The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) (11 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander Mason,” said Raidan, as he reached the rear elevator, “have a full contingent of marines meet us there as well.”

“Right away, sir.”

“You have the deck.”

***

After Fleet Admiral Tiberon’s unfortunate demise—execution for treason—a new commander had been needed to have general control of the Assembly’s fleet in battle. The weight of that honor, and great responsibility, had fallen upon Fleet Admiral Isolda Ravinder. Since receiving that promotion, she had been given command of the ISS
Hyperion
, Virgil Tiberon’s former ship. The vessel was a powerful alpha-class dreadnought and had been the flagship of the Sixth Fleet.

In practice, it was also the flagship of the entire Imperial fleet—at least of that portion that had remained true to the Imperial Assembly—but officially that honor belonged to the ISS
Victory
, the slain king’s ship. The
Victory
had been moved somewhere safe and mostly was not included in the action; its current, temporary commander, Sir Doran, had shown wavering support for Caerwyn Martel and preferred to keep out of the battles. The man always had one excuse or another, but in Isolda’s opinion, he was either sympathetic to the royalist enemy, or else a coward.

Without the
Victory
’s presence in the fleet, Isolda had named the
Hyperion
the acting flagship, and it was from the
Hyperion
’s bridge that she had commanded the Battle of Ophiuchus. A pyrrhic victory to be certain, but a victory notwithstanding. And had she not been personally commanded by the king to withdraw from the system, they would have taken control of the planet in a matter of days.

Now, though, she and all her forces were racing to Capital System where, astoundingly, the king and the planet were both under threat from a rogue battlegroup of forty-one warships and thirty support ships. Not enough of a force to be considered a fleet, but more than a squadron, and certainly more than enough to handle a star system’s static and orbital defenses, even the ones at the capital. By now the starbases had fallen and the rogue battlegroup was reported to be in orbit around the planet. They had even begun their campaign of bombardment of the surface, if the latest reports were to be believed. And Isolda had no reason to doubt them.

“ETA?” she demanded from her seat at the command position on the
Hyperion
’s bridge.

“The fleet will arrive in Capital System in seventeen minutes,” her Ops chief replied.

“And there’s no way to get there any sooner?” she asked, not for the first time.

“No, sir,” replied the helmsman. “We’re already as deep into alteredspace as this vessel is capable of going.”

None of this was new information, but somehow Isolda felt like there was something more she could do. She couldn’t stand the sensation of having her hands tied up, knowing there was a crisis but feeling that she had no options available to her to resolve it. It was like playing a game of chess and having no moves to make. Instead, waiting agonizingly for the other player to make his move, until then nothing could be done. Except in this instance, she needed to cheat somehow, because she needed to make her move before the other player, many lives on the surface of Capital World demanded it, including the life of the king himself.

Privately, Isolda had minimal respect for the king as a person. Of course she respected the office wholeheartedly, and she happily followed the laws and the orders of the Imperial Assembly, and with great devotion. And so she was committed to saving her king, even if she did think the man a coward for not sending any forces to defend Thetican System. An imperial star system that, if rumors were to be believed, had been entirely destroyed by an unknown enemy. The rebel queen, to her credit, had tried to stop it, but she’d proven too inept, or otherwise unable, to prevent the disaster.

We should have been there
, thought Isolda, angrily.
Just like we should be in Capital World now. The people need us!

“Sir, we are receiving a transmission,” reported the comms chief.

“From who?” asked Isolda, wondering which ship in her fleet was having a problem now.

“It’s from the ISS
Harbinger
, sir.” At the mention of the ship’s name, Isolda’s heart quickened and she shot to her feet. “The message is being broadcast throughout the Empire, to every system and every starship.”

An ominous feeling overcame her, but she clenched her jaw and kept her voice firm and her stature strong. “Display it,” she said, half afraid of what she was about to see and hear. Certainly it couldn’t be good news, unless the maniac Asari Raidan had detected Isolda’s inbound fleet and wanted to negotiate a surrender. Although, somehow, that seemed unlikely.

The main viewer flickered to life and revealed a man, Asari Raidan, standing with three other people. There were others behind them, but they were so poorly in the frame, none was recognizable. Of the three next to Raidan, one was the king; he looked red-faced and terrified, and sported a large bruise on the side of his head. He was gagged and his hands were shackled in front of him and some of the obscured people behind him were holding him in place.

They have the king
, thought Isolda desperately.
I may be too late!

The other two standing with Raidan were baffling. Isolda recognized them, both were members of the Imperial Assembly, one was Representative Cydney of Olympia and the other was Representative Taggart, of the Great Houses. Although not a lord, he had been selected by his House to speak for them in the Assembly. The question was, what were they doing there? Were they prisoners too? Neither of them seemed held in place, and neither wore shackles, nor did either appear to be very afraid, yet they could still be prisoners. It was easy enough for Isolda to imagine soldiers off camera pointing guns at them.

“People of the Empire,” said Raidan. “Your leaders wish to speak to you.”

“I am Representative Taggart of the Great Houses,” said Representative Taggart. “I speak on behalf of the Imperial Assembly, for the lords and ladies of our Empire everywhere. After great consideration, my colleagues and I have taken a vote and we find King Caerwyn Martel guilty of treason against the state. As such, we sentence him to die.”

Impossible
, thought Isolda as she listened. These representatives must be under duress!

“And I am Representative Cydney of Olympia, and speaker for the common representatives in the Imperial Assembly, and speaker for the common citizens of the Empire. Ever since the esteemed Representative Tate of Thetican System was tragically lost to us, I have been selected to take her place as General Committee Chairman. On behalf of the common voices in the Imperial Assembly, and on behalf of the common voices of citizens of the Empire everywhere, I find Caerwyn Martel guilty of treason in the highest degree. And therefore sentence him to die.”

Both of the representatives then knelt. Representative Taggart spoke first, “I, with all of my authority, and on behalf of the lords and ladies of the Imperial Assembly, and on behalf of all my constituency, hereby solemnly, and of my own free will, recognize Queen Kalila Akira as the sole true monarch of the Empire, and rightful ruler of us all. Long may she reign.”

Representative Cydney spoke next. “I, with all of my authority, and on behalf of the common representatives of the Imperial Assembly, and on behalf of the common citizens of the Empire wherever they might be, hereby solemnly, and of my own free will, recognize Queen Kalila Akira as the sole true monarch of the Empire, and rightful ruler of us all. Long may she reign.”

“Long may she reign,” came a chant from the many persons behind them, the ones too blocked or obscured to recognize.

“As you see, Mister Martel,” said Raidan, looking at the king, “your own people have turned against you. Your claim to the throne has been rejected and you have been found guilty of treason, of being a usurper and pretender, and the instigator of this tragic civil war.”

The king was clearly trying to speak, but the gag prevented him. Raidan then unholstered a pistol from his shoulder and yanked back the slide, arming it.

Oh, dear God, this is not a message, this is an execution
, thought Isolda, glancing at the clock to see that they still weren’t due to arrive in the system for ten more minutes. She looked back at the display to see Raidan press the barrel of the handgun against the king’s temple—threatening a contact shot.

“On behalf of the Imperial Assembly, the Royal Assembly, and Her Majesty the Queen, I sentence you to die.”

Then, to Isolda’s incredible disbelief, the gun fired, blowing a hole in the king’s head; the gunshot sound was somewhat muffled, though the spray of skull and brain matter at the exit wound made even Isolda nearly flinch to see it. The king slowly collapsed to his knees, but, before he’d fallen all the way to the ground, blood could be seen pouring out of his eyes, which rolled freely in their sockets. It was the single most disgusting display that Isolda had ever seen, yet she did not turn away. Everyone around her seemed too shocked to say anything.

The camera zoomed in on the king’s corpse, once it had collapsed all the way to the floor, and then the transmission ended—just as abruptly as Caerwyn Martel’s life.

“Every starship and planet of the Empire saw that?” asked Isolda, it was all she could do not to cover her mouth in shock.

“Yes, sir,” replied her Comms chief. “It was broadcasted on every kataspace channel and frequency, including those reserved for children’s entertainment…”

Isolda shook her head.
Unbelievable
…

In the immediate aftermath of that disturbing transmission, Isolda did not know what to do. She suspected most people didn’t know what to do. Caerwyn Martel was dead; therefore, there was no longer a king, but what did that mean exactly? Was she supposed to recognize the rebel queen now as the true monarch? The leaders of the Imperial Assembly seemed to suggest so. But then again, they were obviously under duress when they made those statements. So they could not be taken at face value.

And yet, how had Raidan come to be in possession of the king and such high ranking Assembly members, unless there had been some cooperation? Obviously, he had transmitted this…
execution
from the hangar of his stolen starship, the ISS
Harbinger
. But then, who had transported them there? No doubt the king had been there against his will, but the representatives…? Isolda could not say. Someone had brought them to the
Harbinger
, whether they had done so voluntarily or else had been abducted, along with the king, that remained a mystery for now.

“Sir, I am getting several messages from the ships in our fleet,” said the Comms chief. “They are requesting instructions. None of them seem to know what we are supposed to do now.”

They can join the club
, thought Isolda. “Tell them to continue on course to Capital System. When we get there, if Asari Raidan and his battlegroup remain, then they will
answer
for this regicide.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As for what this means and who we now support, I’m certain the Imperial Assembly will convene an emergency session and then provide us with clear instructions. Until that time, we will remain in Capital System.”

“Aye, sir, informing the fleet.”

If the Imperial Assembly, under no duress, commanded her to recognize Kalila Akira as the official monarch of the Empire, Isolda would be fine with that. Kalila had proven herself a hero by trying to defend Thetican System, and if it meant the end of civil war, all the better. However, unlike Raidan and many others, Isolda respected the rule of law, and she would do what the Assembly required of her,
not
take unilateral action based on her own internal compass.

Whatever the outcome was, supporting the rebel queen or else continuing to wage war against her, either way, Raidan would not be allowed to escape justice. One day, hopefully soon, he will answer for this regicide. And if Fleet Admiral Isolda Ravinder ever had the chance to bring him to justice, she promised herself that she would.

CHAPTER 06

“I confirm that the shuttle has departed the hangar; it’s at a distance of 15 MCs and rapidly increasing,” said Mr. Ivanov.

“Good,” said Raidan. He’d returned to the bridge so quickly that he still wore his clothes from the execution, including all the bloodstains and other gore that stuck to him. Badges of pride, he decided. “Mr. Watson, take us out of orbit immediately,” said Raidan. “Mr. Gates, give the same order to the battlegroup. They are to jump to alteredspace as soon as possible. It’s not safe for us here, Ravinder’s fleet will be here any minute.”

“Aye, sir,” both men acknowledged. The ship immediately turned, rotating the planet out of view, and accelerated to escape the planet’s gravity.

“Sir, incoming message from the
Arcane Storm
,” said Mr. Gates. Raidan had a suspicion as to what this was about.

“Patch it through.”

As he had expected, it was Tristan. “Raidan, now that this foul business with the Martel fool is over, I trust that you remember our arrangement?”

Of course, I remember
, thought Raidan. As if Tristan would ever let him forget. “Yes, I remember,” he said.

“Then I trust you agree with me when I suggest that
now
is the time?”

Raidan nodded thoughtfully, even though Tristan could not see him because this exchange was strictly audio. “Tristan, you have served the cause well and faithfully,” said Raidan. “So yes, indeed,
now
is the time.”

“At long last,” said Tristan, sounding so gleeful that one would think he had just won the lottery. Perhaps, in a way, he had.

“But first we must escape into alteredspace,” said Raidan. “I can’t help you if we’re trapped by Ravinder’s fleet.”

“I quite agree.” The connection terminated.

“The battlegroup is beginning to jump into alteredspace,” reported Mr. Ivanov.

“Good,” said Raidan. “Mr. Watson, as soon as we’re clear to jump, get us the hell out of here.”

***

“Here they come,” said Shen, getting a reading on his Ops display.

“How many are there?” asked Calvin.

“So far I count ten warships and twelve cutter-class troop transports. More may be coming.”

“Ready to clear for action,” said Miles. “Just give the order.” The ship was at General Quarters, but Calvin had ordered Miles to keep the shields down and the stealth engaged. The idea was to attack at the opportune moment against a vulnerable, critical target, since the Khans didn’t know the
Nighthawk
was here. At least, they shouldn’t know, though there was always the chance that they had an inside man among the Roscos.

“Not quite yet,” said Calvin. “Let’s wait until the best opportunity.”

“But there’s nothing out there that can even touch us,” said Miles, sounding disappointed. “I’m eager to start kicking asses!”

“And you’ll get that chance, I promise you that,” said Calvin. “Shen, what kind of warships are we up against?”

“Several variations. They are flying no colors and refuse to answer any of the Roscos’ attempts to hail them. I’ll bring them up on the 3D display.”

Several ships materialized on the 3D display, it adjusted for clarity, and Calvin could see the ten warships, flying in formation, approaching the Rosco squadron, which was also deployed in a battle formation. Although the newly arrived ships sent no identifying information, Calvin recognized them by their configurations: four sloops, three destroyers, two assault frigates, and a cruiser. All of them had clearly once belonged to the Alliance.

“Looks like they’ve repurposed several Alliance starships,” said Summers, as if reading his mind.

“My conclusion also,” said Calvin.

“My conclusion is that we can kill them all,” said Miles. “The Rosco squadron doesn’t have a chance. Not without our help. What are we waiting for?”

“We are waiting because our objective is to protect the station, not the squadron,” said Calvin. “Shen, focus in on those cutter-class transports.”

“Aye, sir.” The 3D display shifted to reveal ten boxy-looking starships, all headed directly toward Aleator One, which meant they were also, unknowingly, heading toward the
Nighthawk
.

“How many soldiers or Strigoi do you estimate are aboard each of those transports?” asked Calvin, as he watched the ships approach.

“Hard to say,” said Shen.

“Any one of those ships can hold up to a thousand soldiers,” said Miles. “At full capacity.”

“A thousand soldiers a ship, and ten ships,” said Calvin, “then I suppose that makes them the priority targets, don’t you agree, Miles?”

“Yes, Cal,” said Miles. Even he knew that, despite the Roscos’ fearsome reputation, and the fact that Aleator One and its satellite stations boasted many soldiers, they would be unable to oppose ten thousand invaders. Especially if those invaders included the dreaded Strigoi.

“On my signal, drop stealth and open fire on the nearest transport,” said Calvin.

“I can do it now,” said Miles.

“Not yet,” said Calvin. He wanted the transports to be just past them, so the
Nighthawk
could take them from the rear, where they were least armored.

The ships continued to move closer on steady course for Aleator One, ready to carve their way in.

“Steady,” said Calvin. “Steady, Miles.”

Miles looked eager enough that, had he not been so loyal to Calvin, Calvin suspected he would have already begun firing their weapons, despite orders to hold fire. The fact that it was taking this long for the
Nighthawk
to enter the fight seemed to be causing Miles actual physical pain.

“How are our friends holding up?” asked Calvin, if for no other reason than to distract Miles.

“The squadrons have just engaged one another,” said Shen. “They are exchanging fire. No ships destroyed currently, though an enemy sloop is taking heavy damage.”

At last the transports were in the position Calvin wanted them to be. “Clear for action,” he said. “Sarah, bring us around, and, Miles, target those transports.”

“With pleasure!” said Miles.

The ship yawed sharply to port until the glow of the transports’ engines could be seen through the forward window. They were mere dozens of MCs away.

“Locked and loaded,” said Miles. “Also our shields are raised.”

“Open fire!” said Calvin.

Their beam weapon crashed into the centermost transport, which was also hit by heavy gunfire, and, for good measure, two of the
Nighthawk’s
missiles. Altogether, it was a serious enough injury to destroy the transport. It exploded in a flash, sending debris everywhere, including some into the
Nighthawk’s
armor.

“Just a scratch,” said Shen, after checking his display.

“Keep firing,” said Calvin, “take out as many as you can. Sarah, keep us right on top of them.”

They both acknowledged him, and, moments later, another transport was reduced to debris.

By this point the transports were beginning to panic; they split off from each other, breaking formation, trying to make themselves more difficult targets for the
Nighthawk
by dispersing. Calvin knew that one or more of the transports was likely to make it through to the station, but he would take out as many as he could. Since they kept their sterns exposed to the
Nighthawk
, because they were dead-set on reaching Aleator One, that kept them vulnerable. Another transport destroyed in a flash.

“That’s three,” said Miles. He targeted the next closest one and began to fire.

“No,” said Shen, to everyone’s surprise. “Those two,
those two
.” He pointed at the 3D display to the two transports that would take the most time to lock onto and destroy.

“What?” asked Miles, staying on his current target. “That’s just dumb, Shen.”

Calvin leaned forward in his chair and searched Shen’s face. Something was different.

“Those two!” Shen repeated, pointing frantically.

“What is it?” asked Calvin. “What do you see?”

Shen looked unable to explain it. But as he pointed at them again, his eyes seemed to glow red, just for a split second, and it took Calvin off-guard. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Tristan.

“Just trust me,” said Shen. “You have to destroy those two.”

Miles’s current target exploded, having taken enough abuse.

“Miles,” said Calvin, “do as he says. Go for those two.”

“Okay, all right, but it makes no sense,” said Miles, adjusting his targeting computer. “Sarah get us a bit closer; my guns can’t hit them from here.”

“Why those two?” asked Sarah, as she complied and moved the
Nighthawk
to an appropriate position of attack.

“I can’t explain it,” said Shen. “I just know.”

“Opening fire,” said Miles. Before long, one of the two was destroyed. “There goes one of them,” he said. “But our beam weapon has overheated; our main guns are pretty hot too. I’m going to have to stick to missiles for a bit.” He fired three missiles, ending the other of the two transports that Shen had been so fixated upon.

“Any more magic targets for me?” asked Miles, looking at Shen.

“No,” said Shen, looking much more peaceful, though slightly embarrassed. Calvin dismissed it, deciding he’d prefer to keep his people on task.

“Miles, acquire another target; let’s get as many as we can before they cut into the station,” ordered Calvin.

They were able to destroy two more. Unfortunately, two of the transports managed to reach the station and deploy. They easily carved through the station’s hull, one in the cargo bay the other near the hangar—two very exposed locations. In both instances, the invaders allowed the contents of each location to blow out into space before securing a seal around the breached hull. If any people defending the station had been lost this way, blown out into space, they were too small for the 3D display, or Calvin’s naked eyes, to spot them.

“Shall I destroy those two transports protruding from the station?” asked Miles.

“No, save the ammunition,” said Calvin. “By now those transports have unloaded their troops and are Grady and Nimoux’s problem. Let’s use our remaining missiles on the enemy squadron. Shen, what is the situation?”

“The enemy squadron is at around seventy-five percent strength, the Rosco defense squadron is at about half. Much longer and the Rosco sentry ships and destroyers will be completely annihilated.”

“Looks like they could use a hand,” said Calvin. “Sarah, get us over there. Miles, be ready for a real fight.”

“It’s about time.”

“Target their cruiser,” said Calvin. “That’s the leader, and it’s the one causing most of the trouble. Let’s eliminate it and put some fear into the rest of them.”

“Happily,” said Miles.

***

Standing in the makeshift command center, Nimoux got his first report. “Enemy sighted,” came the cry over the radio. “They’ve carved their way into the main cargo bay. We’re engaging them now—they’re charging out onto the deck. There’s hundreds of them. We have to fall back!”

The second report came seconds later. It was much like the first. “The enemy transport has sliced a hole in the auxiliary support room of the main hangar. We’re waiting for them to come out to engage them. Wait, now they’ve sealed the breach—here they come! Opening fire!” This was followed by, “We have to fall back. They’re swarming the deck. I can’t estimate their number, there’s got to be—” then silence.

“Come in, Alpha Two,” said Nimoux into the radio. “You got cut off.”

Radio silence.

“Alpha Two,
report
, over,” said Nimoux.

Nothing. He had to assume Alpha Two had been cut down. That meant the Rosco forces near the hangar had likely been overrun. That meant that area was the top priority, even though, between the cargo bay and the hangar, there were two fronts.

“Attention all auxiliary forces,” said Nimoux, “proceed immediately to the corridors surrounding the main hangar and help our forces hold those chokepoints.”

“Yes, sir.”

“On our way.”

“What about us?” asked Alpha One.

“Give me your status,” said Nimoux.

“We’ve got them pinned down, for
now
, but we will need reinforcements soon.”

“Hold them as long as you can,” said Nimoux. “If they start to overwhelm you, then you are authorized to fall back, surrender ground if you must. As soon as we defeat the enemy near the hangar, I will order all forces to come to your aid. Until then, you’re on your own.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll do our best,” said Alpha One.

Nimoux looked down at the schematics of the station for the hundredth time; he needed to reassure himself that he had made the right call. According to the layout of the station, and where the enemy had chosen to attack, he had made the right strategic judgment. The forces near the hangar, if overrun, would grant the enemy access to all parts of the station, whereas the corridors near the cargo bay were a maze of chokepoints which a small force could use to stave off a much larger force for quite a long time—or so he hoped. A lot depended on the tactical abilities of the Rosco lieutenants commanding their soldiers, and their fighting skill overall.