The Phoenix War (55 page)

“Well, Captain Nimoux, the information you
gave us checks out.” Summers had verified every detail of Nimoux’s
story against everything that she and Calvin had uncovered about
the conspiracy that had rotted the core of the Imperial government.
Nimoux’s claim that people were being abducted and replaced matched
perfectly with what was known about the replicants. And now, thanks
to Nimoux, they had information about what had been done with the
abductees. Unfortunately, the details were gruesome and the news
tragic. There was little reason to believe that any of them, other
than Nimoux himself, had escaped.

Nimoux nodded. “So does that mean you’ve
decided I can be trusted?”

“I’d like you to go to the quartermaster’s
office and get a proper Intel Wing uniform. When you put it on make
sure to wear this,” she handed him a small pin of a platinum bar,
the insignia of captain.

“So I take it that’s a
yes
.”

“It’s not appropriate for the ship’s new
Executive Officer to be seen wearing casual clothes,” said Summers.
“It’s a breach of protocol.

“New Executive Officer?” Nimoux looked
confused. “I thought you were the XO.”

“Lieutenant Commander Cross is away from the
Nighthawk and I have taken temporary command as Acting CO. I do not
currently have an assigned Acting XO. Now that you’re here, I’d
like to change that.” She gave him an earnest look.

“You want me to take over as the XO of the
Nighthawk?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Summers. “With my
apologies for our difference in rank. This ship has a strange way
of making the second-highest ranking officer the CO and the actual
ranking officer the XO.”

Nimoux nodded. “Very well, I accept. At least
until I can resume command of the Desert Eagle.”

Summers smiled. “I’d hoped that would be your
answer.”

“But if I could ask you one thing first,
Commander,” said Nimoux. “What convinced you to trust me? Was it
the information I gave you?”

“That and I haven’t forgotten what happened
in the Remus System.” She recalled the Phoenix’s missiles closing
in on the Nighthawk, whose own weapons were unable to stop them,
and inexplicably the Desert Eagle had fired its weapons in their
defense. “You saved the Nighthawk.”

“And the Nighthawk saved me, so I guess that
makes us even.”

“I suppose so. Now you’d better go get
changed and report to the bridge,” said Summers. “You have a lot of
catching up to do, much has happened in your absence.”

Nimoux opened his mouth as if to speak but
before he could an alert sounded. Tara moved to the comm panel and
answered, “brig deck, go ahead.”

“Is the CO down there?” said a voice over the
speaker, it sounded like Sarah Winters.

“Yes, she is,” replied Tara.

Summers moved to the comm panel and pressed
the button. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Commander, we
found
him! I’ve set
course and we’re on our way at maximum jump depth. Just like you
ordered.”

Summers felt a rush of excitement. “Thank you
for the update,” she said, calm and composed. Though her insides
were burning with an urgent sense of purpose.
We’ve got you
now
, she thought.

“What is it?” asked Nimoux.

“Hurry and get that uniform,” she said,
turning away, “I’ll explain on the bridge.” She left the brig deck
and sprinted for the elevator.

***

Other than the troop transports, most of
which had escaped, the Harbinger was one of only three ships
belonging to Hammerfist Squadron that’d had survived the carnage of
the Apollo Yards. For the queen, it had proven both a victory and a
defeat. She’d accomplished her objective of removing the Apollo
Yards as a threat but she’d been the one to retreat once that was
done, leaving the rest of the Apollo System under Assembly control.
A fact Caerwyn and his people were already spinning to the Imperial
public as a ‘total victory’ for their propagandist aims. Even
though Caerwyn’s fleet had sustained significant losses as well and
he’d lost an important strategic foothold.

But, regardless of how others looked at it,
in Raidan’s eyes the entire enterprise had proven a monstrous
failure. True, the Yards had been eliminated, and that had been
necessary to keep the cause of restoring the Empire alive, but the
devastating price paid on both sides would prove catastrophic for
humanity. With the Imperial fleet split in two and waging war
against itself there had never before been so little left to stop
the aggressively militant Rotham, and probably the Polarians too
eventually.

If I believed in God, I would certainly
believe him to be our enemy, not our friend
, thought Raidan as
he considered the dark plight of humanity and the threats lurking
in the galaxy’s darkest shadows. He imagined aliens with greedy
eyes and dripping teeth, eager to start slicing up human colonies
for themselves.

If this war is going to turn in our favor,
we need to change the game
, he thought. Knowing he’d already
taken measures to try and tilt the balance in humanity’s favor. He
would do all he could to save the Empire. To save humanity. Even
from itself, if necessary. And if that failed, then Raidan would
make damn sure he died with sword in hand, swinging viciously to
the last breath.

“Status report,” he said from the command
position of the Harbinger. He hadn’t moved from that spot since the
battle of the Apollo Yards. It was in that chair that he’d watched
almost every ship under his command blown to pieces as Imperial
citizens killed one another.
I never thought I’d see the
day
…

“Engineering reports there is still
significant damage to the alteredspace drive system and coil array,
which might affect our jump stability, but for now we seem able to
maintain sixty-five percent potential without putting too much
stress on the systems,” said Ivanov.

“What about critical systems?” asked
Raidan.

“Most are functioning normally. We lost a few
of the secondary generators so life support is running on both
primary and tertiary power. There are teams working on it.”

“And defenses?”

“The shields have been repaired back to
fifteen percent strength,” said Frederickson. “Most of the weapons
are still functional, missile batteries sixteen through twenty-nine
as well as thirty-seven through forty need repair before they can
fire. A number of others need adjustment. We’re also down to only
ten-percent of our ammunition stores. The beam weapons are all
functional, however, except for number six on the port side.”

“What about armor?”

“Nearly all of our forward armor has been
compromised as well as about fifty percent portside, twenty-seven
percent starboard, and about seventy-five percent aft,” said
Frederickson. “Sir, we took a hell of a beating.”

“That we did,” said Raidan. He thought of the
ships disintegrating all around them, enemies and allies alike, as
the Harbinger forced its way through the hordes of starships and
debris, firing everything it had in order to carve an escape path.
Their vessel was one of the toughest and fiercest warships in the
galaxy, but for all its strength and might, even the dreaded
Harbinger would never have escaped destruction had it not been for
the Black Swan standing its ground and providing cover. The other
alpha-class dreadnought had taken a similar beating and, by all
rights, should have been destroyed when the rest of its squadron
broke formation and routed. But the enemy fleet failed to
capitalize on the opportunity. Raidan still wondered why. If it was
due to ineptitude on the part of their fleet commander or whether
there was some other explanation, perhaps a compelling reason why
they wanted to keep the queen alive. He could think of none. And
found himself unable to explain why they’d refused to take such a
clear shot.

“When we get to Taurus we’ll have them patch
the armor and replace our ammunition stores first, then repair our
damaged systems,” said Raidan. If the enemy followed them, he
wanted to make certain he could send as much hell their way as
possible, even at the expense of his own survival. He felt angry
and on the very edge of despair. No longer certain that there was
any hope. And he wondered if it wouldn’t be better to end things
with a sudden bang, lethal and mercifully quick, rather than a
drawn out whimper.

“Aye, sir. Shall I relay that order to the
other ships?” asked Reynolds. The queen had split her surviving
fleet into smaller groups and sent them to various planets and
platforms loyal to her cause, all within a few clicks of each
other, in order to expedite repairs and resupply. Her plan assumed
the enemy fleet wasn’t in any fit state to launch an immediate
attack and would need to lick its wounds as well. Kalila was
probably safe in that assumption, but—just in case—Raidan intended
to be ready.

“Tell them to prioritize defense systems,”
said Raidan. “But it’s up to each captain to see to the particular
needs of his ship.”

“Aye, air.”

“Mister Watson, what is our ETA?”

“At present jump depth, we’ll arrive in just
over fifteen hours. However, if we complete more repairs on the
alteredspace systems and adjust our jump depth, we might get there
faster.”

“Keep me appraised,” said Raidan. He stood up
to leave. He needed some time alone to process the battle and rest
his mind. It wasn’t the first messy fight he’d been involved in, he
and death had made for common bedfellows during the Great War, but
the Battle of the Apollo Yards had proven undoubtedly the
bloodiest.

“Aye, sir.”

“Mister Mason, the deck is yours.”

“Yes sir.”

Raidan walked halfway across the Harbinger’s
massive bridge but stopped in his tracks at the sound of an
alert.

“Sir, we’re being raised over kataspace by
the Arcane Storm,” said Reynolds. “Captain, they are hailing
you.”

Raidan felt his heart quicken.
It’s about
time
, he thought.

“Route it to the CO’s office,” he said. “I’ll
take it in there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Raidan went to his office and took a seat at
his desk. He spied the bottle of whiskey on his desk and felt an
urge to open it but decided there would be time for that later. He
tapped comm switch.

“Go ahead.”

“I just heard about the battle,” Tristan’s
voice sounded over the speakers. “I trust it wasn’t as bloody as
everyone is making it sound.”

“Bloodier,” said Raidan. “For our side and
theirs.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” said the
lycan. “I suppose that means—”

“You know what it means,” Raidan interrupted.
“And you know what you have to do. Just make sure it gets done. And
as for our
old friend
, I’d prefer it if you took him alive.
But dead works too, I suppose.”

“My ship is racing there as fast it possible
can,” said Tristan. “And if I am the first one there, you have my
word that I’ll get things done. But there’s a chance the Nighthawk
will beat me there. If so… we both know what that means.”

“Yes we do,” said Raidan. Deciding to pour
himself a glass of whiskey after all.

“Why did you allow Commander Presley to
receive the alert too?” Tristan pressed him. “I do not question
your wisdom but it seems like… an unnecessary risk.”

“I’m not taking
any
chances with those
isotome weapons,” said Raidan. “Whatever happens, those weapons
cannot
fall into enemy hands. That means we must use every
card in our hand for this play, no matter what.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” said Tristan.
“But I still think it makes things… less certain for us.”

“I admit our best hope is for you to get
there first,” said Raidan, pausing to take a sip of his whiskey. It
burned in that pleasant way he’d gotten so used to—even depended
on. “However, if things don’t go exactly as planned and Summers
gets there first… well, I’ve made certain
arrangements
to
deal with such a contingency.”

“Ah, yes,” said Tristan, sounding relieved.
“
That’s
more like the Raidan I know. I was starting to think
you’d been replaced by a replicant.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” said Raidan,
thinking of the replicant version of himself that he kept in the
prison block below. A chilling reminder of the danger that haunted
humanity. A danger that seemed to grow faster than he could cut it
down.

“Come now, you know I jest,” said Tristan.
“It’s something I seem to be doing ever more, as the clouds darken
all around.”

“Indeed.” Raidan took another sip. He
supposed they all had their habits that helped them cope and
survive.

“But I’m glad to hear of these other
arrangements
you speak of,” said Tristan. “I take that as a
sign there is still some hope.”

“Perhaps a little,” said Raidan. “But what
hope we have left is fast circling the drain. And the
vultures—they’re already here. Just prior to the battle I heard
report of a Rotham cargo fleet sighted near Renora. We both know
that isn’t any ordinary cargo fleet.”

“Yes,” said Tristan in a dark tone. “Those
ships mean nothing good.”

“Which is why you
must
succeed in your
mission,” said Raidan. “Leverage is desperately needed. Without it,
we may as well offer the Rotham our throats now.”

“It’ll be done,” said Tristan with trademark
confidence. “Whether by me or your other
arrangements,
it’ll
be done.”

“It had better. The fate of the Empire likely
depends on it.”

***

Alex sat in the pilot’s chair as the vessel
that had been crudely named
Wander
by the ignorant humans
made slow but steady progress toward the far side of the DMZ and
the Rotham border. Officially, their mission was to scout the
Republic’s military activity and report their findings to Queen
Kalila Akira. That was Calvin’s plan for the ship anyway.