The Phoenix War Read online

  The Phoenix War

  Book Four of The Phoenix Conspiracy Series

  Richard L. Sanders

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013 Richard L. Sanders

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold or conveyed for profit, however I (the author) don’t really care if you share it with others. Just keep in mind that at the time of publication I am an indebted student and every purchase is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your support and understanding.

  Note to the reader: this is Book Four in an ongoing series. If you have not read the first book The Phoenix Conspiracy it may be found for free in the download store and on my own personal website

  Chapter 1

  He’d finished taking care of the others. All but the one who’d escaped—the one who’d proven the strongest had been allowed to escape. For one was needed; one had to press her claim, to stir the chaos—the One True God demanded it!—but the others… they were mere extras. Unnecessary. Existing only to complicate the plan. To frustrate it. Not that they could frustrate it; no mere mortal could interfere with the will of the One True God. But, all the same, Blackmoth had done what he was bid, and eliminated them. Now it was time for the second…

  Second of five. Second of five. Five there shall be. Five destructions. Five to rain down upon the galaxy. Five is His number. Four corners and one heart. Five. The number of the One True God.

  Blackmoth carefully removed the light fixture, opening up a small hole above the most important room in the Empire; he knew the second destruction was about to be brought forth. Just as the One True God willed. And he—meager, unworthy Blackmoth—was the vessel to unleash it.

  This one acts, as ever, in Your Name, a name all are unworthy to speak.

  Blackmoth peered through the small hole where, a moment before, the light fixture had been. The tiny crawlway—meant for maintenance—was extremely cramped and, although Blackmoth was thin, he had difficulty maneuvering. But such challenges meant nothing to the One True God and would not frustrate His plans. All was as it should be. And soon the entire galaxy would bathe in the chaos, rancor, and destruction that He saw fit to thrust upon them. Many souls would soon be ripped back into the void. But it was just. Their time had come.

  Blackmoth crawled forward, gingerly so as not to disconnect any of the cables or interfere with the electrical infrastructure. Some of the noise of the great chamber below poured through the tiny opening, from where the light fixture had been removed, but Blackmoth ignored the words. They were ignorant lies and meant nothing. Posturing, politicking, pretensions made by the Empire’s preeminent deceivers, deluders, and dissimulators. The chamber was filled with arrogant fools—infidels who, like most of humanity, had forgotten their maker and declared themselves kings and rulers over the universe.

  Blackmoth gingerly fixed the suppressor to the rifle and then slowly and delicately pushed it through the orifice he’d made. Where, thirty-five meters above the Assembly Floor, he perched, hidden among the tens of thousands of lights used to brighten the vast chamber. Below him, stacks-upon-stacks of balconies seated the nearly two-hundred fools, the Representatives of the Empire. But, like the stringed puppets they were, they sat at the edges of their seats gazing below not above, as they were meant to do, paying him no mind, obsessing with intense focus on the farce playing out before them on the Assembly Floor proper. But, even if their foolish eyes hadn’t been so blinded by the self-absorbed, arrogant world in which they lived, soaking in the foolishness spread out before them, they would never have noticed Blackmoth. A tiny dark speck hidden amongst hundreds and hundreds of lights. And it was from that array of electric light that the One True God’s spiritual light would shake the galaxy with His second destruction.

  “Five there shall be,” Blackmoth silently mouthed the words. “Five. Five to break the galaxy. Five to usher in the Darkness. And from that Darkness, the Truth shall restore Order.”

  He peered through the scope, adjusting it as needed, until he had a clear view of the dais at the very bottom, where three Representatives sat. There was nothing about them that made them mightier or worthier than the other two-hundred fools. Yet they pretended as leaders. And near them, even more sickeningly, were another dozen or so who stood, expecting the reins of the galaxy to be placed into their soft, fat hands. The lords and ladies of the so-called “Great Houses.” As he examined their faces in the crosshair, the ones he could see, each seemed even more revolting and unworthy than the last. The One True God is wise to return the Darkness to the galaxy... and remind every mortal soul everywhere that these meager fools—these so-called leaders—cannot replace Him. Guidance, Wisdom, Safety, and Security may only be found through Him. And none other way. Else the Darkness must return.

  The Representatives below, especially the members of the Great Houses, were swept up in the excitement they thought they had created. But none was prepared for the true shock of the day. They believed their Empire was strong. That it was meant to endure. That some new leader would mount it like a stallion and ride it to a glorious future. Not so. Today, that precious Empire would fall.

  A few minutes later, the thrilled enthusiasm of the ants below intensified. Those who stood in positions of honor made way for an entourage to move to the front and center. A man surrounded by many aides and guards. Aides that could give him no aid. And guards that could not protect him. The man came to the center and stood before all the world and all the galaxy. Like a false god. And as a false god, he would be given to the void.

  Blackmoth focused the scope in tighter and moved the crosshair onto the king’s head. As he did, the King spoke, filling the chamber with noise from his microphone. Loud enough that it seemed to echo, even in the tiny maintenance crawlway. Empty words. A cry for peace and unity that was being broadcast from here to the farthest reaches of space. But a cry that would not be answered. For it was not the words the King said that would prove to be the second great destruction…

  The One True God demands chaos.

  Blackmoth took a moment to mark both of his targets, noting exactly where their heads were. The first target stood almost completely in place, only his jaw seemed to be moving; the other shifted around a bit. Trying to get a better view of the first. But his movements were subtle and would not interfere with Blackmoth’s shot.

  Blackmoth controlled his breathing and kept his muscles loose. Then, when the One True God told him to, he exhaled gently and squeezed the trigger. The .338 rifle snapped and expelled its shot with a hiss. Taking its target in the eye. Blackmoth quickly shifted the rifle, pulling the bolt back and forward—expending the spent shot—and then immediately fired. Taking his other target in the head as well.

  He set the rifle aside and replaced the light fixture, a process that took only a few seconds. As he did, he focused on the One True God, wanting to hear His instructions—if He had any—and ignored the sounds of panic and pandemonium below. Once the light was back in place, making it that much more difficult for the security forces to identify where the shot had originated from, Blackmoth wormed his way backwards and out of the maintenance crawlway.

  The second destruction had befallen the galaxy. Like a second swing from a celestial hammer. The One True God was pleased, Blackmoth knew. But there was more to do and no time to rest. The third destruction would take its course soon. Set in motion by the poor, foolish mortals themselves. Bathing the galaxy in an ocean of cleansing blood. And then, in the critical moment, Blackmoth would be there—ready to unleash the fourth destruction. And then the fifth and final destruction. Then, and only then, would the galaxy be sufficiently broken to accept the Truth of the One True God.

&n
bsp; “The One True God is just,” Blackmoth whispered as he made his escape. “The One True God is just.”

  Chapter 2

  Tamara stood on the bridge of the Prometheus as the micro-frigate circled Titan Three. Of course Prometheus wasn’t the vessel’s true name—it was something unpronounceable and Rotham, as foreign and alien as the ship’s original crew. But now that the vessel belonged to her, and her scientific efforts, she’d renamed it to something more to her liking.

  “That’s the last of it,” said Erik. She looked over at her fellow scientist and saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. And she thought she understood why.

  Gazing past him, out the window, down upon the planet, she couldn’t see the Polarians destroying the facilities they’d labored so hard in for the past several months but she could see the dark greens and blacks that swirled in the clouds—the taint that had tinted the atmosphere of the planet, choking it with a heavy presence of new toxins and pollutants.

  Ruining the ecosystem of a once beautiful world hadn’t been their goal, but it had proved a necessary sacrifice in the weaponizing process. And that seemed to trouble Erik more than the rest of them—probably because he’d begun his scientific career rather ironically as a conservation biologist.

  “This is for the best,” Tamara reminded everyone—including herself. “This is for the good of humanity.” And Titan Three is not a human world… a fact Zane Martel had stated clearly. Better to ruin one of their worlds than one of ours, especially if it gives us the key to countless more generations of safety, insurance against the ever-looming specter of alien invasion.

  Tamara recalled history as well as anyone, and she remembered—though it had happened long before she’d been born—how the early encounters with the Rotham and Polarian species had been more of a predator-prey relationship with humanity.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Erik. He looked away, somewhat angrily. Tamara didn’t completely blame him for his sour attitude. There was a kind of denial that had been possible down on the surface, when all one could see was offices, industrial buildings, and mountains in the far distance, but here—gazing down upon the whole planet like a goddess—one could not escape the reality of what they’d done. The planet was darkened, and ruined, and would remain transformed forever.

  “Eleven standard months…” she said. Those around her shared the sentiment.

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” asked Isabella.

  “Indeed it is,” replied Tamara. When they’d first been brought here by Zane Martel, to work on The Project, it had felt so completely foreign and strange. But now, despite how Polarian it still was, it felt oddly like home. And it was difficult to process that, after all the hard work and time spent here, they were actually leaving. The great network of buildings and industrial infrastructure that had been raised to serve as their homes, and laboratories, and everything else, was now little more than a pile of ash and rubble. Erased as best the Polarians knew how. Meant to hide the fact that they’d ever been here. Even though the planet would continue to bear their scars for millions of years.

  “Well, I guess that means it’s time we turn this rust bucket around and go home,” said Erik.

  Tamara nodded. She knew that when they got back to Capital World, they’d have to return the ship to Zane. But, considering what each of them was to be paid for their services, the loss of one old Rotham micro-frigate wasn’t much to consider.

  “Set course for Capital System,” said Tamara. “Everyone, let’s go home.” In truth, she wasn’t sure what to expect when they got there. Their last instructions from Zane hadn’t been very clear—and strangely they hadn’t heard anything from him since. No new instructions. No updates. Nothing.

  So Tamara figured returning to Capital System was all they could really do. “Remember to display Imperial colors and broadcast the fact that we are Imperial civilians. It’s not a question of if we’ll get stopped by an Imperial patrol—it’s a question of when.”

  The Rotham ship no longer carried any armaments and its only defensive shield was navigational, even its armor plating was old and broken. Still, it was a foreign design and undoubtedly the Fleet would take an interest in them once they popped up on somebody’s scopes. It’ll be okay, she reminded herself. She’d reasoned that there was nothing to worry about. So long as they remembered their cover story and complied with all instructions—and allowed the Imperial military to board their ship when asked—all would be fine. They’d get back to Capital System, and there they’d receive the fortunes they’d been promised.

  “Incoming message,” said Isabella.

  “From whom?” asked Tamara.

  “Polarian command ship. We are ordered to maneuver to a position in open space, oh-one-three by seven-three-three by nine-nine-one. And there we will power down our engines and… prepare to dock?” Isabella turned away from her terminal and gave Tamara a very confused look.

  “Did they say why?”

  “They say they have to do a security check before we can be granted clearance to leave.”

  Tamara knew that there was no other option. A whole squadron of Polarian warships patrolled the system; if they wanted something, they would have it. One way or another.

  It’s all right, she told herself. The warships are loyal to our employer’s interests—or, at the very least, loyal to someone Zane has made a deal with. There is nothing to fear.

  Despite her effort to reassure herself, she felt her heart quicken. The sight of the Polarian soldiers—seven feet tall, thickly muscled, bluish-gray skin… not to mention all of the weapons, including savage knives, that they wore—they’d always intimidated her. Even when they were there to protect her and the other scientists, they’d still frightened her.

  Once they finally jumped the system, Tamara would be glad to be rid of them. But by the look of things, they would have to put up with one more unwanted encounter.

  “Comply with all instructions,” said Tamara.

  “I’m already on it,” said Erik. He looked by far the most eager to return home, or, at the very least, put the vomit-green, catastrophically-polluted, forever-darkened world of Titan Three behind them once and for all. Out of sight and, if the universe was merciful, out of mind.

  The ship angled and accelerated, and Tamara watched as the planet slipped out of view.

  “We’ve broken orbit,” Erik announced. “Accelerating to coordinates.”

  “Isabella, are they saying anything?” asked Tamara.

  “Not much. Just that they will make this quick. And then we can go and claim our reward.”

  “Payment. Finally, the reason I did this,” said Erik. “I wonder what the going rate is for a soul these days…”

  The ship reached the designated position.

  “Answering all stop,” said Erik.

  “They’ve dispatched a shuttle,” said Isabella. “It will reach our position in thirty seconds and commence docking operation.”

  “Then we let them search the ship, make sure we didn’t steal any of their toys, and after that we can finally be on our way,” said Erik. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back impatiently in the pilot’s seat.

  Let’s hope that’s all it is, thought Tamara. She had an ominous feeling about this, but she kept her sentiment to herself. The simplest explanation was usually the likeliest—that was the Razor Principle—and the simplest explanation, she knew, was that the Polarians were following a basic, normal, non-threatening protocol. Search any ships leaving their systems, especially after completing a top-secret joint venture. Make certain we aren’t leaving the system with valuable information that could compromise the security of the Polarian Confederacy. Yes, that must be it.

  But, even as she thought it, she remembered the little idiosyncrasies she’d noticed over the months. Signs that made her suspect these Polarians were not actually part of the Confederacy, even though they seemed organized and powerful enough to have military-class starships.

  After a minut
e, Isabella rotated her chair and made eye-contact with Tamara, her face as pale as a ghost. “They’re here.”

  “Good,” said Erik, “the sooner they get this over with, the sooner we can go home.” He tried to sound reassuring, but anxiety pierced his words.

  The next thirty seconds passed in eerie silence. All Tamara seemed able to hear was the thumping of her own heart. She resisted the urge to stand up and pace about nervously. She didn’t want to add to her colleagues’ anxiety, however, so she refrained.

  The elevator door slid open and four towering Polarians entered with heavy footsteps. Tamara stood to receive them. She found herself face-to-face with the lead Polarian’s chest. She craned her neck to look him in the eyes.

  “You are Tamara Baxter?” he asked, his dark eyes seeming to shimmer ever so slightly in the bridge’s light.

  “Yes… yes, I am,” she said, as strongly as she could. “And these,” she pointed, “are my colleagues. Erik Davidson and Isabella—”

  “I do not care who they are,” interrupted the Polarian leader.

  “How… how may we help you, sir?” asked Tamara, her throat tight. Back on the planet’s surface, the Polarians almost never spoke to them, so she’d never gotten used to interacting with them. Back then they’d been like fearsome statues, a part of the ominous background. Oh how I wish these were mere statues…

  “You are the one who developed the weapon, yes?” asked the lead Polarian, gazing at her intensely with those coal eyes.

  “We all worked on—”

  “But you, you were the one who divined how to do it, yes? You were the one who was gifted with this knowledge?”

  It took her half a heartbeat to figure out what the Polarian was saying. “Yes,” she answered cautiously. “The science of the isotome weapons was based upon my theories of—”