The Phoenix War

by Richard L. Sanders

  He felt his heart accelerate as he desperately scoured the sky. Come on, come on!

  Searchlights sprang to life and he heard shouts in the distance. His heart thumped, loud as a cannon. But he controlled his breathing and remained calm.

  There it is! A tiny blue star, its faint light barely visible. Tucked away among the thousands-upon-thousands of its white brothers and sisters. Lambda. That has to be Lambda!

  Which meant… Gamma Persei Three. We are on Gamma Persei Three!

  As the lights and footsteps came closer, Nimoux quickly knelt and lifted the large stone. He used its sharp edge and scraped it against his temple. Pressing hard enough to cut, but not so hard he created a meaningful injury. Once his skin broke and he felt warm blood tickle his face, trickling down his right cheek, he returned the stone to the ground and lay down, in such a way that he’d seem to have fallen and struck his head.

  As the guards came near—now only meters away, he heard one of them shout “I found him! He’s on the ground!” Nimoux feigned unconsciousness. And prepared himself mentally.

  “He looks hurt!” the voice said, now just above him. A bright light shined. Nimoux kept his eyes shut.

  With any luck, the guards wouldn’t put it together that his injury wasn’t likely to have come from the rock, and hopefully they wouldn’t think twice about the freshness of the blood on his face—not to mention the implied trajectory of his apparent fall didn’t seem to mesh realistically with the position he’d ended up in. Fortunately it was dark, and these were untrained, unprofessional would-be soldiers, not expert detectives or intelligence operatives.

  Whether or not they believed his ruse would affect how severely they punished him, he knew, but regardless of what they did to him, he’d gotten what he wanted. He now knew where in the vast galaxy he was. Gamma Persei Three. Directive Two complete.

  ***

  Caerwyn Martel sat on the Assembly Floor, not three meters from where the King’s body had been removed. He stared at the spot, only half-listening to Representative Tate as she droned on from her position on the dais, in between the other members of the Defense Committee.

  There wasn’t even the slightest trace of blood remaining there, Caerwyn observed. No scuff where the king’s head crashed against the hard floor, no chalk outline, truly no sort of evidence whatsoever remained to indicate that this was the very spot a king had been slain. But Caerwyn remembered. He’d seen the king fall to the ground, and could replay it over and over in his head.

  Hisato Akira. Dead as a doornail. No loss there. The fool we meant to hang in the gallows of public opinion, with Renora as the noose and Zane the executioner… and yet, as we tightened the rope, he died quite literally. And annoyingly he kicked the bucket before accepting—or defying—our order, as Representatives of the Empire, for him to surrender his throne.

  The assassin was still at large. And his identity remained a mystery to everyone, including Caerwyn. He wondered if the king had been killed in retaliation for what had happened to Renora, perhaps as a kind of revenge for the actions most of the galaxy believed to be the work of the king’s troops. Strategically necessary tragedies that Zane and his allies had arranged to make certain the populace turned against the king. But if that were so, Caerwyn would need to be extremely cautious, and make certain that Zane’s dealings were never connected to him.

  Caerwyn fidgeted somewhat nervously, squinting against the bright lights of the Assembly Floor, as he thought of the news he’d received recently—and discreetly—about his brother. Zane was dead. His corpse had been discovered alongside several other members of his Phoenix Ring cult. Caerwyn had known all along that Zane was getting into bed with the wrong people, the sort of villains who would bring their sinister problems with them to any table they sat around, but Zane had never listened to Caerwyn. And that had always been his folly. And, apparently now, his downfall. Zane’s death might have been in retaliation for Renora every bit as much as the king’s, Caerwyn knew. Perhaps someone had uncovered that Zane and his dark bedfellows had been behind the plot. Caerwyn desperately hoped such was not the case. It wouldn’t be a difficult leap to connect Zane to Caerwyn, which would mean his own life could be in danger…

  No, I’m fine. Zane and the King are dead. Vengeance has been exacted. The killing is over… Whatever angel of death had seen fit to slay the king, and for some reason Representative Ri Zhang too, he hadn’t wasted a bullet on Caerwyn Martel. And he’d clearly had the opportunity, Caerwyn had been mere meters away from Ri Zhang when the late Representative had fallen. Dead as the king.

  But why had Ri Zhang been assassinated? Caerwyn could think of no motive whatsoever. Someone had wanted the king dead—no surprise, truly—but that same person had also taken the time to kill Ri Zhang too… strange indeed.

  If Zhang had been an arbitrary target, a random killing, perhaps meant to shock the Assembly, or as a grievance against the nobility, why not eliminate a representative from a more senior House? Or fire off a few more shots and increase the body-count?

  Caerwyn was terrified just thinking about it. And as he squinted up at the lights, he imagined a gunman perched there now, with the Martel heir in his crosshairs.

  That’s stupid. He knew it was impossible. The Assembly Hall was swarming with more security than ever before, now that they were in session finally, for the first time since the king’s death. The government would take no chances. No one could even get within a kilometer of the Assembly Hall without all sorts of clearances and checks and double checks. And professional soldiers patrolled everywhere and kept vigilant eyes on everything.

  We’re fine. We’re safe. Everything is all right...

  Caerwyn looked at the faces of his fellow nobles. Paying most attention to the ones who were his rivals, idiots who entertained delusions of winning the throne for themselves.

  Once the throne was his, Caerwyn had every intention of consolidating his power and making the others fall into line behind him. Only one person could guide the Empire through this, and that man was Brinton Martel’s oldest son and only surviving heir.

  “That concludes emergency business,” said Representative Tate. Caerwyn perked up, realizing his opportunity was nigh. “With that I open the floor—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he stood. “Representative Tate and the honored members of the Defense Committee, I have urgent business to bring before the Assembly.”

  “The Chair recognizes Representative Martel of Capital World and House Martel,” said Tate, looking at him.

  Caerwyn stepped away from his seat on the Assembly Floor, separating himself from the other members of the Great Houses who sat together, front-and-center before the common Representatives of the Assembly, dressed in black as a pretentious display of unity and grief for the fallen king.

  Caerwyn cleared his throat and checked to make certain his lapel mic was turned on before speaking—otherwise he’d need to shout to make himself heard throughout the vast chamber. “Brothers and sisters of the Assembly, fellow Representatives of the Empire,” he looked up at the balconies above, stuffed full with the hundreds of Assembly members who did not belong to Great Houses. “Representative Tate has just briefed us on how our world, our Empire, is bleeding, and lost without strong leadership. We cannot hope to stem the tides of chaos without strong leadership!”

  Sounds of assent resonated throughout the chamber. Which caused him to raise his voice boldly. “This body met to accept King Hisato Akira’s resignation as monarch of the Empire. Tragic events notwithstanding, we must still accept that resignation and install a new leader to guide us through this crisis!”

  His supporters clapped loudly, as did those who supported the other potential candidates for king, but there were negative murmurs too, and cries for him to step down or be silent—claims that it was too soon after the King’s death for talk of succession—Caerwyn spoke over them all. “I motion for a Vote of Executive Leadership!”

  Tate called the chambe
r to order, and smacked her gavel repeatedly until silence returned.

  “A motion to vote for new executive leadership has been called,” said Representative Tate. “Is there a second?”

  “Aye,” said Representative Conroy, standing up. He looked suspiciously at Caerwyn and Caerwyn knew the old fool had delusions of winning the throne himself. But lacked even a third the support he needed.

  “The motion has been seconded,” said Representative Tate. “It is now open for debate.”

  “It’s too soon,” said Representative Florence, to no one’s surprise. She stood there, a staunch supporter of the Akira House, even now as the once-mighty Akira House lay in ruins. “The king has passed away, murdered in this very chamber! It would be disrespectful to bring such a motion forward this day. The Empire must mourn. And so must we.”

  “The Empire is tearing itself to pieces,” replied Caerwyn. “It needs leadership. Our citizens, our friends, our families, they need a strong leader to guide us through these dark times.”

  “And I suppose you fancy yourself to be that leader,” snapped Lady Florence.

  “He would make himself king!” added Lord Conroy.

  “That is for my brothers and sisters of the Assembly to judge,” said Caerwyn calmly. “But whether or not I am the one to lead us, someone must. Someone must shepherd this flock through the storm. I motion for the vote simply because, without a monarch in place… who will organize our security forces? Who will command our fleets? Who will be the voice to calm the riotous, soothe the terrified, and help the injured?”

  “There is still a monarchical authority,” replied Lady Florence. “The king has passed on, as has his heir apparent, and two of his daughters, but one daughter remains.”

  “Kalila Akira…” said Caerwyn through clenched teeth. He didn’t know who’d gone and slaughtered the king’s children, but he sure would have appreciated it if the murderer hadn’t let one slip through his fingers. “She lives, this is true,” he conceded gently. “But it makes no matter. She has no claim to the throne. This body had already stripped King Hisato Akira of his authority as the monarch, before he was slain.”

  “His resignation was never officially given,” replied Lady Florence. “He… died before he could surrender his authority.”

  “His official resignation was never required,” Caerwyn snapped. “A formality, nothing else. His authority as monarch, and his claim to the throne, ended the instant this Assembly voted it away.” Caerwyn did believe that was true, though in the silence of his own head he admitted the law was somewhat unclear on that point. The Assembly had the right to recall a monarch and choose another one, but by some interpretations the new monarch didn’t take control until his or her coronation. Up until that point, the sitting monarch held the position, and the powers, so that the Empire would never experience a moment during the succession when it had no leader. Of course, since the Akira House had held the throne since the Empire’s inception, the Sovereignty Clause of the Imperial Charter had never been invoked, and there was no existing precedent to rely upon to settle the issue.

  “The king retains his power until such time a new king, or queen, takes the throne,” quipped Lady Florence, making the point Caerwyn hoped would not be made.

  “The king is dead,” said Conroy, butting his way back into the debate once more. “Surely that means an exception is made. He can’t be expected to still sit the throne as a bloody corpse.”

  Conroy’s tactless diction created a raucous uproar in the chamber, doing far more harm than good. Caerwyn cringed at the words, and their tone, knowing it would sabotage his effort to have a vote called today. But at least Conroy had spoken true, and most of the fallout for his lack of propriety would only injure his own claim.

  “Order. Order!” said Representative Tate, slamming her gavel repeatedly. Eventually order returned.

  “Mister Conroy,” said Lady Florence. “The king has been taken from us; that’s so. But, as I said before, an heir remains. Kalila Akira holds the throne—by rights—until a new king is coronated.”

  This time it was Lady Florence’s turn to be met with jeers and dissonant murmurs. Caerwyn was pleased to see that the Akira name, and Kalila herself, were still besmirched in the eyes of many of the Representatives, and undoubtedly much of the Imperial public.

  “It is only the law,” said Lady Florence defensively. “Don’t take it out on me.”

  “It is but one interpretation of the law,” said Caerwyn. “There exists no precedent to say that such is the proper way.”

  “Nor any precedent to say that it is not,” replied Lady Florence.

  “Then all the more reason to bring this issue to a vote now,” said Caerwyn. “Kalila is far away—she fled Capital World on her ship hours ago. Fled the planet and abandoned her people to chaos. Not very characteristic of a good monarch, I would say.”

  His quip bought him some cheers, but also a jeer or two. He ignored them and spoke on. “But let us put the matter to rest, completely and forever. We should vote forthwith—it is our sacred duty—and plant a new leader upon the throne. Then there will be no question of succession, and our beloved Empire, the sanctuary of humanity in this dark, dangerous galaxy, may once again have a shepherd. We are in a dangerous age, my brothers and sisters, make no mistake. Even now the Rotham Republic has claimed one of our planets, and the Polarian Confederacy is out there too, with similar ambitions—I have no doubt. Let us put the matter to vote. And decide the matter, while we still can.”

  “Thank you, Representative Martel,” said Representative Tate. She turned to Lady Florence. “Representative Florence, your final word against.”

  Lady Florence cleared her throat before speaking. “Every soul and citizen of the Empire, including each of us here, owes a debt of gratitude to the Akira House. They safely watched and guarded us and our ancestors for over a century. Were it not for them, none of us would be here now. We owe it to the king who passed away so tragically, right before our very eyes, and his children, to honor their memory and grant the proper ceremony of grief. Kalila, last of the Akira line, should reign in Hisato’s place until the proper time has come to select new leadership.” She nodded and sat down.

  “The issue is now put forward to vote.”

  Caerwyn watched the hundreds of people above, sitting on their balconies, talking amongst one another and entering their votes. I have them, he thought as he judged how anxious they seemed. Even those who held the Akiras in reverent regard still, few that they were, knew that an Empire without a leader was no more useful than a man with no head. And the notion that the princess could lead them, the very princess who’d abandoned the planet to the storm, was a preposterous one.

  Representative Tate and the other members of the committee examined the results once they’d all been entered and tallied. Caerwyn was confident, he knew the Assembly would vote in his favor, but he still felt sweat appear on his forehead. He wiped it away subtly.

  “With a vote of two-hundred and seventeen to one-hundred and nine, with fifty-two abstentions, the motion carries. The Great Houses shall now convene to vote for a new successor to the monarchy forthwith.”

  Caerwyn was happy to see a look of defeat on Lady Florence’s face as she sat down. He returned gracefully to his own seat, in between Lord Chekov and Lady Drake.

  “Those who would put their names forward as candidates to safeguard the Empire as the sovereign monarch, may do so now,” said Representative Tate. “Please stand, declare yourself, and remain standing.”

  Caerwyn fought the impulse to be the first out of his chair. He knew it would not befit him to seem so eager. He had to present the aura of a calm, thoughtful leader. One who would rule not for the power, or the privilege, but as a sacred duty. A complete falsehood, of course, but he understood the value and importance of appearances.

  “I put forward my own name,” said Lord Conroy, to no one’s surprise.

  He’s out of the running, Caerwyn thought immediat
ely. He counted the votes in his head, believing a majority of the other Great Houses would fall into line and vote for House Martel.

  A second person stood up. It was Lord Doran. “I put forward my name,” said Lord Doran. Again, to no one’s surprise. Caerwyn knew that the Doran House and the Conroy House shared a similar base of support, so they would only steal votes from one another. All that was needed now was for the Savets to declare their candidacy for the throne. Should Lord Savet stand and make a claim, as Caerwyn planned, it would so dilute the votes of support in favor of Doran and Conroy, there would be no stopping Caerwyn.

  “Is there no one else?” asked Representative Tate, after a short pause.

  For an instant Caerwyn became nervous, worried that he’d misjudged Lord Savet, that the old man wouldn’t rise and declare. If he didn’t, that would force Caerwyn to enter sooner than planned and would result in a three-way runoff between himself, Lord Conroy, and Lord Doran; if that happened, the outcome was far less certain. Conroy had no chance. But Lord Doran was popular, especially among the Savet House and their allies—if Lord Savet doesn’t enter, his faction will surely throw its support behind Lord Doran. That might cost me the throne!

  But the universe was kind. “I declare for the throne,” said Lord Savet, standing at last.

  That’s my cue. If there were a god, I’d thank him!

  Caerwyn slowly rose, making certain not to appear too eager. “I too put forward my name as a candidate to guide and safeguard this Empire,” he said in a gentle tone.

  And that should be it. The Florences and the rest of the Akira faction will likely go for the Savets, with a few throwing in behind the Conroys. The Conroys will carry the Warrens for a certainty and… very few others, maybe the Ortiz House… The Dorans will carry the Millers, Li’s, Hernandez’s, Harris’s, and the Nguyens. And I shall carry the rest. Leaving me with exactly enough votes to win.

  “Is there no one else?” asked Representative Tate, clearly ready to move the proceedings forward.