The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  “Turn around slowly,” said Alex. “And, I cannot emphasize this enough, do not make any loud noises.” Alex withdrew his concealed T-67 pistol and pointed it at the senator as the man swiveled his chair around. At first, the senator looked infuriated. How dare anyone disturb a man of his importance? And then, upon seeing the weapon, he looked positively petrified.

  “What in Ro’s name do you want, you thug?” asked the senator, slowly rising to his feet and raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I haven’t got any money.”

  As if, thought Alex, not that it mattered. He hadn’t come for money. “I am here, Senator Ze’lo, because you, sir, are a member of the Rahajiim.”

  “How dare you accuse me of treason within my own home!”

  “This is how I dare,” said Alex, waving his pistol slightly, just enough to remind the senator who had the power in this conversation. “Also because of this,” Alex withdrew a small thumbdrive from his pocket and slid it across the desk to the senator.

  “What is that?” asked Senator Ze’lo.

  “Plug it in,” commanded Alex, waving the pistol from the thumbdrive to the electronic pad. The senator did as he was bid. “Now, read it,” said Alex.

  He waited about five minutes, just long enough for the senator to see, in plain Rotham, that there were very incriminating documents. An opaque paper trail, movement of funds between suspicious parties, ultimately for the senator’s benefit, and other details that clearly identified the senator as either a member of the Rahajiim or else a very powerful sympathizer. Upon seeing these incriminating documents, the senator removed the thumbdrive and crushed it with his hands.

  “You’ll never be able to prove any of it,” he said.

  Alex nearly laughed. “If you think that was the only copy we have, you are quite wrong, sir.”

  “We?” asked the senator. And then it clicked. “You’re no common thug. You’re a member of Advent!”

  “I knew you weren’t completely stupid,” said Alex, noting the senator’s defiance seem to immediately give way to a sense of fear. “Even as we speak, the Advent are prepared to expose you and all of your cohorts to the rest of the Republican Senate,” said Alex.

  “You mustn’t,” said the senator, pleadingly. “It’s lies. They forced me. They threatened me. I swear to you, I am a loyal citizen of the Republic. I would never conspire. They threatened to kill my family. My wife! Even me!” he continued rambling like this for some time before Alex interrupted him.

  “If you’re a loyal citizen of the Republic, then you and I don’t have to have a problem,” said Alex.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. You are wise,” said the senator. “Very, very sharp. I could tell that about you right away. You are clearly a very intelligent—”

  Alex interrupted, “Here’s the deal,” he said, knowing the house staff will have realized the door to the master suit was locked by now and likely would be contacting the authorities soon.

  “Anything. Anything you want. Anything I can do to prove my loyalty,” the senator rambled.

  Alex removed another thumbdrive from his pocket and slid it across the table. “On that device is a Bill. You are going to introduce it during the next session of the Senate.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, anything,” said the senator, plugging the drive into his electronic pad and beginning to read. His expression changed from subservient to horrified. “You can’t be serious,” he said, looking up desperately at Alex. “If I read this…they’ll kill me!”

  “Or I could just kill you now,” said Alex, waving the pistol.

  “Point taken,” said the senator. “But you have to understand the position you are putting me in…the Rahajiim…they are not forgiving; they will torture me. They will slaughter my loved ones!”

  “That is why the Rahajiim must be stopped and you, Senator, are going to be lauded as a hero for helping to stop them,” said Alex. “It’s either that or you will be thrown to the wolves with them. Think it through; the Rahajiim have nothing left to offer you. The Advent is taking them down, immediately. Many, many senators are going to go down with them. Some will be arrested, others will be executed, I think we both know there is enough here: financial contracts, gifts, quid-pro-quo favors, and so on to make certain you get the vice.” Alex deliberately named the vice, which was only one form of Rotham capital punishment, but it was the one that seemed to strike fear in the hearts of people most easily.

  “And if I introduce this legislation,” said the senator. “I will not myself be taken down? I will receive a full pardon?”

  “Better than a pardon,” said Alex. “The Advent will make sure that nobody ever knows what a filthy sellout you are.”

  “But the Rahajiim, if they get to me first…you’re asking me to be a martyr.”

  “Either a martyr or a traitor, the choice is yours,” said Alex. “However, if you do your job, and we do ours, there won’t be any Rahajiim to fear anymore. We are taking the bastards down. The only question remains, when they do go down, are you going down with them?”

  “So, if I do this, you will guarantee my safety?” asked the senator.

  “There are not guarantees in life,” said Alex. “Except for the guarantee that if you don’t do this, then I will personally come after you and make certain you are on the receiving end of brutal justice,” he shot the senator the deadliest, most fearsome look he could. “And believe me, Senator, you would not be the first senator whose blood I had to wash off my boots.”

  “I take your point, sir.”

  ***

  At Rez’nac’s request, Calvin brought the Nighthawk to a stop near a bright blue supergiant star that the Nighthawk’s computer identified only as B9-T301. Rez’nac, however, insisted that the star’s true name was something else, something in Polarian that roughly translated to Sacred Fountain. He told Calvin that there were many such stars that bore that name. When he had seen the flight plan and noticed how closely the Nighthawk intended to fly near Sacred Fountain, the Polarian had positively begged for Calvin to stop the ship there and go into orbit.

  “I still advise against it,” said Cassidy from the Ops post. “There is strange radiation coming from that star, radiation that this ship cannot properly identify; it’s possible that it could be harmful to us.”

  “Raise the shields,” ordered Calvin, to be on the safe side.

  “Shields up,” said Miles, as he leaned back in his chair, feet on the console. Summers watched him with a glare, but somehow managed to say nothing.

  “I cannot guarantee that our shields will protect us from the radiation,” said Cassidy, “since I cannot identify what it is.”

  “Captain,” said Rez’nac, who loomed large over Calvin who sat in the command position. “We must enter into orbit around that star. For my sake, I need it. I know I am a dark one now, lost and abandoned, but it has been too long.”

  Calvin only partially understood what Rez’nac meant. He knew that the Polarians would make religious pilgrimages to certain stars known as “Shrine Stars” from time to time and medical science had shown that those visits were what gave the otherwise grey aliens’ skin the blue hue they were so famous for. Considering how grey Rez’nac now appeared, Calvin could understand why the Polarian wanted to orbit the star so badly. No doubt the radiation—which Cassidy could not identify—was what was responsible for giving the Polarians the blue color they seemed to hold in such high religious regard.

  However, Calvin was not about to risk the ship, or the health of the rest of his crew, in order to indulge some sort of superstitious religious practice that meant something to Rez’nac and no one else.

  “We should continue on our way,” said Summers. “My advice is to resume the mission; dropping out of alteredspace like this…it only serves as an unnecessary delay.”

  “She has a point,” said Calvin, looking up at Rez’nac, as if wanting the mighty Polarian to come up with some sort of convincing rebuttal. Calvin wasn’t sure whether that was becaus
e he had a soft spot for the Polarian warrior, or if it was because—despite all they had been through—Calvin’s default position remained the opposite of whatever Summers’ position was.

  “This is something I must do,” said Rez’nac. “We, followers of the light, and of the Essences, we must make pilgrimage to these stars every year at least, more if we are righteous and dutiful. I am deeply ashamed to say that, for me, it has been many years. My son condemned me for this…and he was right to do so. But please, Captain, I beg you, allow me this favor. I belong to you, I am yours. I shall respect your decision. However, if there be one thing I may ask of you, it is this. Allow me the chance to make one final pilgrimage before we sail in to the great, black unknown.”

  Calvin wasn’t sure whether the “great, black unknown” referred to Polarian Forbidden Space—which he had hopes Rez’nac had some knowledge of—or whether it referred to the future, he hoped the latter.

  “Cassidy, what is a safe distance from the star?” asked Calvin, wondering if somehow some kind of compromise could be reached.

  “Sir, you’re not honestly thinking—” said Summers.

  “If it were my decision,” said Cassidy, “I would not maneuver the ship any closer.”

  “Rez’nac,” said Calvin. “Can you conduct your pilgrimage ritual from here?”

  “No,” said the Polarian dourly. “It is impossible.”

  Then the obvious solution occurred to Calvin. “Rez’nac, you have my permission to take one of our three detachable pods and go into orbit around your shrine star.”

  “Calvin, that will add an unnecessary delay,” said Summers.

  “Noted, Commander,” said Calvin, giving her a look. Then he turned back toward Rez’nac. “You may have one hour to conduct this ritual, then you and the pod must return. Is that sufficient?”

  Polarians were not really capable of beaming, or looking gleeful, but Rez’nac seemed to make his best effort to do so. His fanglike teeth curled into a smile. “Thank you, Captain. As Master of this ship, you are a wise master.” He bowed.

  ***

  The pod was not fast, but it was adequate. Rez’nac imagined he could feel the warmth of the essences pouring into him with each further MC he moved, ever nearer to the shrine star. Sacred Fountain, he thought. It has been far too long.

  Rez’nac felt lonely, despite the pleasantness of finally making the pilgrimage again after so very long. It was unusual for a Polarian to pilgrim alone; for that matter, it was unusual for a Polarian to be alone. And yet he was, utterly and profoundly alone. It had been something of a relief when the human, Lafayette Nimoux was his name, had joined him in the ritual of the Urikh-jang. Nimoux was no Polarian, and Rez’nac had needed to coach him through the various motions of the rite—which the human, despite his sincere efforts, had failed to do correctly. But the experience was one for which Rez’nac remained grateful and had, for a brief moment in time, alleviated his loneliness. He had almost considered inviting Nimoux to join him on this pilgrimage, and likely would have had it not been for the humans’ discussion that the radiation of the Shrine Star, the breath of the Essences themselves, might be toxic to them.

  They do not have souls, he reminded himself. They come not from Essences and so they return not to the Essences. Therefore, their frail, mortal vessels of clay, which live and die and then enter oblivion, they cannot withstand the breath of the Essences. Calvin had been wise to keep the Nighthawk far away. He was a good master, for a human.

  Eventually, the pod reached the star and Rez’nac commanded the machine to go into a close orbit. Like the Wanderer, and even the Nighthawk, this vessel, this mobile pod, had no soul. As he touched the metal, it did not resonate with life. It was cold, it was empty, it was a husk of material and nothing more. Nonetheless, it would be suitable.

  Rez’nac could feel the heat of the Essences now, radiating into him, breathing in him new life. He orbited the star at full speed, as close as the pod allowed, for as many times as he could within the narrow window of time Calvin, his master, had given him.

  There were no words to describe the experience. As he bathed in the warmth of the Essences, reminding himself of all that it meant to be Polarian, he chanted the rite of the Shrag’nal’cham. It was a prayer of gratitude. It was a promise never to forget. It was a vow of duty. Rez’nac felt unworthy as he spoke the words—the memory of the Arahn-Fi flashed before his eyes, his dagger poised and ultimately failing to strike down Grimka.

  I do not deserve to recite the Shrag’nal’cham, he thought to himself sorrowfully. No more than I deserve to be here, making this pilgrimage, as though I were still of Khalahar; this feeling I feel, this warmth…it is empty. I am a fraud, he thought.

  Nevertheless, he continued to bathe in the glow of the Essences until the allotted time had expired, then he plotted a course away, feeling ever colder and lonelier as he retreated from the Shrine Star. He looked down at his hands, pleasantly surprised to see that they were a vibrant blue. Not so vibrant as they should have been, not blue like Grimka and those souls belonging to him, but bluer than he had seen them in years.

  Although I have no Essence, although I have been rejected of Khalahar, although I am a lost soul…perhaps, nonetheless, I am Polarian. At least until I die. And therefore I can still be granted strength and vigor from the Sacred Fountain. And with that hopeful thought he left the Shrine Star and returned to the Nighthawk, ready to resume his lonely watch, a sentinel for the humans, a guide into the Forbidden Space, a rakh like them…destined for the oblivion that awaited the soulless.

  ***

  “We have arrived,” said Raidan. At last count, the entire battlegroup had dropped from alteredspace. They were now in Remus System, a white-hot star surrounded by many planets. Because of what had transpired on the ninth planet, the entire system had been blacklisted and removed from all Imperial starcharts. This was the birthplace of the Remorii, and, if all went well, the new home for Tristan and his kind. However, Raidan knew they were not alone here, even though his initial scans reported no sign of any unwanted ships.

  “Mr. Gates, please warn the rest of the battlegroup that, although the mines around the planet should all be destroyed by now, a few might remain. Tell them to proceed with caution as they begin their orbits.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Raidan folded his arms and gazed out the window. The Harbinger had moved close enough to Remus Nine that the planet dominated the view out the forward window. What a strange thing, he thought. The planet chosen by rogue scientists to create genetic abominations. The birthplace of the Remorii. The temporary hiding place for a cache of isotome weapons. And now, looking abandoned, destitute, and—based on reports—overrun by Type I Remorii, it was now to become the home to a lost and migrant band of misunderstood people—the Type III Remorii. All that stood in their way was an endless horde of Type I Remorii and, unfortunately, the competing ambitions of the Enclave.

  Ever since the defeat of the Rahajiim’s main force in the Thetican System—including the rumored destruction of most of the isotome weapons—except of course the one that somehow had been deployed against the system—the news was that the Enclave had experienced a falling out with the Rotham. The Rahajiim were fighting for their very existence, and had severed ties with the Enclave; the Enclave had then turned to the Khans for an alliance—and had experienced defeat in Aleator at the hands of the Roscos. It was hard to imagine a family of gangsters being able to defeat Enclave soldiers, but stranger things had happened. Now the remaining members of the Enclave—the threat that remained to the Type III Remorii—were allegedly hearing the calling too and coming here, in whatever droves and numbers remained to them.

  There will be a battle for this planet, thought Raidan. He knew that much was inevitable. The best predictions of his intelligence analysts had even suggested that the Enclave should have beaten Raidan and his battlegroup to the system, yet there appeared to be no sign of them.

  “Incoming hail, sir,” said Mr. G
ates, “it’s the Arcane Storm.”

  “Of course it is,” said Raidan. “On main viewer.” Tristan’s face appeared.

  “It looks like we beat them here after all,” said the lycan hopefully.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Raidan. “For all I know they are hiding their ships on the far side of the planet, or else they have already begun landing them—permanently.”

  “If they are here, we’ll deal with them,” said Tristan, his eyes suddenly glowing red.

  “One thing I can promise you,” said Raidan. “With only a few ex-Alliance ships available to them, and no backing from the Rahajiim, they don’t have anything that can stand against this battlegroup.”

  Tristan nodded. “That is my assessment as well. If there is a battle here, it will be on the ground.”

  “Do you think they know about the solution?” asked Raidan.

  Tristan nodded. “If they are here, then they know. Otherwise, they would never come here. Without the solution, landing on a planet infested with Type I Remorii is suicide.”

  Raidan nodded, supposing that was true. “Well, for all we know they aren’t even here; my ship has detected no sign of them.”

  “Neither has mine,” said Tristan. “Which is why I am hopeful.”

  “Of course, if I were them, and had to go up against a battlegroup such as this,” said Raidan. “I would hide my ships on the far side of the planet. Which is why I am going to provide you with the best solar support I can, beginning with a complete orbit around the planet.”

  “What if they orbit opposite you?” asked Tristan.

  Raidan smiled. “It won’t matter. I’m dividing the battlegroup in half and sending each half in opposite orbits; if they are here, we’ll find them. And if we find them—”

  “You’ll destroy them,” said Tristan eagerly.

  “Yes,” said Raidan. “However, I must warn you, I am not going to risk deploying any of my people to the surface, so, if they are down there, there is nothing I can do for you except to prevent them from receiving any reinforcements.”