The Phoenix War (26 page)

“And the Enclave will give the weapons to the
Rotham military,” said Calvin glumly. Remembering that had been
their enemies’ original plan, back on Remus Nine. He was certain
the promise of star-destroying weapons had been the currency the
Enclave had used to purchase Rotham help in fulfilling whatever
dark design they had for Tybur and the rest of the Alliance.

“We don’t know if it’s for the Rotham
military for sure,” said Summers, though she didn’t sound
hopeful.

“But, if you had to make a bet on it…”

“It does seem like a reasonable possibility,”
Summers admitted.

“And you can bet if the Rotham military gets
their claws on those weapons, they’re going to use them,” said
Calvin. “And probably against us.”

“Yes,” admitted Summers, almost weakly.

“Thanks for the update,” said Calvin. It sunk
in again exactly how massively important the Nighthawk’s current
mission was, and that gave him second thoughts about his plan to
divert them temporarily to Aleator so he could borrow some of the
crew and supplies. If that delay, however slight, proved to be the
difference between intercepting the isotome weapons and not, the
price would prove far too dear.

“I only hope next time I contact you, it is
with better news,” said Summers, sounding forlorn but stubbornly
undefeated.

“This Zander,” said Calvin. “Do you know
where he is going to be? Are you en route to intercept him?”

“Unfortunately no,” said Summers. “We have
that list of places I mentioned, ports and so forth, and the queen
has made arrangements to keep eyes on each of them… but, until we
get some inkling of a lead, we’re just sitting here waiting.
Holding our breath that Zander’s ship will be sighted.”

As he listened, Calvin scanned through the
list of places she’d sent him. Starbases, stations, and supply
yards where Zander was known to make port. Most of them were
civilian owned and operated, very few were military outposts, and
almost all were around fringe worlds near the DMZ. In fact, the
majority were not truly that far from Aleator…

“That is all the news I have for now,” said
Summers. “Good luck to you, Calvin.” It was clear she was about to
close the channel.

“Summers,
wait
,” said Calvin. He
debated one last time if he should risk diverting the Nighthawk to
Aleator or not.

“Yes?”

Calvin decided to go for it. “Set course for
Aleator, I’ll meet you there. It isn’t too far away from any of the
outposts on this list, so if you get word that Zander’s been seen
then of course you have to immediately change course and pursue
that lead. But in the meantime, while we’re all just waiting, you
should make for Aleator.”

“Okay,” said Summers, sounding guarded and
curious in equal measure. “Why Aleator?”

“I’ll explain in person.”

“…and from this position, I accept the solemn
charge to defend the Empire and all her citizens. To do whatever is
necessary to preserve our glorious union! Whether you are a worker
in the Kisho Mining Belt or a trader braving the stormy tempests of
deep space; whether you are a grower raising food from the farm
worlds of Gennaiodoria or a laborer toiling in the shipyards of
Pisceous Major, you have my solemn word. My fervent pledge.
I
shall watch over you. From the farthest reaches to the
innermost core systems, from the endless stretches of The Corridor
to the bustling skyways of Capital World, I shall protect and
defend you. I shall serve you and guide you. I shall
end
this civil war. You have my promise and my vow, as guardian of our
civilization. As the Steward of the Empire, I shall guide our
fleets to victory, I shall restore order, I shall serve justice
upon our enemies both at home and abroad. And out of that justice,
I shall return the peace. The time is fast approaching when—”

Kalila switched off the display. She’d seen
quite enough of Caerwyn Martel’s fat face and his cunning, evil
eyes.

“Not interested in watching the rest of the
pronouncement, then?” asked Captain Adiger. Normally he would be on
the bridge but Kalila had asked him to her office to watch the
broadcast with her. As soon as she’d heard that Capital World was
airing a maximum priority message to all Imperial ships and worlds,
she knew it was going to be something that would infuriate her, and
having Adiger’s collected presence would help. She’d been right.
Together they’d watched fifteen minutes of Caerwyn’s posturing,
pompous rhetoric and Kalila saw no point in enduring any more of
it.

“If I never see or hear that man again, it
will be quite too soon,” she said.

Adiger nodded, clearly in concurrence.

The more she thought about it, the more upset
it made her. For no good reason. “It’s fitting that they made him
‘Steward of the Empire,” she said. “It’s a shamelessly invented,
made-up, crackpot position that appears exactly nowhere in the
Articles of the Imperial Charter. It’s exactly as legitimate as
he
is.”

“I’m sure Imperial citizens everywhere will
see through the charade as you do, Your Majesty,” said Adiger.

Kalila was not so convinced, but she
appreciated the sentiment behind his words all the same.

Adiger continued his attempt to raise
Kalila’s spirits. It was kind of him, but ineffective. “Even though
it was broadcasted to the entire Empire, I’d bet most people aren’t
even watching it. And those who are—”

“Let them watch,” snapped Kalila. “What
difference does it make…” If her subjects could be won and lost
over a few flowery words and spectacularly empty promises, then
there wasn’t any hope to cling to anyway.

“It won’t make any difference,” said Adiger.
“Not in my estimation. All the speeches in the universe couldn’t
help him. He could pull roses straight from his ass—pardon the
language, Your Majesty—while live-broadcasting and no one would be
impressed. Caerwyn and his lackeys in the Assembly can pass all the
motions they wish, and pretend to have all the power they want—they
could pass a resolution declaring themselves the Eternal Gods of
the Sun for all the good it would do then. But ultimately this war
will turn on military success. And once we serve him a platter of
bitter defeat on the field of battle, the news will spread far and
wide. And his support will erode and evaporate.”

Kalila nodded. Trying hard not to be
pessimistic. She had every reason in the universe to oppose the
Assembly, and every right to maintain her claim to her father’s
throne, to seek the justice his blood cried out for. The same
justice her own dear siblings deserved every bit as much. For
truth
’s sake, it was the very justice the Founders of the
Empire themselves cried out for it from their graves. She knew it!
And whether it was part of some divine plan or merely some cruel
jape of the universe, it had fallen upon her to make certain
justice was done.

She never wanted this burden, certainly she’d
never wished for it, but it was hers all the same. And if she did
not salvage the Empire, and excise the corrupt branches and restore
the tree to health, then no one would. And it would die. And the
Rotham and Polarian vultures would scavenge the corpse, preying on
the decaying remains of humanity, until there was nothing left.

I cannot accept that
, she made herself
remember.
I will not
!

“And don’t forget we received word just
before the Assembly’s broadcast that the Taurus System and all its
resources stand firmly by our side,” said Adiger.

That had been some good news, at least.
Kalila hoped dearly that the Assembly’s broadcast had done nothing
to change that fact. She needed the Taurus System, just as she
needed the other worlds that had declared for her.

“The fact that the Assembly has chosen an
executive leader—no matter how illegitimate and stupid—does present
a danger,” she said thoughtfully. “Until now, their fleets have
been disjointed, split up into mostly defensive positions. Now,
however, they have someone to answer to, someone with the power to
organize them and attack. Making our worlds vulnerable.”

Adiger nodded. “That is so.”

“And most of the worlds that have declared
for us are in the Cheluna Ring and the Mu and Tenebris Clusters,
are they not?”

“They are.”

“And many of those systems are within close
striking range of the Apollo System…”

Adiger seemed to connect the dots. “If the
enemy maintains a fleet in the Apollo System, several of our worlds
are vulnerable to repeated assault and frequent harassment. That
would require us to tie down a serious portion of our forces
defensively, greatly diminishing our offensive capability…”

“
Exactly
,” said Kalila. The Apollo
System was a multiple-star system with no habitable planets, but
due to its central location the Empire had constructed an
impressive series of shipyards, outposts, and supply yards that
could field and support a large military force far away from the
main worlds. Because there was no livable planet in the system,
there were no Apollo members of the Assembly, and there were no
citizens or civic leaders to officially declare a side in the
conflict, but Kalila’s knights had informed her that the military
leaders currently managing the Apollo Yards were, unfortunately,
taking orders from the Assembly. And that was not an acceptable
arrangement, not if she had any hope of defending her sworn
systems.

“So long as the Apollo Yards remain in enemy
hands, our systems are far too vulnerable. They demand protection
but I cannot protect them all, not without dividing our forces into
such small fragments that the Assembly will need only a broom to
sweep us all away,” said Kalila. “The only way to protect them, and
still keep our fleet together, is to remove the system from enemy
control. Which is why I suggest a preemptive strike.” She paused to
let the words sink in.

Adiger seemed to like this idea, though he
tempered his enthusiasm and his reply was one of caution. “If we
draw first blood in this war, it is possible the Assembly will use
that for their own benefit. Make new propaganda portraying you as
ruthless, as the one who started the violence. Then, the bloodier
it is, the more damaged your reputation will be in the eyes of the
Imperial public.”

“Which is precisely why it must not be very
bloody,” said Kalila. She regretted the idea of spilling Imperial
blood, no matter how justified, and she was also patently aware of
the threat looming just across the border. She’d sent Calvin Cross
to investigate, to see just how imminent the specter of Rotham
invasion was, and she hoped desperately that the rumors would prove
ill-founded, but she was not foolish enough to think the threat was
empty. If she allowed the Imperial fleets to become so depleted and
destroyed from internal conflict, eventually the Rotham would
invade and start seizing Imperial worlds. They’d always been an
aggressive people, and they coveted nothing more than a golden
opportunity. She only hoped not to serve it up to them.

“How do you expect it not to be bloody?”
asked Adiger. “If we attack the Apollo Yards, you can be certain
that the Assembly will defend them vigorously. From a strategic
vantage, the Apollo System is the most valuable card in the enemy’s
possession. Except for Capital World itself.”

“Yes, they will defend the system,” admitted
Kalila. “So long as they anticipate our attack. Which is why we
will leak intelligence, and make every pretense, to convince them
we are attacking Olympia instead.” She’d thought long and hard
about this, and discussed the strategy at length with her truest
knights.

“Olympia is one of the most-populous systems
that has sworn allegiance to the Assembly,” said Adiger
thoughtfully. “If they think it’s in danger, they’ll have to defend
it.”

“And it’s far enough away from the Apollo
Yards that, by the time they realize their error and rush their
forces to defend, the Apollo Yards will already be under our
control.”

Adiger nodded. “I like it,” he said.

Kalila resisted the urge to smile. She knew
it was a good plan, she didn’t require validation on that score,
but it was still pleasant to hear. Adiger was a man for whom she’d
always held the highest degree of respect, particularly with regard
to matters of military strategy, so it meant a lot to hear him
approve of the plan that she’d personally thought up.

“We will hand the enemy their first defeat,
and that defeat will be heard far and wide,” said Adiger. “And we
will do it with minimal loss of life.”

“That is my hope, Captain,” said Kalila.
“That is my dearest hope.”

***

If he listened carefully, he could hear the
distant echoes of the screams—along with the muted whine of alien
rifle-fire accompanied by the faint thumping of bodies crashing
onto the hard, metal deck of the Waeju Canton.

As fast as he moved, however, Samil never
caught up to the fighting. He ran through the corridors—as quickly
as his old, broken body would let him—not sure where he was going
but knowing he
had
to get away, to hide somewhere,
anywhere
that wasn’t here. But, no matter where he went, he
couldn’t escape the grisly signs of what was happening.

Bodies littered the floor. Some were
soldiers, Alliance security personnel who’d been taken unawares,
but most weren’t. Most were civilians. Samil had never had much
love for the Alliance, their citizens were naïve, ignorant,
paranoid, and xenophobic. But they were people all the same. Human
beings. And somehow, no matter what side of the conflict they were
on, there was just something profoundly upsetting about the sight
of women torn to pieces and children lying with their heads burned
and bodies melted…