The Phoenix War (21 page)

“One-hundred and seventy-nine vessels and we
could destroy them without losing a ship,” remarked Commander
Junius.

That isn’t the plan
, thought Virgil
Prime silently, though of course no one here was familiar with The
Cause besides him. No one else had even the tiniest glimpse of the
Great Design the galaxy was being weaved into.

“The Rotham fleet is dropping out of
alteredspace, our ships are setting up containment pattern.”

“All stop,” said Virgil Prime.

“Answering
all stop
.”

“Sir, the lead ship is responding to our
hail,” said the communications chief.

“On speakers,” said Virgil Prime.

The comm clicked on and a Rotham voice could
be heard, practically hissing over the bridge speakers. “This is
Commissioner Nae Z’ryh of the Ro-Q’nor Trade Coalition and a
citizen of the Rotham Republic. I demand to know why you have
intercepted our vessels!”

The name was familiar, Virgil Prime realized.
As was the voice. It confirmed his suspicion, the Rotham on the
other end were indeed playing out their part of the Grand Design,
even though most of them did not know it. Which meant this convoy
must not be interfered with. Lest wrath from on high be invoked.
But it wasn’t as simple as letting them pass, Virgil Prime still
needed to maintain his cover. He had to continue playing the role
he was in.

“I am Fleet Admiral Virgil Tiberon of the
Royal Imperial Navy, and you have entered Imperial space. I am
charged with the defense of this region. State your intentions
inside Imperial space and prepare to be boarded; refuse and you
will
be fired upon.”

Commander Junius nodded and gave him an
approving look. It was a curious thing that Virgil Prime had
observed long ago; humans seemed innately to approve of a firm hand
and think less of a gentle one. Almost without respect to the
matter at issue. It was a fascinating thing about the species, and
perhaps one of many indictments against them and their
fast-diminishing right to exist in the universe.

“We are a civilian convoy carrying supplies
to the Angola Systems. I am transmitting to your ship a complete
inventory of all our cargo. You will see that there is nothing on
the Transport Blacklist. We are unarmed and in every way in
compliance with Peaceful Traffic Treaty 13-A. And, according to the
terms of the treaty, if your soldiers come aboard our vessels,
without stated probable cause—one that you can later justify in
international arbitration—
you
will be in violation of the
treaty.”

Virgil Prime motioned for the microphone to
be shut off on their end, so he and his crew could speak freely
without being heard by the Rotham.

“He’s got us there,” said Virgil Prime. “The
treaty does state that.”

“A convoy of Rotham ships this large in
Imperial space, heading for the Angola Systems…” said Commander
Junius skeptically. “Something is definitely wrong.”

“Ops, do you confirm receipt of the convoy’s
inventory manifest?”

“Roger,” said the ops chief. “The scan of the
stated cargo confirms that none of it is on the banned list.”

“Just because they say that’s what they’re
carrying doesn’t mean that is what they’re carrying,” said
Commander Junius.

“Ops, scan the ships and compare their
relative mass against what the computer predicts their mass should
be, if the cargo is what they claim it is,” said Virgil Prime. He
knew this was what the real Fleet Admiral Tiberon would do, and
what the Rotham should expect him to do. He hoped that, whatever
they were really carrying, they’d made the effort to make their
apparent mass—determined by gravity and volume—match what they
claimed to be carrying, or at least close enough to be
convincing.

“Aye sir, scan in progress.”

Assuming the Rotham had been clever enough to
predict this move, and the scan result came back favorably, then
the concerns of the paranoid humans will be assuaged.
At least
enough to justify letting the Rotham convoy pass unmolested,
without me risking my cover
.

“Scan complete,” said the ops chief. “It
seems to check out. The mismatch between what we measure and what
we estimate is less than five percent.”

Virgil Prime nodded. “Very well, inform Nae
Z’ryh that his ships may resume course.”

“Belay that order,” said Commander Junius as
he shot Virgil Prime an apologetic look. Virgil Prime narrowed his
eyes and gave him a stone-cold expression that said
this had
better be good
.

“Sir?” asked the comms chief as he turned
around and looked at Virgil Prime for clarification regarding his
orders.

“Admiral,” said Commander Junius, in a polite
but anxious tone. “We should destroy those ships.”

Virgil Prime felt his heart accelerate but he
maintained outward calm. “
What
did you say, Commander?”

“Sir, with respect, we should fire on those
ships. For the security of the Empire.”

Judging from the feeling in the room, Virgil
Prime could tell that several of the other humans were of a similar
mind. Things were happening inside the Empire, bad things, and none
of them seemed convinced that this was business as usual. The king
was dead, the various human worlds were declaring in droves for two
sides in an imminent civil war, and now a huge convoy of Rotham
starships was inside Imperial space. Regardless of how peaceful
their intentions seemed, few—if any—believed that the appearance of
these Rotham ships was for the good of the Empire. Which meant
Virgil Prime had to convince them otherwise, and do so without
breaking character.

He cleared his throat then looked Commander
Junius in the eyes, making sure his voice was loud enough to be
heard by all present, but not so loud as to be mistaken for a
dressing down. “Commander, I understand your concern, I share it,
but do you hear yourself? If boarding those ships is a violation of
the treaty, what do you suppose firing on them is?”

Commander Junius did not reply, though his
eyes stared back at Virgil Prime resiliently.

“It would be an act of war, sir,” said
Commander Junius soberly. “But the Rotham have already declared
Renora as one of their own systems, an Imperial world, sir! And
these ships are, by their own admission, heading for the Angola
Systems. That is very near Renora. We have standing orders to
destroy Rotham ships heading into that sector of space.”

“Orders from whom?” asked Virgil Prime; he
knew the answer but was setting up his reply.

“From Queen Kalila Akira.”

“Yes, exactly, from a woman who claims to be
the Queen of the Empire. And indeed, to many worlds and starships,
she is the queen. But to even more, she isn’t. Dozens of worlds
have refused to take a side in the emerging conflict, along with
hundreds of starships—including ours. Meanwhile many others openly
defy her claim. Even the Imperial Assembly on Capital World,
representing every planet in the Empire, refuses to recognize her.
In fact, they have declared her an Enemy of the State. Do you
really think orders from her are binding?”

“I… I don’t know,” admitted Commander Junius.
“But she is an Akira, the last one left.”

Virgil Prime folded his arms and looked at
Commander Junius with pity. Using his body language to demonstrate
to everyone watching how weak Commander Junius’ argument was, the
idea that Kalila’s accident of birth entitled her to command the
fleet, despite the government’s instance otherwise, was
ridiculous.

It wasn’t quite enough to completely stymie
Commander Junius, however. “The Assembly has yet to elect a proper
king. Which means the governance of the Empire rests on the
shoulders of the late king’s last living heir.”

“There is certainly a succession crisis,”
Virgil Prime admitted. “And the Empire is being torn apart into
factions. Civil war is coming. That is unavoidable. But if we fire
on these Rotham ships, it won’t just be civil war that is stealing
the lives of our citizens, it will be foreign war, pitched battle
against the mighty Rotham Republic. With things as fragile as they
are, would you seriously have us be the ones to spill first blood
and start another Great War? Blood of civilians no less.”

This seemed to take Commander Junius
completely aback, and to Virgil Prime’s relief seemed to win over
the other humans. From their body-language he could tell he’d
gotten their attention and made them think twice.

“Sir,” said Commander Junius meekly. “I have
family on Renora. Or… at least… I think I do. I haven’t heard from
them in a while. And I don’t think Kalila would order us to fire on
ships heading to Renora without there being a good reason.”

“There is a good reason. She wants to
frighten the Imperial worlds who haven’t yet declared a side to
choose her, so humanity can unite against the common threat of the
Rotham menace. A threat that, as of now, is only imaginary. But I
promise you, if we fire even a single shot, that imaginary threat
will transform instantly into a real one. And then there will be
war across the galaxy. All Kalila needs is an incident.”

After considering this final point, Commander
Junius nodded. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to second-guess
you.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Virgil Prime
amiably, but still in a commanding tone. “I value your judgment.
Now, Mister Reynolds, if you’ll kindly transmit instructions to the
Rotham convoy that they may resume course.”

His subordinates obeyed. Allowing the Rotham
convoy to continue on its mission. Unknowingly executing the will
of the One True God.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Commander, but you
asked us to alert you.” A voice crackled over the comm. “We’re
twenty minutes from our destination, at present depth.”

Summers had to blink a few times to regain
her bearings. She’d been ripped from an unusually deep sleep. After
a moment, the disorientation passed.

The voice over the comm continued, “currently
we are at ninety-one percent potential, all systems operating
within accepted parameters.” Summers recognized the voice, it
belonged to Midshipman Petersen, the Green Shift ops chief.

Summers climbed out of bed and pressed the
comm. “Thank you, Midshipman. Is the stealth system active?” She’d
given very explicit orders that the ship was to activate stealth
and maintain radio silence long before reaching the DMZ.

“Yes, sir,” replied Petersen. “The stealth
system is engaged and functioning normally. No one should be able
to detect us.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said. Though,
truthfully, she’d started to think of the stealth system’s ability
to shield them as less of an umbrella and more of a parasol,
considering the number of times it had failed to adequately hide
them. But, she supposed, it was still better than nothing. So long
as she didn’t allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of
security.

She changed her clothes and headed to the
bridge. By the time she got there, they were about fifteen minutes
from their destination, with Green Shift still on watch.

Cassidy Dupont was the first to acknowledge
Summers’ presence as she stepped onto the deck. The younger woman
gave up the command position immediately and saluted; the others
saluted too. Summers returned their salutes.

“Any updates?” asked Summers as she took her
seat at the center of the bridge.

“Nothing unusual to report,” said Cassidy.
“The nearest ships are common civilian cruisers and freighters.
Normal commercial traffic, mostly. We did spot one military convoy
of three destroyers, but they seemed to be on a standard
patrol.”

“Any sign that they noticed us?” asked
Summers.

“No sign. They held course and did not
attempt to hail us, or scan us, or anything.”

Summers nodded. “Any comm chatter?”

“Nothing unusual,” said Cassidy. “Not that we
picked up anyway.”

Very good
. Summers pressed the tips of
her fingers together. “Mister Tully,” she turned her chair to look
at the fat civilian who occupied the pilot’s seat and wore the comm
headset—undoubtedly bending it with his massive head.

“Yes, sir?” He looked back at her, his
forehead slick with sweat. Summers wasn’t sure if the perspiration
was from jittery nerves, or the result of heat from his many folds
of unnecessary insulation that baked him where he sat.

“Please notify the bridge officers of the
White Shift to report to their stations on the double. Once they
arrive, you and Mister Peterson along with Mister Roy are
dismissed.” She turned her chair to look briefly at the other
officers. The Green Shift ops and defense officers were still
strangers to her. And she was not particularly interested in having
them manning those critical posts when the ship finally dropped out
of alteredspace. Especially since she was anything but convinced
they’d be invisible to whatever hostile ships were out there.

“Right away, Commander,” said Mister Tully.
He relayed the orders to the lower decks.

“As for you, Midshipman Dupont,” said
Summers, turning to look at Cassidy—who was undoubtedly the most
competent officer of the shift. “You shall remain here to observe.”
Summers wanted Cassidy to benefit from the experience as much as
she could, to help season her as a command officer. And, Summers
figured, Cassidy would be useful in a pinch. Her ops knowledge was
second only to Mister Iwate Shen. And Summers wasn’t yet convinced
that man was ready for duty. During the previous shift, though he’d
performed his job adequately, something about him had struck
Summers as emotionally or mentally checked out. Considering that
they were about to drop into a potentially very dangerous
situation, and ops was arguably the most important station on the
ship, Summers didn’t want to have to pin all hope of success on
Shen. If he showed even the remotest degree of sluggishness or
incapacity, she would remove him and instate Cassidy on the
spot.