The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (56 page)

That was you
, thought Calvin,
having wondered at the possibility, but never having confirmation—until now. You bastards! No wonder the Polarians hate you so!

“In fact,” continued Ozumire, “It was the sacred responsibility of your forbearer, the drotha in whose shoes you now must walk, that successfully executed that mission in the name of the One True God. Now, how about that?”

Calvin forced a smile. “A miraculous coincidence,” said Calvin.

“Miraculous, yes, coincidence, no,” corrected Ozumire. “There are no coincidences. All things happen according to the Divine plan.”

“So plans one and two were both successes then?” asked Calvin.

“Yes,” said Ozumire. “And now the Dread Fleet marches, entirely unopposed, to eliminate the now barely defended worlds of the drotha wherever they may be, including some Polarian worlds too—so far only those who have abandoned the religion of the Essences, but in time we shall either convert or, somehow, cleanse the rest of Polarian space of its impurities and False Ways. After the galaxy has been cleansed of the humans and the Rotham, and the One True God’s celestial objects purified.”

The very notion was sickening to Calvin; he feared he showed it…that his disdain and disgust might have broken through his smiling façade, though he tried his hardest to remain in character as perfectly as he could.

“You said you needed ships and equipment, and that you traded for such things. Why would you need any of that from either the humans or the Rotham?” asked Calvin.

“Partly to smuggle things around,” said Ozumire. “But most importantly we needed technology that could actually penetrate the Veil and get us back to Novobella, so we could infiltrate the council. For instance, this very ship,” he lifted his arms, as if gesturing all around them. “We traded with the Rahajiim to acquire it. It is the grandest and largest of the Hunter ships they made, and it, with its unique stealth capability, allows it to slide through the Veil as though it isn’t there.”

“But why doesn’t
Custos
attack it?” asked Calvin.

“At first it did—or tried to. So long as the ship was moving, the stealth confused
Custos
. Once we had replaced the High Prelain, we were able to give
Custos
a command not to disturb this ship.”

“Is
Custos
a living being, then?” asked Calvin. “Earlier you said you programmed it.”

“
Custos
is partly living and partly synthetic, so the command was given remotely, using technology, as if programming it, but required the perfect handprint of the High Prelain, along with a scan of his eyes, to allow
Custos
’s commands to be altered.”

So many puppets on so many strings, thought Calvin. And even I, working for Kalila and Raidan both, at different times, was one of them…

“Oh, and don’t worry about your attack on the Council of Prelains,” Ozumire added, as if reading into Calvin’s final hopes that somehow the shattered galactic kingdoms of the Empire and the Republic would be spared, now that the top religious leaders of the Polarians knew they had been duped by Dark Ones.

“Why shouldn’t I worry about that?” asked Calvin, “I mean, perhaps I made a mistake. Perhaps I acted too hastily,” he said, remaining in character.

“It will not matter. There were many Skotadi disguised as guards that were quickly on their way after we left. I am sure they overtook the Prelains before they could be secured in their bunker, or else rescued by actual Polarians. The One True God’s plan would never be frustrated so easily.”

And that had been why Rez’nac had chosen to remain behind
, thought Calvin.
But even he, as mighty as he was, couldn’t possibly match a force of dozens…I should have stayed with him, Calvin continued thinking. We should have tried to help him defend those Prelains, so they could call off this terrible war. Now it’s probably too late; for all I know Capital World itself has been destroyed!

“Tell me more about the groups you manipulated; did you betray them all in the end?” asked Calvin.

“In one way or another, yes. There was the human target—who proved most difficult to resist.”

Calvin immediately identified
target
as the same human referred to in the Rahajiim intelligence files he had acquired.

Nikolai shifted once more, looking very uncomfortable.

“There was the Rahajiim—who proved to be the craftiest and most dangerous, they nearly had us found out. It took great effort to keep them in the dark,” continued Ozumire. “Then, of course, the Phoenix Ring, whose creation, ironically, the human target is to blame for. Although we enabled the Phoenix Ring more than the target anticipated. This group proved to be the simplest and easiest to control. They were far too obsessed with their own Empire to take much interest in investigating us.”

“Tell me a little more about the human you call
Target
,” said Calvin.

Nikolai shifted.

“Did you pay that human with any replicants or isotome missiles?” asked Calvin.

“No, that human did not even know of such things. Not unless the target discovered them through other means. We paid with the target with Rotham intel—target was obsessed with it—along with one very big personal favor of a
personal
nature.”

That cinched it for Calvin; he knew who target was for certain now. Not just a suspicion, to him, it was now a fact. As hard as it was to believe and as strange as it seemed, still, he needed confirmation.

“What was Target’s name?” asked Calvin.

“Her name was—”

Ozumire’s sentence was never completed. Instead there was a quiet report and a needle, fired from Nikolai’s pistol, took Ozumire right in the neck. He had enough time to look back at Calvin, his eyes expressing shock and betrayal, and then he was too gone to say anything, his body quickly returning to its natural dead form.

The instant Calvin saw the dart strike Ozumire’s neck, Calvin’s sidearm was out. He pointed it at Nikolai, who then turned his pistol on Calvin.

“Don’t try it,” said Nikolai.

“You have needles,” said Calvin. “I have lead.”

“Calvin, you I always respect. Because of this, I am very sorry. What now I must do.”

“Don’t do it, Nikolai,” said Calvin. “It’s not worth it.”

Nikolai ignored him, quickly dropping the needle pistol and drawing his other handgun. The second he had it out of his holster, about to raise it toward Calvin, Calvin felt himself instinctively pull the trigger…almost in disbelief as he did so.

His bullet took Nikolai in the center of his chest, center of mass, just like Calvin had been aiming.

Nikolai collapsed to his knees, and, despite being in obvious pain, continued to speak, as best he could, in that same tone he always used. Meanwhile, blood was flowing from his chest; some of it actually spurted high enough to get on Calvin’s uniform.

“You…” said Nikolai. “You…I tried…to protect.” He coughed up some blood. Meanwhile, Calvin kept his pistol trained on Nikolai, just in case.

“You tried to kill me,” said Calvin.

“Only after…after you know too much…only…way…keep…Empire…together.”

It took Calvin a few seconds to figure out what Nikolai was trying to say.

Then Nikolai raised his pistol and began pointing it in Calvin’s direction again, his arm unsteady. Just as instinctively as before, Calvin fired a second shot, this time into Nikolai’s head…ending the man’s misery. He took no joy in it. In fact, he felt only misery.

But at least now he had the missing piece. The final clue that threaded the whole picture together.

Just then, the hatch flew open and a soldier entered, weapon raised. “I heard gunfire. He immediately noted the goo on the floor, along with Nikolai’s corpse. Calvin was unsure whether the soldiers, who were Roscos except for one, would take his side in this—considering his connection to Grady Rosco—or if they would choose to try to avenge Nikolai.

Calvin decided to chance it; he was in command, so he was going to continue to act like it until someone successfully stopped him. “Lower your weapon, soldier,” ordered Calvin. “That’s an order. The situation is now under control.” Calvin re-holstered his sidearm.

To his pleasant surprise, the soldier did exactly what he asked.

As Calvin exited the hatch, he heard the Rosco soldier behind him say, “So Nikolai was a traitor, then?”

“No,” replied Calvin. “He was a good man. A good man who found himself at the wrong place, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing, and working for the wrong people.”

The soldier was obviously confused, but Calvin refused to expound. Instead, he went into the converted cargo hold, where most everyone was, only to see several soldiers with their weapons raised, looking uncertain.

“At ease!” commanded Calvin, deciding to try the same tactic. Again, it worked, and they lowered their rifles.

“Just what the hell happened back there?” asked Summers. “We heard gunfire! And…is that blood on your pants and shirt?”

“Everybody, listen up!” said Calvin, to everyone in the converted cargo hold. “We had a captive; Nikolai and I went to interrogate the captive. During that interrogation, Nikolai murdered the captive and then, in self-defense, I shot and killed Nikolai.”

There were gasps and stares of surprise. Calvin had expected nothing less. “Nikolai was not a bad man,” Calvin continued. “It just turned out that he was working for the wrong people, which is to say he was working against the Roscos,” Calvin made certain to point that out first, in order to maintain the loyalty of his soldiers. “And he was working against me. Now, someone please close and seal that hatch to contain the smell. Afterward, no one is allowed in or out of that maintenance room. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” Most of the people acknowledge him, a few simply nodded.

“First Lieutenant Ferreiro, you are on guard duty first; keep an eye on that hatch. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good,” said Calvin. “Now the rest of you, at ease.”

He then turned his attention back to Summers. “I figured it out,” he said. “But you’re not going to like it. It’s not good.”

“What are you even talking about?” asked Summers.

“I’ll explain in a minute. First let’s go to the cockpit so Rafael is in on this, and so we can get more privacy. This is not to become public knowledge. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Summers. “But just what the hell is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” said Calvin, practically jogging toward the cockpit.

CHAPTER 22

From the War Room, Kalila transmitted a message to all the surviving Rotham ships. She knew that most of them did not speak Human, but the Nau—who had survived—did, and he could translate for the rest of them.

“I want to thank you, each and every one of you, for your services rendered here today. On behalf of not just the Empire, but the entire free galaxy, and independence itself, I thank you for your service and your sacrifice. You are, each and every one of you, a hero. So go proudly forward and take comfort in the knowledge that when evil stretched forth its dark hand, you were there to help stop it. You did not run. You did not break. And you did not kneel. I speak for all humans everywhere when I tell you, with a heart full of respect and gratitude, that you will forever have our thanks.”

With that, she concluded the message. It had taken all of her diplomatic skill to say such words about the conniving Rotham without any sarcasm. For the truth was, although they had helped some in the battle, these Rotham had made certain to protect themselves first and foremost, which was why the percent of casualties taken had been so much worse for the Empire than for the Rotham Fleet. She had known they were up to no good the instant they had arrived, and now, almost beyond a doubt, they would return to Rotham space and from there report to their masters that the Imperial Fleet was weak and vulnerable to attack. More Imperial worlds were ripe for the taking…

Kalila then sent a private communiqué to her highest-ranking naval commander still living, “To Fleet Admiral Faried of the ISS
Colossus
, do you read?”

“Yes, Your Highness, and may I say, it is an honor to hear your voice through the speakers of my starship.”

Kalila ignored the compliment; instead paying attention to the fact that, if she was on loudspeakers, then Fleet Admiral Faried was not alone.

“Admiral,” said Kalila, “I must ask you to go somewhere private and transfer this communication to that location. It is of the highest priority.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” he said. Then, approximately five minutes later, his voice sounded again over the War Rooms loudspeakers. “We may now speak securely and privately, Your Highness. Do you have new orders for me?”

“Yes,” said Kalila. “You are to gather the remainder of your fleet, the Sixth Fleet, and add to it the strength of all remaining Imperial warships from all seven fleets. I will send orders to each respective fleet commander so there is to be no question that all Imperial ships, for the time being are under your direct command.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” he said, obviously waiting to hear what her command was.

“You will then take that force, in all its strength, and escort the remaining Rotham warships out of Capital System and toward Rotham space. Please communicate to the Nau your peaceful intent to do so. Whatever he says, however he might object, I command you not to take
no
for an answer.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Fleet Admiral Faried. “You wish to ensure that they are, in fact, removed from Imperial space.”

“Escort them a reasonable distance from Capital System,” said Kalila. “Once you have done so, I formally command you to
eliminate
them,” she paused, to allow the weight of her order to sink in.

“Eliminate them, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” said Kalila. “Destroy every last one. And, not only that,” continued Kalila, “If, at any point, any of the Rotham starships attempts to communicate over kataspace, you are to disrupt those transmissions by any and all means possible. Do you understand these orders?”

There was a brief pause. “Yes, Your Highness. I shall do as you command.”

Kalila smiled darkly. “And, Admiral, I’m quite sure I don’t have to remind you that, when communicating this order to the other starship commanders, it will require discreetness and delicacy.”

“Yes, Your Highness. They will not know what hit them.”

“As it should be,” said Kalila. “It also goes without saying, but…anyone who participates in this engagement, be they officers, crew, anyone, must have it made clear to them during their debriefing of today’s events that sharing information about this attack will result in
severe
consequences.”

“I’ll personally see to it that every man and woman aboard these ships understands just what may happen to them, should they loosen their lips. Do not worry, Your Majesty. I will see your command executed perfectly.”

“Make me proud, Admiral,” said Kalila. “Make our Empire proud.”

“I will, Your Highness. I swear it.”

She terminated the transmission then placed her fingers together thoughtfully.
Obviously, the Rotham Republic will require an explanation and full accounting for their lost warships
, she thought.
I will send them a casualty report, once I know the objective has been completed, and in the report I will claim that all seven-hundred Rotham warships were destroyed, nobly, in the line of duty, fighting the Dread Fleet.

Such an order may seem harsh, she admitted to herself. But, the fact remained, she had never forgotten who the true threat to the Empire was. Perhaps every hundred years or so the Dread Fleet would rise, but, in the meantime it was the Rotham, with all their tricks, lies, guile, and violence that put the Empire in the greatest amount of danger.
I will not allow you to have your advantage
, she thought, imagining the plan concocted by the Rotham Advent to send a force to observe exactly how crippled and weak the Empire’s defenses had become—all under the pretense of rendering aid in the battle.

As for the Polarians, aside from their religious zealotry, which sometimes led to unpredictable things, they were only a minor threat, if even that. Simpletons with starships who generally kept their conflicts amongst themselves. Their Dread Fleet was the obvious exception, but the apparent fact that it had been recalled and disbanded by the Polarian religious elite was an indication that it would not be a threat again—not in the foreseeable future. But, when and if it did rise once again to challenge the galaxy and attack the Empire, the Empire would be ready. Though Kalila doubted such a thing would happen in her lifetime, she would spend her tenure as queen building such a glorious and powerful Imperial civilization that nothing would dare attack them again.

Kalila then looked across the War Room table to where Fleet Admiral Lawson had remained, and had, undoubtedly, heard every word of her command.
The question is, can I trust her or does her knowledge represent a threat?
Kalila wondered.

Of course, Kalila could have sent Fleet Admiral Lawson from the War Room before sending her order to Fleet Admiral Faried, and yet she had chosen not to…as if a part of her had wanted Fleet Admiral Lawson to hear it.
Perhaps
, Kalila wondered,
I want her here to validate the black order I’ve just given
.
After all, should she go telling others about what she heard, I can have her dismissed as a crazy old bat
.

“Tell me, Fleet Admiral Lawson,” said Kalila, meeting the old Admiral’s gaze. “What do you think of this command I have just given?”

Fleet Admiral Lawson’s facial expression seemed neither to indicate approval nor condemnation.

“I cannot say,” said Fleet Admiral Lawson. “Because I have no answer to your question.”

“You think
nothing
about my order to betray and destroy a force of ships because they represent our primary future enemy?” asked Kalila, incredulously.

“It is you who is queen, not I. Such decisions are for you to consider and make. I am but a humble subject, loyal to the Crown,” replied the Fleet Admiral.

“Very well,” said Kalila, “Then answer me this. Does the issuance of such an order make me a bad person?”

Fleet Admiral Lawson seemed to take her time before coming up with her answer. Meanwhile, Kalila herself wrestled with the question, wondering if what she had done, this order and many other things, all for the good of the Empire, had caused her to cross some kind of line and lose something precious, some kind of innocence, or goodness, that once she’d possessed.

Eventually, Fleet Admiral Lawson spoke. “In my experience,” she paused for a moment. “The universe is not truly filled with good and bad people, neither is it filled with benevolence and evil.

There is nothing in the natural world to support such things; the ideas themselves exist because they are constructs of intelligent, civilized beings,
but,
no matter how intelligent the beings are that have reasoned these ideas, they are merely artificial constructs notwithstanding.

There is nothing in the natural world, or the natural universe, to reflect them. There is no equity. There is no karma. All that there truly is, once you boil away everything else, is strength and weakness. And what nature has taught us is: the strong survive and their numbers flourish. Meanwhile, the weak die off and become extinct. Does that answer your question?”

“I believe so,” said Kalila with a smile.

***

Summers followed Calvin to the cockpit. Even though it was a short distance, Calvin must have rambled on about how
he’d finally figured it out
, at least three times.

“Figured what out?” Summers had tried to ask, in futility.

Upon arrival at the cockpit, Calvin ordered the other two out, so that it was just the three of them present: Summers, Calvin, and Rafael. He then sealed and locked the cockpit door.

“What’s going on?” asked Rafael.

“Believe me, I have no idea,” said Summers. “First I learn that Calvin shot Nikolai and now—”

“You
shot
Nikolai?” asked Rafael, staring at Calvin with a look of stunned surprise that, even with his eye-patch, Summers could easily make out.

“Yes, technically, that is true,” said Calvin, “But that isn’t what this is about.”

“I think that is what this should be about. Is Nikolai dead?”

“Yes,” said Calvin.

Rafael was in shock. “I think we should talk about that. I’m sure it trumps whatever else you want to discuss.”

Calvin gave Rafael a very serious look. “Not by a long shot.”

“Oh…” said Rafael, obviously noticing the seriousness of Calvin’s tone, not to mention the ghost-white color of his face.

Just what had he seen back there?
Summers wondered.
Or, what had been said?
She supposed she was about to find out.

“I got the information from our captive before, well, Nikolai killed him,” said Calvin.

“I take it not on your orders,” said Rafael.

“Precisely. I was just about to confirm something—something important—when Nikolai killed the captive, trying to prevent me from discovering it. But it was too late and he knew it, so he tried to kill me, to contain the secret, but I beat him to the draw—so to speak.”

“My God, Calvin, I had no idea such mayhem was going on back there,” said Rafael.

“How could you? Anyway, at least now I understand why Nikolai had been so insistent upon being present for the interrogation,” said Calvin.

“I was going to ask you about that,” said Rafael. “You sent me to the cockpit but
allowed
Nikolai to be part of the interrogation?”

“Not allowed,” said Calvin, “I ordered him to remain behind, but he refused. What was I to do? Anyway, we’re getting off the rails. None of that is the point.”

“So, what is the point?” asked Summers.

“You know how these so-called Dark Ones have been making deals with the Rahajiim and the Phoenix Ring?” asked Calvin.

“Right, that’s how they get their replicants,” said Rafael. “They have some kind of trade relationship, very secretive. I was only able to dig up a very small amount before getting taken by the Phoenix Ring.”

“Well they weren’t the only groups with whom the Dark Ones were making deals and trades. Guess who else. I’ll give you a clue; it’s someone we know.”

“Raidan,” said Summers immediately, certain that she was right.

“Wrong,” said Calvin. “The Organization never directly knew about the Dark Ones; they just knew that replicants existed. They never understood how or from where they came.”

“I give up,” said Rafael, obviously just wanting to know the answer.

Summers too had no interest in playing a guessing game.

“Why, our very own beloved queen,” said Calvin. “Kalila Akira.”

“No,” said Summers, immediately suspicious of this information. Especially if it had come from Ozumire—why should they trust anything he said?

“I didn’t think so at first either,” said Calvin, “But it’s true. For example, who do you suppose was behind the strangely ‘
coincidental
’ simultaneous killings of Kalila’s family members, which, conveniently, made her the heir to the throne? Kalila herself couldn’t do it. Neither could she have her own people do it—not without extreme discretion and at terrible risk. But, some secret, uninterested third party, one with vast resources who is only interested in getting a little bit of information…”