Phoenix Star Republic

By Shane Anderson

It's been one thousand years since the exodus from Earth and the rebirth of civilization among the stars. All Matt Becker wants is to go home to his wife and son, but he finds himself thrust into a desperate struggle for survival. Reptilian Alcari invaders ruthlessly advance as they flee the Dark Plague, and the collectivist Joinder seek to avenge their ancient defeat. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Brisbane is soon embroiled in a three-way battle for survival. With only the loyalty of his crew and his own guile to draw upon, Becker must risk losing everything he cares about to save humanity from extinction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667852560

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© Shane Anderson.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-66785-255-3 (printed)

ISBN: 978-1-66785-256-0 (eBook)

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Chapter 1

"I t’s a massacre in the Syrach system." Dozens of uniformed soldiers filed back and forth along a busy space station concourse behind the news reporter as she recounted the day’s events for the camera. She was almost hyperventilating, and her breaths reverberated through her wireless microphone.

Amelia Becker frowned at the face on her television, unsure if this was genuine anxiety or just an act for dramatic effect. A rectangular window spanning the back wall twenty feet behind the reporter revealed a massive battleship pulling up to an umbilical tunnel to dock at the station. The front of the ship was badly scarred and blackened from weapons fire. Amelia exhaled deeply and waited for the reporter to continue.

As always, the Alcari jammed all forms of communication as soon as they attacked, hampering rescue efforts. Two colonies were at least partially evacuated, but casualties are expected to be high. So far, this is shaping up to be a repeat of what happened last year in the Strausburg system, when more than twenty million people were killed or captured by these nomadic reptilian invaders.

How is the government responding? the anchor asked.

"Three Republic fleet squadrons were sent in to resist an Alcari advance that to this point has been unstoppable, and we just received word that one of them has already been completely wiped out. The surviving remnants of the Fourth Squadron, which include the battleship you see docking behind me, are just arriving at the aid station now after being driven back by superior Alcari forces.

That leaves only the Fifth Squadron, which was assigned to protect the vital and heavily populated colony on Griswald. There’s no word yet on the fate of that colony or its defenders, but my source on the military oversight committee advised me just moments ago that the planet is still being contested and civilian vessels are advised to stay away.

Matt, Amelia whispered to herself. She sat perched on the edge of her couch’s middle cushion, clutching the remote control with two white-knuckled hands. The anchor mumbled something back at the reporter in the field, and Amelia gave the volume button a few jabs to turn up the sound.

"There’s definitely tension in the air here, as people are starting to realize this is no longer a distant conflict. After four years of war and four solar systems lost, the Alcari are now getting dangerously close to the very heart of the Republic. One source described this invasion as the greatest existential threat humanity has faced since the Long War and the exodus from Earth a thousand years ago.

From the aid station in the Mincar system, this is Meredith Barrett, Colony News Network.

Amelia let out a sigh and turned the volume back down. She put the controller on the cushion beside her and stared at it for a long minute as she adjusted the ring on her finger to center the diamond.

She got up and went to the sliding glass door. The thin glass held back an autumn wind that rattled the door frame with each angry gust. She peered through it at the two giant Tenian oaks framing the corners of her backyard. They swayed to and fro beneath a gray, overcast sky. She reluctantly slid the protective barrier aside, and a fierce gale rushed in and slashed at her face with a thousand pin pricks. Another cold and lonely winter, she lamented, but the wind swallowed her complaint and carried it away. She shivered and pulled her unbuttoned white sweater closer to her chest.

Jacob, she called out in a louder voice. She scanned the yard and the piles of freshly raked leaves to see where he might be hiding this time. He was nowhere in sight. She was about to lean farther out and call his name again when a blonde streak in a blue sweatshirt came out of nowhere and darted past her into the house. A few red and yellow leaves followed him in, and she kicked them back outside with her foot before sliding the door shut. She shivered again as the furnace kicked on to repel the sudden chill. Jacob launched himself onto the couch and sat with his legs crossed and a satisfied grin on his face, seemingly impervious to the cold. For an instant, Amelia’s loneliness melted away.

Hungry? she asked as she locked the door.

Starving.

I’m making your favorite ruckhen casserole, she said with a mellifluous rise in her voice.

Jacob’s eyes lit up. Mmm. Yummy. Did ruckhens come here with the people from Earth?

Nope. They evolved right here on Tenia. The first settlers found them when they landed and formed the new republic.

Were there people already here?

No. Just plants and animals.

When is daddy going to call?

Amelia shrugged her shoulders. You know he’s not allowed to call as long as the Alcari might be listening. She sat down next to him and put an arm around his thin chest. He leaned against her and put his head on her bosom. I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he can.

If the Alcari make it all the way here, will they try to hurt us?

Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen. As long as people like your dad are out there to stop them, the Alcari won’t get anywhere near us.

The floor of the control room was littered with debris. Multiple alarms announced a litany of system failures, fires and hull breaches on the ship. Crew members were shouting reports and instructions back and forth to each other over the din. Smoke billowed out of a hole in the ceiling, and exposed wires crackled and sparked. Captain Parker was down, struck on the head by a beam that fell on him when an overhead compartment collapsed. A medic knelt by his side, attending to him.

Thirty-five-year-old Matt Becker, the first officer, was now in command of the Perthe-class carrier Brisbane. He stood next to his fallen captain and braced his six-foot-tall frame against a waist-high railing as yet another missile struck the ship on the port side. After more than an hour of fighting to defend the planet Griswald and its one million inhabitants, the squadron had been whittled down by the attacking Alcari fleet. Both the squadron commander’s ship and the Brisbane were badly damaged, and most of the Brisbane’s air wing was docked for refueling and unable to help.

Just beyond the railing in front of him was a crescent-shaped wooden command console with three built-in display screens arranged horizontally in an arc at waist height. The one on the left displayed internal sensor information about the status of the ship and key systems. It was beeping incessantly and flashed red warnings about a hull breach in one of the starboard gun compartments that was open to space and venting oxygen. The middle display showed navigational data and a map of the Syrach solar system. The one on the right displayed tactical data about what was going on outside the ship, with friendly forces indicated in green and hostiles in red. It was a jumble of ships, planes and debris commingled in close proximity in orbit above the planet. The sensory overload from the dazzling combination of sounds and flashing lights rivaled the busiest casino floor.

Becker squinted his eyes in search of some order amidst the chaos. He couldn’t make any sense of the mess on the tactical display, and shifted his gaze to a set of video monitors on the front wall with external camera views of the front, back and both sides of the ship. One other vessel was visible off the port bow, safely outside the Brisbane’s gun range. It was the Alcari missile frigate responsible for the steady stream of long-range cruise missiles pummeling the ship. The frigate appeared to be spinning on its axis, but it was actually the Brisbane that was rotating. The air escaping from the hull breach was acting as thrust and causing the ship to list to port. He blinked and averted his eyes to keep from getting disoriented. The crew needed him to make a decision about what to do next.

Mitch, can we make a jump? he asked his navigator and best friend. Lieutenant Commander Mitch Forster was an intense-looking bald-headed man with a prematurely gray goatee. He spun around to look back at Becker from his seat at the front console.

Negative. The tachyon drive is damaged. We can only maneuver at sub-light speed. He turned back around to the front to wrestle with the thruster controls. I’m trying to correct for the depressurization and reorient the ship.

Meg, advise the flagship I’ve assumed command and request instructions, Becker ordered a pony-tailed brunette in her late twenties who was seated to Forster’s right. He tried to make his voice sound as steady as possible despite the fact his whole body was shaking from adrenaline overload.

Commander, the Sydney has been destroyed, replied Lieutenant Meghan Hackett, the communications officer. We’re the last surviving ship in our squadron.

Another missile hit punctuated her dire report, and a new warning indicator lit up on Becker’s internal display to signal that the shields had failed.

Lieutenant Soo, what’s our refueling status? Becker asked. He was getting desperate.

Jiang Soo, the Landing Signal Officer or LSO, was a thin man in his early thirties with short, black hair. He stood behind a raised console to Becker’s right. A digital board on the wall behind him showed the status of every fighter and bomber in the Brisbane’s airwing. Soo glanced back at it and put a hand to his left ear as he received an incoming report.

Chief Williams says he can have one wing ready to launch in ten minutes.

This will be over in ten minutes, Becker lamented. He looked over at the damage control station running along the port bulkhead to his left. Two overwhelmed engineers were answering a flood of system breakdown reports and directing repair crews to seal the hull breach in the starboard gun compartment. Getting immediate work done on the tachyon drive was out of the question.

Sir, our shields are down, said Hackett. What are your orders?

Becker stood frozen, his face a pale white. The squadron jumped in an hour ago with eleven ships to defend Griswald, and now the Brisbane stood alone with the lives of every civilian on the planet hanging in the balance. He had no idea what to do.

Commander Petunia Davis, call sign Juno, risked a quick glance down to check her scope. It confirmed her fears. The Alcari fighter was in a superior position above her and to her right. It was already halfway through its turn and lining up a kill shot. The Brisbane’s lead pilot knew the smart thing to do was veer off and regroup, but she was the only protector for the four bombers still in the fight. All the other fighters were docked for refueling. If she broke off, there would be nothing to stop her Alcari counterpart from killing them all. Instinct took over and made the decision for her.

She turned away from Griswald and banked right toward the enemy fighter as hard as she could without passing out. Her gravity struts were already at maximum, offsetting as much of the g-force as possible to keep her alive and conscious. She pushed it right to the edge in an effort to outmaneuver her dogfighting opponent, fighting off a wave of nausea and grunting from the strain as her harness dug into her shoulder. Her arms ached from more than an hour of combat flying, and sweat beaded on her forehead. A droplet rolled down one black cheek and off her jaw, disappearing into the bottom of her helmet.

The Alcari fighter continued to turn. As it did, the glow of Griswald’s atmosphere lluminated the cockpit, slowly at first and then brighter. She’d seen photographs of dead Alcari before, but for an instant she got her first live look at the face of her enemy.

The pilot had a breathing apparatus covering most of its face, but the greenish-black scales were clearly visible around the sides. The eyes were a bright yellow with vertical black slits and black dots around the edges. They exuded a malevolence that rivaled the coldness of empty space. Petunia shivered with revulsion. She banked even harder and clenched her index finger over the gun trigger on her stick. She and the Alcari came face-to-face.

The Alcari fired first. His burst was a half-second premature. It sheared off half of Petunia’s left wing and knocked out the port engine, but spared the rest of her plane. She answered by putting twenty rounds from her autocannons squarely through his canopy. The plane remained intact, but hurtled off into oblivion with a dead pilot at the stick. It gradually descended into Griswald’s upper atmosphere before burning up and disintegrating.

Now that’s a waste of good luggage, she said to herself with a smile. I could have made a nice handbag out of that lizzy. She eased back on the throttle and thumbed her transmit button to call the bomber wing leader. Grady, Juno. That was the last bogey. The enemy frigate is all yours.

Roger. Thanks for the cover.

The bomber formation broke orbit to Petunia’s left and headed off toward the Alcari missile frigate to commence its attack run while she tried to bank what was left of her fighter toward the Brisbane. The controls were balky and unresponsive, and she could barely maneuver. A quick glance at her gauges confirmed that she was losing hydraulic pressure in addition to having only one engine.

Brisbane, Juno. I’ve got heavy damage and need to come in. Request priority clearance.

Granted, came Soo’s staticky reply. We’re taking fire from the front, but the recovery bay is clear.

The Brisbane’s long, rectangular shape loomed ahead in the distance, coasting forward at low speed. The four sub-light engines arranged in a horizontal row across the bottom of the stern left a white vapor trail of exhaust in the ship’s wake. She wrestled with the controls until her fighter was more or less on a parallel course to the Brisbane, occasionally steering around the debris from destroyed ships and planes that was floating about. She saw a flash from the Brisbane’s port-side guns as they fired off a burst of artillery shells toward the enemy frigate.

As she approached the massive carrier from the stern, the squared-off, two-story conning tower in the front of the ship came into view. It was pitched a few degrees to the left as the ship listed slightly to port. The recovery bay was behind the tower, spanning the width of the ship on top of the main hull. The open doorway was sixty feet wide and twenty feet high, a welcoming maw lit by two parallel rows of flashing runway lights on the landing deck, beckoning her to return.

She successfully matched the pitch and roll of her fighter with the rotation of the landing deck, reducing power and crossing the threshold of the recovery bay less than a foot above the deck. The Brisbane’s artificial gravity immediately grabbed her fighter and pulled it down until the wheels rolled onto the deck. She cut her engines and steered toward a back corner of the bay, letting her momentum carry the fighter toward an elevator platform marked by black and yellow stripes. She folded her wings from the flight position to a vertical alignment to reduce wingspan for transport. She checked her wing cameras to make sure the plane was completely on the platform, and then engaged the brakes.

Brisbane, Juno. Elevator three is green. Bring me down.

Copy. Stand by for descent, came an unseen controller’s reply.

The elevator platform began to lower the fighter down toward the hangar bay on the deck below. As the platform slowly sank into the ship, the landing deck gradually reached eye level and then disappeared overhead. The bright white glow of the recovery bay floodlights was replaced by total darkness.

Report, Becker demanded.

Our salvo missed, said Mitch Forster. They’re still outside our optimum gun range.

Damn it. Becker rechecked the ranges on his tactical readout.

CAG is safely back on board, Soo reported. He updated his status board to reflect that the commander of the air group had returned to the ship.

What do we have left in the air? Becker asked. It was an oxymoron to refer to the vacuum of space as air, but it was easy to say and everyone understood what it meant.

Four bombers from squad two, Soo reported. They’re en route to the enemy frigate, but four birds won’t be enough to destroy it without help.

Meg, what’s the status of the evacuation?

The colony administrator says he needs at least two more hours to get everybody still alive off the planet.

We can’t survive that long with our shields down, said Forster. The tachyon drive is back online if you want to withdraw.

Becker shook his head. The Alcari will bomb the planet as soon as we leave and kill everyone still on the surface. I’m not willing to abandon them to that fate. He returned his gaze to the tactical readout to search for the right move. The enemy frigate was still hovering out of range ahead and to the left. That meant he had only one option left. Steer left ten degrees and set your engines ahead full.

Forster spun around in his chair to look back at him. You want to rush them with our shields down? That’s suicide. We should fall back to make repairs first.

No. We can’t get away. As soon as we show the Alcari our stern, they’ll move in for the kill and put a missile into our engine deck. We have to get close enough to shoot back now or we’re dead. Just keep that hull breach out of their line of fire.

You’re the boss. Forster turned back to the front to adjust course and punched the sub-light engines up to full. The Brisbane was surprisingly nimble for a ship her size. The wide base and thruster placement afforded good lateral mobility, and the relatively thin hull armor compared to battleships reduced mass and allowed for better acceleration. The engines roared to life, and the ship rocketed forward, catching the enemy frigate momentarily off guard. Its next shot missed cleanly. Becker watched it whistle past the Brisbane’s stern on the rearview camera.

A fire control team arrived and sprayed foam suppressant into the ceiling to subdue the fire. It put out the flames but made the smoke even worse. Becker choked and coughed as the ventilation system struggled to clear the air. A grey haze and the stench of burning insulation filled the entire room. Becker’s eyes burned and watered, but he stayed focused on his target.

Alcari frigates can only fire from the front. Have the bombers target its starboard maneuvering thrusters. Try to keep it from steering to port.

Aye, sir. Soo spoke into his headset to order the strike mission. On the tactical display, four blips begin converging on the right side of the enemy ship.

Mitch, take us across their bow. Try to get their port side.

Forster grimaced. They’re reversing.

Increase to flank.

Aye. Forster poured on the last available bit of thrust, and the Brisbane hurtled across the bow of the retreating enemy ship, which was attempting to reverse and turn at the same time to line up another shot at them as they went by.

This better work, said Hackett. If they hit us in the stern at this range, we’re toast.

It’ll work, said Becker. Just watch this old girl fly.

They’re matching our turn, Forster warned.

Now, Soo.

Four bombers swooped into view on the port camera display and let loose a volley of anti-ship missiles. They struck the enemy frigate on its starboard side just aft of the bow and ignited the fuel lines feeding the lateral maneuvering thrusters. A fiery explosion blew a hole in the side of the ship, and it immediately stopped maneuvering.

Grady reports the enemy frigate is disabled, said Soo.

Steady. Becker waited a few more precious seconds as the Brisbane drew closer. The frigate moved completely off the forward camera display as the Brisbane slid past. Now. Left full.

Forster threw the helm hard over to port. The Brisbane banked left even though half of her length hadn’t cleared the front of the enemy ship yet. This is gonna be close, he yelled. Get ready to scrape some paint.

The enemy frigate filled the entire port camera display. It was so close that Becker could see the rows of rivets holding the hull together. He gripped his railing with both hands. The carrier cleared the bow of the enemy ship with less than ten meters to spare.

We’re clear, said Hackett. We’re on his port side, coming astern.

Target his engine compartment and fire, said Becker. The port gun crews didn’t miss this time. All six shells hit the crippled enemy ship flush in the stern. The back half of the ship exploded, and flames consumed the rest as fuel and ordnance began to ignite. Secondary explosions caused the forward compartments to forcefully decompress, and the ship flew apart in a burst of spiraling debris.

All enemy targets destroyed, said Hackett, easing back in her chair. The board is clear.

Becker closed his eyes and let out a breath. All stop. Recall the bombers for refueling, and tell the colony to continue evacuating. There will be more Alcari on the way. He looked down at the medical orderly, who was still kneeling over Captain Parker. How is he?

The orderly looked up at him from her crouched position and shook her head. I’m sorry, sir. The captain is dead.

Chapter 2

Lamm used to be a human colony, but now the planet was crawling with Alcari. The reptilian invaders captured it a year ago, along with the rest of the Strausburg system, and converted it into a new provisional capital for the High Leader. His palace now sat in the center of the largest city, which was spared bombardment in order to be captured intact. The red and black Alcari flag fluttered atop the highest spire.

Despite being moved and rebuilt many times, the palace was always the same. Centuries of practice made the Alcari masters at rapidly reconstructing buildings and ships to known specifications. It allowed them to relocate their seat of power or replenish their fleet with maximum speed and efficiency.

Slithers of Alcari now roamed the streets around the palace in cloaks and hoods, going about their business while shielding their sensitive eyes and scales from the uncomfortably harsh light of the sun. They would eventually adapt to their new environment, only to uproot in a few years and move again.

The Alcari didn’t have a permanent home. They kept moving from planet to planet, system to system. This nomadic existence was not by choice. The constant threat of the Dark Plague loomed over them, ready to reappear and wipe them out if they dared to stay in any one place for more than a few years.

The source of the Dark Plague was unknown. There was no known treatment and no cure. No Alcari scientist had ever gotten close enough to study the plague and lived. Once a world became infected, every living thing on the planet was dead in a matter of days. Not even the plant life or insects were spared. The only way for their civilization to survive was to keep moving. Every aspect of Alcari society was built around this one unalterable truth. Fear of the Dark Plague dominated their culture for centuries. It defined their entire existence.

This coarse way of life hardened them over the years. The military and civilians moved as one, bringing their entire civilization with them as they went and ruthlessly crushing anyone who stood in their path. Military conquest and colonization occurred in a single step. To see an Alcari fleet arriving to conquer your world was to know terror.

Genetic engineering made the Alcari adaptable to almost any environment. This allowed them to colonize a wide variety of planets regardless of temperature, gravity or atmospheric conditions. Their fear of annihilation and unending quest for new territory propelled them across the galaxy, desperate to stay one step ahead of the mysterious death pursuing them.

One Alcari stood out among the others as he walked down the sidewalk toward the palace. Vichus was the younger son of the High Leader and Khagan of the military. Thanks to genetic modifications, he was nearly a foot taller than average and more muscular, a physically intimidating presence with broad shoulders and two sinewy legs. Others moved aside to let him pass as he approached the entrance, a testament to the ruthless reputation that made even his own people terrified of him.

Like all Alcari, his skin was a dark grey and covered with heavy, greenish black scales. His yellow eyes were sensitive to light, and he preferred the cool, dark, humid environment of the palace to the conditions outside. He wore the customary black robes of the supreme military commander, with only his bare, three-toed feet sticking out at the bottom. They thumped along the floor of the main hallway as he approached the ceremonial throne room.

The Khagan traveled alone and took no aides. Most Alcari were too terrified to even approach him, much less speak. As a result, guards were unnecessary and advisors were useless. The High Leader’s royal guard stood sentry in red robes outside the huge wooden doors to the throne room, holding long tridents that pointed upward toward the ceiling. They opened the doors and stood aside to let Vichus enter.

The area immediately inside the doors was a dimly lit space with a few rows of wooden benches on either side that were mostly for show. Spectators were rare, and today the benches were empty. Fifty feet in was a metal railing that separated the public area from the throne platform. The railing was brightly lit by overhead spotlights, putting anyone addressing the High Leader clearly in view. There was a gap in the center of the railing for those given permission to approach the High Leader, who sat atop an oversized golden chair with red cushions on a raised platform.

The back half of the room behind the throne platform was ornately decorated. Long and narrow red carpets stretched around the perimeter of the windowless, rectangular space in front of oversized golden chairs that lined the walls on three sides. The chairs had high backs and red velvet cushions similar to the High Leader’s throne, but slightly smaller. On the walls above and between the chairs were huge portraits of the High Leader, his father, his grandfather, and many generations of high leaders before them, circling the entire room and illuminated by overhead spotlights on angled arms. The ceiling was high and echoed every sound, as did the hard, grey concrete floor.

The grey stone architecture along the ceiling on the back wall featured carved reliefs of mythical creatures and serpent-like guardians looking down on the throne platform with spears at the ready. Below them hung long, narrow red banners bearing the Alcari coat of arms, a battle axe standing on its end with a serpent wrapped around it. The head of the axe pointed left, and the head of the serpent pointed right.

The High Leader sat in his chair in a crimson cloak and hood. His face was almost totally concealed by the cloak, which drooped forward over his brow and hung down. He bore no other name. He had been the High Leader since the death of his father forty years ago, and he would be the High Leader until the day he died and passed the torch to Vichus. This was the order of things, and no one dared question it.

Vichus approached the railing and went down on one knee with his head bowed. Despite his high standing, even the Khagan was expected to show deference to the High Leader before speaking. Blood relation made no difference.

Rise and speak, my son, hissed the old man from behind his cloak. He was very old and frail, and his eyes were even more sensitive to light than the others. There were no spotlights shining on his platform, which was shrouded in darkness.

Vichus rose to his feet and advanced through the gap in the railing to stand before his master and make his report. We have driven the humans out of the Syrach system. It is now under our complete control.

Excellent. The High Leader hissed with satisfaction. "You’ve done