The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  Alex was insulted. “You do me wrong, sir,” he said. “I too am a non-interventionist. And I do not ask this so that we may save the humans from their plight,” he said the words, but was unsure how true they were. As he thought of Calvin and his crew, Alex realized he’d grown a liking for them and their kind, despite how many times he’d betrayed them or they’d betrayed him. The humans were cunning, sometimes. They showed potential. Alex would mourn for their destruction. “I ask that we join forces with them only so that we can put up the strongest, most unified front against the enemy that would otherwise destroy us both, and do so easily.”

  “Thank you for your information, Proxitor, it shall be taken under advisement. That will be all,” said the Acting Speaker.

  “No!” said Alex. “You must put it to a vote.”

  “You are highly out of order, Mister Ol’ixe, and besides, you are neither a senator nor a figure of sufficient rank to move for such a vote. Therefore, your request is denied, with prejudice.”

  Alex glanced behind him, scanning the seats and balconies, again surprised by how many empty seats there were. Come on, come on, he thought, hopeful that he would spot the Grand Nau and that the Grand Nau would speak up for him. It was a long shot, but it was something. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the Grand Nau anywhere. And, even if he had, there was hardly any guarantee that the Grand Nau would agree with him. When they’d discussed it before, the Grand Nau had seemed quite deliberately neutral to the matter, elusive even.

  “I insist that you vote to save the Republic,” said Alex, unwilling to budge.

  “Advent soldiers, can’t you control your own people?” asked the Acting Speaker. “It’s shameful enough that you are present in this chamber, must you also let one of your own make a mockery of our rules of procedure?”

  At that, some of the Advent leadership conferred with one another and an order was sent down the line, Alex could tell.

  “I am only trying to save the Republic. That is all I am guilty of.”

  “I’m sure that in your disturbed mind, that is true,” said the Acting Speaker. “So we will not charge you with anything. But neither will we continue to suffer your presence in this hall.”

  Alex noticed movement in his peripheral vision. “You’re making a mistake,” he insisted, as two Advent soldiers approached him on either side. “I crunched the numbers myself, without standing beside the humans as allies, we have less than a one-percent chance of defeating the Dread Fleet.”

  He felt arms grip him on either side and yank him to a standing position.

  “Much, much less than a one-percent chance,” he said, as they dragged him away. He did not resist with his body, just his voice. “Listen to me,” he urged. “The Dread Fleet will slaughter us all. Our loved ones, our children, everybody will be put to the torch! The humans are our only chance! We must take the offer!”

  They dragged him out of the Senate Chamber and roughly tossed him into the corridor.

  “I’m sorry, Proxitor,” said the soldier. “But we had orders.”

  “Damned fools,” said Alex, as he stood up and brushed himself off.

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “Not you two; I mean those idiots in there,” he nodded toward the door leading back to the Senate Chamber. “They may have just cost us the Republic.”

  “Sir, the Senate is the Republic,” said one of the soldiers.

  Alex nodded. “So I’ve heard a million times.”

  “It’s the truth. It’s been true for centuries.”

  “Indeed it has,” said Alex with a scowl. “But will it still be true a month from now? A year? I don’t expect so.” With that, he shrugged off and left. He had only one last hope remaining to him, one final move he could make—or try to—otherwise, that was the end. The Republic would die. And so would the Empire. After that…he shuddered to think what kind of a galaxy would exist after those mighty institutions fell, not to mention the death toll which would be in the hundreds of billions.

  Maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones, he thought, as he exited the building. But it wasn’t in Alex’s nature to give up. Had he been that type, he would have died in the custody of the Rahajiim long before Calvin and the other humans had found him.

  No, I’ll make this work yet, he promised himself. I have to at least try. He signaled a self-driving car and got inside.

  “Where to?” the automated voice asked him.

  Alex had to think about it for half a second, then he knew just the place.

  CHAPTER 20

  He put the finishing touches on the outline of the tactical plan and then placed all of his notes inside a large folder. He set the folder on his desk and then pressed his direct line to the bridge.

  “Bridge, this is Captain Nimoux,” he said.

  “Reading you loud and clear, sir,” came the reply from the officer of the watch. At this hour that was Second Lieutenant Vargas.

  “Lt. Commander Cross wouldn’t happen to be in his office or on the bridge at this hour, would he?” asked Nimoux, knowing it was a long shot.

  “Yes, sir, he’s in the CO’s office discussing something with Commander Presley.”

  “Wonderful,” said Nimoux. “Please inform him at his earliest convenience that I have scraped together that tactical action plan he tasked me with. He can send a runner from the bridge to come fetch it from my office as soon as he wishes.”

  “I’ll relay the message, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “No, that will be all. Thank you, Mr. Vargas. Have a good evening.”

  “And to you as well, sir,” the comm switched off.

  Well that more or less handles that, thought Nimoux, leaning back in his chair, careful not to upset his healing wound. It wasn’t a perfect plan and would certainly need some revising, but it was the best he could do, given the limited information he could get out of the Polarian on board.

  I suppose I ought to go and get some sleep myself, he thought. But, instead of standing up—and feeling that throbbing ache start up again from the motion—he dawdled a while longer in his office down in the Special Forces Headquarters. He arranged some paperwork, jotted down a few new ideas for the mission, and made a note of questions he still had, which, hopefully, he could get answers to from the Polarian.

  Not ten minutes had passed and there was a ring at the chime.

  A runner already, he thought. Calvin must indeed be eager to get a look at this tactical action plan. I hope I did it well enough that it meets his approval.

  “Please come in,” said Nimoux.

  The door slide aside and, to his immense surprise, it wasn’t just any old junior crewmember running errands for the CO; instead, his eyes were met with the stunningly beautiful form of Summers Presley. He felt an excited jolt at the sight of her, but forced himself to remain cool.

  “Hello, Commander,” he said, waving her in. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “I’m here for the tactical action plan,” she said, for some reason her face reddened as she spoke.

  Nimoux smiled. “I see,” he said, leaning forward to pick it up from his desk. “Isn’t it a bit unusual for the XO to be running errands like a common midshipman?” he teased.

  Her face reddened into a full-on blush. “I—” she hesitated. Her emerald eyes met his then darted away, beautiful yet elusive. Just like her, no doubt, he thought. “There wasn’t anyone else available, and I was there, so I said sure I’ll go and get it,” she said.

  Somehow Nimoux suspected there was more to the story than that. But, not wanting to flatter himself, he decided to give the commander the benefit of the doubt and assume she hadn’t, in fact, gone well out of her way just to see him.

  Wishful thoughts does not make them true thoughts, he introspected. “Well then, let me thank you for saving me the trouble of taking it all the way to the bridge myself,” he said, rising to his feet. As he did, she took several steps nearer, until they were only an arm’s length apart.

 
; “Really, it was no trouble at all,” said Summers. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away for several seconds. Nimoux felt something electric inside him, like his heart had suddenly become a snare drum, pounding inside him like it was a race.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, here is the report,” he said, scooping up the folder from his desk and extending it out to her.

  Summers reached out to take it. As her hand curled around the folder, her fingers rubbed up against his. The touch felt surprisingly sensual, even though it was accidental—as proven by the fact that she almost instantly dropped the folder the second they physically connected. The folder flew open and the notes became sprawled all over the ground.

  “Oh, damn,” she said, kneeling to pick them up.

  “Please,” he said, not bothered in the slightest. “Allow me,” he lowered his hand to help raise her back to her feet. He had done this with the intention of kneeling down himself—despite the pain—and retrieving the documents, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, the moment she was standing again, now only inches away, with her eyes once more locked, gazing into his, and him for some reason unable to make himself let go of her hand, something very strange happened. And, before he had a chance to make any sense of it, or know what was what, he had her in his arms. He wasn’t sure who made the first move, whether he’d reeled her in or if she’d managed to get there all on her own; he was clueless. All he knew was how beautiful she was, and warm, and without another thought, he pulled her close and kissed her.

  At first, she started to resist, which alarmed him, but then she kissed him back, even more aggressively.

  They continued to kiss for several seconds and he pulled her in close with his left arm and slid his right hand down her side sensually.

  After a few more seconds of this, she pulled away—but not too far. “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, although to him it felt great, whatever it was. “We’re better than this.”

  “Of course we are,” she replied. “We’re officers.”

  “That’s right,” he said, all ready to let her go. And then he heard the most beautiful words come out of her mouth.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Neither do I,” he said. “I—” the rest of his words were lost, interrupted by Summers’ exquisite tongue inside his mouth. He closed his eyes and kissed her deeply, passionately, pulling her as close as he possibly could, stroking her lovely body with his right hand and clinging to her so tightly with his left, hoping to never have to let go. As he kissed her, and felt her, she felt him. He could feel her hands on his back, slowly sliding downward, as if exploring. In the pleasure of it all, he couldn’t feel the pain of his injury—not really. Or perhaps he could and it just didn’t matter; he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he felt like an angel had plucked him from the ground and taken him gently into the heavens. It was the most blissful euphoria, and, for Nimoux, a feeling that was long overdue.

  After a few minutes of this he could no longer contain himself. He pulled away from her and swept everything off his desk onto the floor—because he was an organized person, that only amounted to a few pens, paperclips, a notepad, and very little else. He then took her, wanting to seize the moment, and went to scoop her up and lay her gently on the desk.

  Unfortunately, that was the exact moment his healing gunshot wound brought him back to reality and he collapsed as he tried to lift her.

  He was able to stymie his cry of pain, but he went from feeling like a handsome, roguish, seductive creature of myth to a broken old fool all within less than a second.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, suddenly alarmed. She went to help him to his feet, but he was too proud to accept her help and instead managed to get up on his own.

  “Well I guess that’s that,” he said, dismally disappointed. “I suppose it was for the—”

  He was interrupted by Summers’ finger pressing suddenly against his lips, “Shhh,” she said, even her whisper was like the alluring song of a siren. Somehow, it excited him back into the mood. “Come with me,” she said. Then she left. Not one to disappoint, Nimoux quickly followed.

  Before long, they reached Summers’ cabin, on deck four; she opened the door and quickly waved him inside, making sure no one was looking, then she closed it. Nimoux was too excited, and distracted, to think much of the fact that she’d wanted no one to see them, so he didn’t take any offense.

  She took him by the hand and led him to the bed, then, very gently, pushed him down on top of it. He did not resist, feeling perfectly content to see where this was going. Before he knew it, she was over him, straddling him between her legs. She leaned over and kissed him and he grabbed her, keeping her close. They kissed some more until she eventually wiggled free. When she did, she reached back and undid the fastening of her uniform top, then tossed it aside, revealing the two most gorgeously shaped breasts ever to be hidden by a bra in the entire history of the universe, Nimoux was certain of it. Her bra was black and lacy, it had a sexy lingerie quality to it, and for some reason that took him by surprise. Summers had always seemed like the straight-laced, practical type, to see this side of her, literally and figuratively, was an exhilarating and electrifying experience.

  She reached behind her to unfasten the bra.

  “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” he asked with a smile.

  She smiled back. “I think so.”

  Some tiny, near silent part of him whispered caution; it was enough to make him say, “But are we sure this is what we want?”

  “I know this is what I want. Isn’t this what you want, Captain Nimoux?” she said his name seductively.

  “Yes, of course it is,” he said automatically. “But…but what if it’s a mistake?”

  “If this is a suicide mission anyway, then who cares about mistakes?” she unfastened her bra and removed it. In doing so, she confirmed his earlier theory about her breasts—definitely the best in the universe.

  “I see your point,” he said, feeling himself burn for her.

  “Then, while we’re still alive, let’s not forget to live,” she whispered, then she leaned over and began kissing his neck.

  ***

  Calvin flipped through the folder. Several of the pages were clearly out of order, backwards, or upside-down. As he skimmed through it, putting it back in order as he went, he noticed that First Lieutenant Ferreiro was still standing there, in his office. Calvin glanced up to see the soldier still rigidly at attention.

  “Thank you for delivering this to me,” said Calvin, “you may go.” He waved him off. He hated having an audience staring down at him when he did something—it almost didn’t matter who it was or what he was doing, he just preferred to work in isolation when full concentration was required. The fact that his audience in that particular moment was one of Nimoux’s soldiers, and not someone Calvin was well acquainted with, only made things worse.

  “Sir, if I may?” asked Ferreiro.

  “May what?” asked Calvin, looking up at him, mostly trying to hide his annoyance—but allowing a little to shine through, so the soldier would get the point.

  “As I said, sir, I found this folder and its notes in a mess on the ground. It’s not like Captain Nimoux to leave something so important in such a disorganized fashion, sir.”

  “It probably just fell off his desk,” said Calvin. They were nearing the Veil, which meant very soon they would be in Polarian Forbidden Space; the last thing he needed was to worry about some paper-knocking-over poltergeist roaming the ship.

  “That’s not all, sir,” said Ferreiro. “When I went to the captain’s office in SFHQ, nobody was there. I don’t have a clue where Captain Nimoux is.”

  Calvin needed only to glance at the clock on his desk to solve that riddle. “Look at the time, Mister Ferreiro,” said Calvin, “no doubt, Nimoux has gone to bed.”

  “You think he just went to bed, leaving all these notes, t
his file—the assignment you gave him—in complete disarray on his office floor?”

  “Yes, I think he probably did that very thing,” said Calvin. “The man is recovering from a gunshot wound, for God’s sake. And he is prescribed pain medication that causes drowsiness,” Calvin knew that firsthand. “He almost certainly retired for the evening. And, as for the files, perhaps he stumbled and knocked them over, and in order to avoid the pain of bending over to retrieve them, decided to let someone else do it. Someone like, say, you?”

  “Except, sir, I would have expected him to contact you and let you know that he had assembled the tactical plan. Did he?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did,” said Calvin, thinking back. “Summers volunteered to go get it. Come to think of it,” he scratched his head, “why didn’t she get there before you?”

  The soldier shrugged. “You see what I mean? Something is wrong here.”

  “No,” said Calvin doubtfully. Something didn’t quite add up, but there was hardly a whodunit on their hands. No doubt Summers had gotten sidetracked, probably berated a lower officer for some minor infraction or some such nonsense, and she, like Nimoux, had probably settled down in her quarters for the night. It was a late hour, after all. Just thinking about it made Calvin yawn.

  “Sir, Captain Nimoux is the best field commander I’ve ever had—he’s the best I’ve ever seen. I don’t think he would simply leave the tactical plans he’d drawn up spread out on the floor like I found them, gunshot wound notwithstanding. I think something has happened to him, maybe he’s fallen somewhere, probably because of the wound, and needs our help. Sir, if he needs my help, I’ll be damned if I’m not there for him. Excuse my language, please, sir.”

  Calvin waved it off. “It’s fine, though it’s good to know that Nimoux inspires such loyalty in his soldiers.”

  “Not all of his soldiers, sir. Just me.”