tribute to our One True God!

He could see nothing. The ship’s systems had all failed, including its ability to dim the overwhelming brightness of the Thetican sun through the forward window; he’d gone blind staring into its majesty, finding a kind of poetic harmony between his blindness and the darkness that was coming, the darkness that would swallow the galaxy. The destruction of this star would be but the beginning; it was the Dread Fleet’s march, world to world, that would usher in the last of the One True God’s five destructions.

The ship was swiftly buckling, and the heat began to scorch his skin—he felt his clothes and hair catch fire—behind him he heard the isotome missile beginning to activate.

"Five there shall be. Five is His number—" he struggled to get out the words, his consciousness drifted in and out, and the pain, now all over his body, had become excruciating. But Blackmoth did not fight the flames, nor did he yield to his primal urge to scream. Instead, he continued to chant until he could chant no more. And then, in a moment that seemed too quick to be real, the Hunter Four’s hull failed entirely.

***

Status report, said Calvin from the command position. It didn’t matter how long he’d been away from that chair, or how many roles he’d played, starships he’d captained, or away missions he’d commanded, that chair felt like home. And the instant he had retaken his station on the IWS Nighthawk…that was the moment when he had felt like himself again. He wasn’t playing some political game, struggling to serve as Executor of the Empire, neither was he trapped on some alien starship trying to use civilian equipment to conduct recon, no, now he was home. Back in the one place in the universe that made sense to him. The one place he belonged.

All defense systems are operational, said Miles. His large, broad figure seemed as much a fixture on the bridge as the defense station itself. Although we could use more missiles and ammunition for our guns. I can give you an exact count if you’d like.

Just make a record of it, said Calvin. For when we make port. Other stations?

"The Nighthawk’s systems are mostly in good working order," said Shen. It was a great feeling to see the man back at the center, forward-most station on the ship…right where he belonged. His genius was an asset to the crew, his skills unrivaled, but most of all he was Calvin’s friend. He’d even risked his life to save Calvin, back on Remus Nine, and seeing him here, knowing that he was all right, it helped to ease the survivor’s guilt Calvin had carried ever since that fateful, blood-soaked mission.

Primary, secondary, and tertiary? asked Calvin.

All critical systems are operating normally; there is some damage to the shield generator, though not enough to prevent its operation. We have also sustained minor trouble with the alteredspace drive. Again, not enough to keep us from alteredspace, as you can plainly see out the window, but some of the calibrators are out of sync. Mister Cowen reports that engineering is working on the problem and they have a solution. Secondary and tertiary systems have a glitch or two, but nothing alarming. Again, the engineering staff is doing what they can. If they haven’t fixed it by the time we dock, they should have no trouble isolating each of the issues and repairing them then.

Thank you, Shen, said Calvin. It felt good to be with his friends again, and in command, able to use given names and speak casually, without having to worry about a person’s title or honorific, like he had in the queen’s service. Sarah, how’s navigation?

Everything looks good over here, Cal, said Sarah. Calvin was surprised to see his pilot wearing a standard uniform; he knew that she preferred to slightly modify them for comfort or fashion, and Calvin had always allowed it; evidently Summers had gotten to her.

Summers, said Calvin, twisting his chair to the left so he could see the beautiful woman next to him. Even though Calvin’s idle thoughts were on Rain, and his heart seemed to beat all the quicker when he thought of the red-haired doctor, Calvin couldn’t help the jolt of electricity he felt whenever he looked at Summers. It was like being hit with a hammer, a sudden and blunt reminder of just how undeservedly and stunningly attractive she was. Calvin blinked, putting the thought out of his mind.

Yes, sir? replied Summers.

The fact that she’d taken to calling him sir rather than lieutenant—which had always emphasized the lower part of his lieutenant commander rank, was something he interpreted as a good sign. She trusts me now. Just as I have shown my faith in her. Finally, at last, the Nighthawk’s crew is a functioning, fluidic team, just as it used to be when Anand was here.

Status report regarding personnel, if you please, said Calvin.

With your team’s return and the acquisition of Nimoux, that gives us forty crewmen. Still, six fewer than ideal, but enough to cover all the rotations. As for the Special Forces garrison, of our original twenty-four, none remain. All have been killed in action or else have left the ship. We have one trained member of Special Forces remaining to us—Captain Nimoux—and four soldiers, all mercenaries. Nimoux reports that, for mercenaries, the four soldiers are reasonably well trained, probably thanks to the late Captain Pellew’s drills, but none of them are professional soldiers.

Which leaves us with what exactly? asked Calvin.

Forty crewmen and five soldiers, or a total of forty-foul souls, said Summers. Please note that I have counted Captain Nimoux both toward our number of crewmen and our number of soldiers, since he has been assigned to both duties. I also omitted counting Rez’nac, as I’m uncertain what you wish to do with him.

Thank you, Summers, said Calvin, still in shock that his entire Special Forces garrison had been wiped out. It had been hard enough learning that Pellew had mutinied and taken control of the ship in order to secure the isotome weapon—no doubt for Raidan—and harder still to learn that Pellew and all of his men had failed to hold onto it against a solo operator who had singlehandedly boarded the Nighthawk, slaughtered its soldiers, and stolen the isotome weapon, returning the total number of missing isotome missiles to fifteen. Which put roughly…as many as 130 billion lives in danger.

Let’s not forget the elephant in the room, said Nimoux from his seat on Calvin’s right. Calvin still had trouble getting used to the fact that the legendary Lafayette Nimoux, his former enemy, was serving aboard the Nighthawk, and under Calvin’s command! Calvin had even considered turning the ship and the mission over to Nimoux. After all, he was the legend, he was the greatest operative of Intel Wing, and he commanded a higher rank; Calvin paled compared to him, despite his own impressive record that included two silver stars. But this was Calvin’s ship and Calvin’s people; they knew him, they trusted him, and Calvin just couldn’t turn it over to someone else. Not so long as he was aboard anyway.

You mean the hull breach on deck four, don’t you? asked Calvin.

Yes, said Nimoux. Although it has been expertly patched by our crack team of engineers and the deck has been cleared for use, I don’t think it’s wise to trust that solution to hold out forever…especially if our current mission is still to enter Polarian Forbidden Space.

It is, confirmed Calvin. And I agree with you. We have no choice but to make port to receive a proper repair. We’ll also have to take on new soldiers. Present company excluded; I don’t trust the ones we have to cut the muster when push comes to shove.

I agree that we need more soldiers, said Nimoux. Considering the likely chance that we will have to deploy onto a station, board a ship, or send a team to the ground somewhere—somehow—but I’ve started working with Ferreiro and the others and they show potential. More importantly, I have gotten them to trust me. And they now know not to question my commands.

If you want them, then you may keep them, said Calvin, still skeptical of their capabilities—after all, where were they when Pellew and the others were fighting for the isotome weapon? Had these four been too inept, or too cowardly to participate in the action?

Thank you, sir, said Nimoux. Being called sir by the likes of Lafayette Nimoux was flattering, but it felt wrong.

Just Calvin is enough, said Calvin. "No ‘sir’ is necessary."

As you wish, Calvin, said Nimoux.

Well, that was easy, thought Calvin. If only Summers had proven so compliant. It might have saved me a lot of trouble early on.

Sir, said Summers. "We know we need to make port to fix the ship and collect more soldiers, but you haven’t given us a proper destination. Our current heading is still The Charred Worlds, Polarian space."

We’re moving in the right direction, said Calvin. "But you’re right, we can’t make port at The Charred Worlds, obviously."

If we keep moving this way, sir, soon there won’t be any Imperial outposts or stations anywhere nearby, said Summers.

You’re quite right.

She gave him a blank look, clearly wanting him to explain further. Calvin was hesitant. He had an idea in mind, and, although he’d furiously debated it inside his own head as to whether it was brilliant or insane, he didn’t want to share it with his fellow officers until he’d decided whether or not it was something he wanted to do. But, as the hours had gone by, and the Nighthawk had passed up several opportunities to divert course and make port at one of the Imperial stations, Calvin realized that he had made up his mind after all.

We are going to make port, he said.

Have you decided where? asked Summers.

I have.

"And…?"

Sarah, Calvin turned his chair away from Summers so he could face the helm. Please set course for Aleator, best jump depth.

"Aleator? asked Summers. You can’t be serious!" Indeed, the sense of surprise that permeated the room seemed to come from every single person, except Calvin himself.

That’s right, Aleator, he said.

Aye, aye, said Sarah. Course laid in. She obeyed the command as given, without questioning Calvin; he was happy to see that her faith in him remained unchanged, even if her taste in uniform protocol had changed.

Stars filled the window as Sarah brought the ship out of alteredspace. They disappeared just as quickly after she engaged the new jump. Dropping out of alteredspace to change course was the fastest way, although technically unnecessary.

I’m afraid my reaction is much the same as the Commander’s, said Nimoux, getting Calvin’s attention. Aleator does not seem like an ideal place for repairs, taking on soldiers, or really much of anything, to be honest.

Calvin, have you lost your mind? asked Summers. He was glad to see her emotional side break through her armor of disciplined etiquette and protocol, and Calvin never minded when his officers legitimately raised concerns with his orders. That helped him to keep giving good ones.

I assure you my mind is quite intact and accounted for, he said, turning back to face Summers.

Then, please explain, she folded her arms and looked at him skeptically.

The last time we had soldiers on this ship, said Calvin, they were a combination of professional Special Forces operatives, under the command of Captain Pellew, and several mercenaries on loan from Raidan—four of which we still have. Then, in a moment of crisis, when you needed to trust your soldiers to execute your orders and destroy the isotome missile, they instead mutinied and took over the ship. The mercenaries only cared about what Raidan was paying them, and the Special Forces soldiers were faithful to their CO, Captain Pellew. I don’t think I have to remind you, he looked now to Nimoux, whose bandages clearly showed that he was still recovering from a gunshot wound, that having untrustworthy soldiers can be a very dangerous thing.

Nimoux nodded. I quite agree, he said. Which is why it is, and always has been, my recommendation that we make port in a system deeply loyal to Her Majesty and only approve soldiers loyal to her.

I’m of the exact same opinion, said Summers. I don’t want more soldiers from Raidan aboard this ship any more than you do, probably less even, but the choice isn’t between mercenaries from Raidan and whatever riff-raff we can find frequenting the bars and casinos of Aleator.

Thank you, both of you, for your counsel, said Calvin. "However, my mind is made up on this. I have decided that I only want soldiers whose loyalty I can control. Whose loyalty I have bought. I want them loyal to me and to this mission, not soldiers loyal to Raidan, not soldiers loyal to the queen, and not soldiers loyal to Caerwyn. Because, were I to take on more soldiers who owe loyalties higher than to this ship and this mission, the people who control them will always be able to capture this ship, or take command of our mission, and we, the crew, would be helpless to stop them."

But, are we not loyal subjects of Queen Akira? asked Nimoux.

I favor her claim to the throne, yes, said Calvin. That does not mean I want to invite her to be able to interfere with our operations. And if we bring aboard some twenty of her soldiers, then she will always be able to make the decisions about what we do—if she should exercise that option.

But, begging your pardon, Calvin, is that not our duty? asked Nimoux. Are we not on this mission at her command?

She may have commanded us…she may have allowed us, I’m not sure which, said Calvin. But we are on this mission to uncover the truth, whatever it is, and then expose that truth to the galactic public. That is our mission, and if any part of it ever becomes inconvenient for the queen, or Caerwyn, or Raidan, or anyone else, because of what we uncover, I do not wish to have a garrison full of their soldiers aboard this ship.

I see, said Nimoux. Then I suppose I misunderstood the mission parameters.

As did I, added Summers, not too happily.

I know that while I was away and you were chasing after the missing isotome weapons, you were close to the civil war and probably got a lot of news about it, said Calvin. "I don’t doubt you saw vids of the horrors, read casualty lists, probably even lost friends and loved ones in those battles.

But you have to trust me when I tell you that what I saw when I went into Alliance and then Rotham space, and what intelligence we discovered there, is that the scope of what we’re dealing with is so much greater than just the civil war back home. Yes, there is a major conflict between Kalila and Caerwyn and it is tearing our Empire apart, but we must look beyond that and recognize that the solution to all of this isn’t back that way; it’s out there. And I don’t want loyalties from the civil war to compromise what we need to do.

"And your solution is to hire a bunch of bar-trawling mercenaries yourself, out of your own pocket, and then give them access to the Nighthawk? asked Summers. And you think they will have the mettle to stand up to whatever unspeakable evils lie in wait for us, out in Forbidden Space?"

No, don’t be ridiculous, said Calvin. I intend to fill our barracks full of Roscos.

At the mention of the name, he heard a sharp inhale come from the direction of the defense post.

Miles, are you all right? asked Calvin.

Yes, said the big man, in a higher pitched voice than usual. He even seemed to shudder for a moment.

Roscos? asked Nimoux, sounding more curious than argumentative. Aren’t they gangsters?

You could say that, said Calvin.

"And you wish to bring them aboard the Nighthawk?" asked Nimoux.

As I said, we all agree we need soldiers; I merely want those soldiers to be soldiers that we can control.

Calvin, be straight with me, said Summers with a raised eyebrow. What makes you think you can control Rosco soldiers?

Money.

But whose money? pressed Summers. Surely you don’t have enough. Would you have the rest of us tap into our life savings? And even then, could you really be certain that that would be enough to sway the Roscos?

No, our money will never be enough, admitted Calvin.

Then what? Summers looked eager for an answer. No doubt she had wondered all this time, from their very first visit to Aleator, just how exactly Calvin was connected with the Roscos.

I have connections, said Calvin, hoping to leave it at that.

Obviously you have connections, said Summers. "Last time we were there, you left Aleator One in a Rotham cargo ship that I know you didn’t buy."

She’s got you there, Calvin, said Miles.

Look, it’s not a sure thing, said Calvin, but I’m going to make every arrangement so that we can repair our ship in Aleator, take-on new supplies and armaments there, and leave with twenty Rosco soldiers, each loyal to my every command.

That’s a tall order coming from someone who just admitted he didn’t have the money for such a thing, said Summers.

The commander has a point, said Nimoux. Unlike Summers, he didn’t seem hostile to the idea, merely skeptical of it. For that matter, Calvin was a little bit skeptical himself, since he’d already spent the favor that the Roscos owed him—or rather owed his father—Calvin wasn’t sure he could convince Grady to give him what he was about to ask for. Still, he had to try. If he could make this work, this would be the best solution to the problems at hand. The Roscos were the only ones he could trust not to have their own agenda—they kept a code of honor that bound them to their contracts, and their only beef was with the Khans. Not to mention that Aleator didn’t require them to divert far off mission, minimizing the delay.

Without getting into the specifics now, said Calvin, I believe it can be done. And that is the decision I have made. If I am wrong, then we will leave Aleator and head for the nearest Imperial station and make port there.

We defer to your judgment, said Nimoux.

Yes, sir, added Summers, sounding only half sincere.

Good enough, thought Calvin. Now it was just a matter of convincing Grady Rosco that helping Calvin and the Nighthawk was in his best interest.

***

Tell Viper Squadron to pull in tighter! Kalila shouted. We have to keep their escape blocked!

Sir Gregory relayed her commands to the fleet. The two of them stood over the tactical display on the Black Swan. Kalila’s flagship, along with many other capital ships, stood as a blockade against the Rotham fleet. Kalila had returned to command the battle, after transmitting her message naming Raidan an Enemy of the Empire and had been pleased to find that her forces were holding firm and the plan seemed to be working.

Only a few ships and squadrons seemed to be out of place, or otherwise struggling. In all, three squadrons had been lost, but the enemy had suffered far worse. When the Rotham had taken the bait and charged the local defenses of Thetican System, which had been augmented by some of Kalila’s ships, the rest of her fleet had swooped out from either side of the massive star at maximum speed. Together they pincer-attacked the—suddenly out of position—Rotham fleet and didn’t pull any punches. Even now, the Rotham ships were harassed on all sides, by attack pass after attack pass, as they fought to find purchase, some position to which they could hold as a fortified unit. But Kalila’s ships had anticipated this and were making it as hard as possible for them.

Without any option for retreat, the Rotham fleet had bit down harder on the local defenses, essentially obliterating them, but this only allowed Kalila’s forces to swing the hammer down upon them more forcefully from behind. In desperation, the Rotham ships had strayed from the combat, leaving their weakened starships to die, and now the battle had moved much closer to the Thetican star itself. No doubt the Rotham intended to use it as a hazard to maneuver around and allow their surviving ships to escape. Kalila intended to give them no such option.

Sir, the enemy has been reduced to fifty-percent strength, reported Sir Gregory. They continue to maneuver.

Stay on them! she commanded. Order the blockade to move in; it’s time to finish this.

Yes, Your Majesty.

Captain Adiger, said Kalila, looking up. The man stood in the center of the Black Swan’s bridge, commanding the mighty vessel against the few ships that had been stupid enough to tangle with it. We shall lead the attack!

Yes, Your Highness, he called out, then gave his various orders to his station chiefs.

Kalila looked at Sir Gregory. You’re smiling, sir.

Apologies, Your Majesty, it’s just, this will be a fine victory you are delivering this day.

Kalila nodded. A much needed one, at the very least.

The capital ships from the blockade, led by the Black Swan, reached firing range of the core enemy fleet, and began opening fire. Beam weapons and missiles could be seen on the display, tiny and numerous, almost beyond counting. Kalila watched as the Black Swan turned broadside and shredded three Rotham battleships that had sought to engage it. Their lights blinked off on the display.

Stay strong, everyone, said Kalila. Sir Gregory relayed the message to the fleet.

They’re starting to get desperate, observed Sir Gregory, as the Rotham formation seemed to split apart, some ships trying to rout.

Send word to each wing commander, said Kalila. Remind our fighters to prioritize shooting down enemy missiles first and enemy drone craft second. If they have any isotome missiles, we’re not going to let them use one.

Sir Gregory relayed the message, although Kalila knew the reminder was just that, a reminder. Her fighters had long been deployed with the special assignment of spotting and destroying any ordnance fired in the direction of the star. Thus far, none had been spotted, and she had more than enough fighter screens to be certain of it. It was enough to make her doubt that the enemy had even brought the isotome weapons with them. Most likely, the Rotham had hoped to capture Thetican System and use it as a base of operations. It was ideally situated inside The Corridor for just such a purpose. Too bad for them Kalila had prioritized destroying the enemy’s troop transports and landing craft. She would not have another Renora on her hands.

The enemy fleet is in disarray, said Sir Gregory. It won’t be long now.

Finish it, said Kalila. Offer them no quarter. The last thing she needed was to oversee a hundred boarding actions and lose thousands more lives trying to capture Rotham vessels that, likelier than not, were only pretending to surrender. She’d read of enough instances from the Great War where a boarding party entering a surrendering Rotham warship found the enemy lying in ambush, or the vessel rigged to explode once the humans were aboard. There would be none of that today.

The enemy fleet’s strength is now less than forty percent, said Sir Gregory.

And ours? asked Kalila.

About seventy-nine or—

He was interrupted by a loud shout from one of Adiger’s bridge chiefs. If Kalila remembered correctly, it was the Ops chief. SIR! came the shout, I’m detecting a massive surge in energy—it’s coming from the star!

Let me see that, Adiger scrambled over to the station.

Your Highness… said Adiger, sounding almost speechless. It’s…it’s the star. Kalila looked up, then out the window at the Thetican Parent star in all its orange glory, then back at Adiger.

What about it? she demanded, now walking toward the Ops station herself.

It’s…gone, said Adiger.

Gone? said Kalila, as she pointed out the window. It’s right there.

Then, as if she’d flipped a switch, the star vanished in a flash of white. One moment it was there, vast and orange, the next it was a blinding blink of white, and then a spiraling swirl of stellar debris.

"Isotome…" she whispered.

There’s been a massive collapse of the Thetican parent star! reported the Ops chief. There is a tremendous shockwave of stellar debris moving away from the collapse. Its heading is… the Ops chief’s voice trailed off momentarily. "Everywhere. It’s moving faster than light…"

We have to get the fleet out of here! said Adiger.

Sir Gregory, said Kalila, as she sprinted back toward the tactical station. Order the fleet to jump immediately!

To where?

"Anywhere!"

General Order to all ships, he said frantically into his headset. Commence alteredspace jump. I repeat, all ships, commence alteredspace jump immediately. Destination irrelevant. Jump immediately!

Sir Gregory shot Kalila a look. They’re asking about their deployed fighters and short-range vessels.

Kalila knew there wasn’t any time. For that matter, as the Black Swan twisted hurriedly around and prepared its own alteredspace drives, Kalila would consider it lucky if even she escaped the imminent shockwave.

Tell them to jump now! There’s no time to wait!

All ships jump immediately, said Sir Gregory emphatically into his headset. "I repeat, all ships, jump immediately! Do not recover your short-range craft. Jump into alteredspace now! Do not continue to engage the enemy!"

Kalila watched the lights nearest to the star all blink out suddenly as the shockwave overtook them.

"Goddammit, she whispered. Jump, people. Jump!" The last thing she saw on the tactical display, as the Black Swan began its leap into alteredspace a full six seconds before impact with the shockwave, was the sight of the Thetican planet itself, sitting there innocently, perhaps only now realizing that every single person on that planet was about to die.

***

There goes our ride, came the chatter over the headset. The voice belonged to Midshipman MacDouglas, one of Kenzie’s wingmen.

I said to keep this line clear, said Kenzie, berating her officer. "And hold course for the Majestic Carrier, full throttle."

But Lieutenant, said Dahlmans, Kenzie’s other surviving wingman. That’s what MacDouglas means.

What? demanded Kenzie, still adjusting her craft’s systems to divert everything she possibly could to engines.

It’s gone, sir, said Dahlmans.

Yeah, look, said MacDouglas.

Kenzie looked out her window and saw several large capital ships, many of them blinking away into alteredspace, but she was sure the Majestic Carrier was there. It had to be. That was their command ship, their home, and their only hope of escaping the shockwave fast on their stern.

That can’t be right, said Kenzie, adjusting her targeting computer and flipping through the identities of the remaining visible ships. She went through the list twice before she believed them. Well, I’ll be damned…

We’re all damned, said Dahlmans.

"See? See?" said MacDouglas.

Kenzie dared a glance behind her and watched for a few seconds as several vessels, most of them short range, were swallowed up by the shockwave and instantly reduced to debris so fine her scanners couldn’t even detect it. Human ships and Rotham both, the shockwave did not discriminate. And any minute now it would strike the planet. Kenzie did not envy anyone living there, even if she faced the exact same peril, at least she had a beggar’s chance of outrunning the damn scythe stroke.

Stick with me and keep that shockwave to stern, said Kenzie, mustering all her remaining calm.

There’s no point, said Dahlmans.

Keep it to stern and route all available power to your engines, burn them hotter than hell. We’re going to outrun this thing, insisted Kenzie.

They left us! They left us! Dahlmans continued to wail.

Cut the chatter, Hellcat Two, snapped Kenzie. She again made some fine adjustments to her systems, now draining power out of everything, other than a small amount for life-support and an extra-small amount for communications. This boosted her fighter craft to a velocity it had never seen before; she couldn’t even get an accurate reading. Everyone, keep it together.

The last of the capital ships blinked away, disappearing into alteredspace, and all that lay ahead of them was the vast black ocean of space, and stars innumerable too far away to reach.

Come on, come on, said Kenzie, checking behind her once again. With her targeting system down and scopes offline, she had to eyeball it, but she could see the shockwave out the back window, and, despite all her efforts, it did seem to be gaining.

They passed the planet like it was standing still, their fighters screaming silently as they tore through normal space and reckless speed. Still, despite the intense acceleration, with no objects of reference ahead anymore, it suddenly felt like she was sitting still, sitting upright in a metal coffin, looking behind her to occasionally see the shockwave creeping closer, and there was nothing she could do.

She jerked the yoke, compensating for some lateral drift, and made certain that her trajectory was as directly away from the shockwave as possible. If she got far enough out, she hoped, it would disperse and perhaps she and her wingmen could escape. Then they’ll come back for us, she thought to herself. They’ll have to.

Keep together, she said over the radio. Keep it together.

"Hellcat Leader, it’s gaining on us. I’m going as fast as I possibly can and it’s gaining on us!"

Just stick with me, Hellcat Three, said Kenzie. "A little farther. If we can get a little farther, we just might pull this off." She turned to look behind her at just the wrong time…she saw the shockwave crash into the Thetican planet and destroy it. One moment a perfectly intact planet with billions of lives, then, in a blink, chunks of debris hurled across space. All the life, industry, structures, all of it, snuffed out faster than blowing on a candle. Kenzie winced and returned her view forward, determined to look only forward from now on.

Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t help but think that she was next. They were next. She and her wingmen had been luckily enough deployed farther away from the star than most of the other short-range craft, but that didn’t matter if they couldn’t escape this shockwave.

Not long left for us, said MacDouglas.

"Keep it together, Hellcat Three," said Kenzie.

Wing Commander, it’s over. We’re done for, said Dahlmans.

We’re all right, just keep that throttle wide, wide open!

It’s right behind us, said Dahlmans.

Look forward and stay strong, said Kenzie, not sure whether she meant her wingmen or herself.

It’s right on top of me, I— Dahlmans’ voice was lost.

Hold steady.

He’s gone! screamed MacDouglas. He’s bloody gone.

But we’re not! Now hold!

Sir, it’s been an honor serving you.

I said hooooooold!

It’s right on top of us! said MacDouglas.

Kenzie dared a glance behind her and saw that he was right. They were done for.

Do you think it will hurt? asked MacDouglas.

I don’t kn—

CHAPTER 02

Calvin was in his office. It felt strange to be back here. Even though Summers had made the gesture of redecorating the office to how Calvin had left it, or rather un-decorating it, he still felt a mixture of emotions to be in the chair.

Part of him was thrilled to be home, and even felt possessive of the chair, the office, and the ship. Yet, another part of him was still out there, back on Capital World, or else out in Alliance Space, or Rotham Space, haunted by the regrets of mistakes he’d made while he was away. He wished he could reverse the clock and do it again, do it differently, do it better. Yet another part of him wanted just as badly to reverse the clock and not do it at all. To give a firm "no thank you" to the princess when she asked him to accompany her to Capital World, and instead have spent his past several months here, where he belonged. Perhaps they would have even found and destroyed the isotome weapons.

Then again, had he not gone, they wouldn’t have the intel they had. And there was no reason for him to think he would have recovered the isotome weapons when Summers had failed. Sure, he knew the ship and crew better and had more experience commanding it in the field, and he had the benefit of Intel Wing training, but, after a survey of her reports, there were no obvious mistakes that she had made. Not as far as he could tell. She had put forth a sincere and intelligent effort to recover the weapons, and—the way he saw it—her failure was not her fault. Even though he was pretty sure she saw it differently.

He took a sip from his water bottle and instinctively thought about equarius. Something about being back here reminded him of the drug. He didn’t want anything to do with it, other than to weaponize it against the replicants. Certainly he didn’t want to relapse and fall back into his old, unsustainable ways. And now that the terrible withdrawals had finally gone away, going back down that road would be the stupidest thing he could possibly do. And he knew it.

But still…there was some part of him that brought it to his mind from time to time. He didn’t like that part of himself, nor did he seek out to think of it, but, like any thought, it was fleeting, and ethereal, and the more one tried not to think it, the more futile the endeavor became.

Perhaps I will always be haunted by equarius, he thought. He told himself that he was strong, and that he was still that same strong person that had flushed his stash down the toilet never to use it again to dull the pain. But, if he were being honest with himself, being here, alone, in this office, with the door locked, and should he chance to find one last bottle of the drug lying around…he could not say for certain that he had the willpower to throw it away again. He hoped he did. Even believed he did, mostly. But he could not be sure.

Fortunately,