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  Phoenix: Ashes

  By

  Martin Allen

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Martin Allen

  All Rights Reserved

  Thanks to:

  My mother, for proofreading all the novels so far in the Phoenix series, and hopefully many more to come.

  Sabrina Roberts for an idea for the back part of the cover and for being there.

  Christina Cook and Claire McCluskey for their continued friendship.

  The continued support of the various facebookers who continue to support my work by way of author take-overs and re-postings (yes, Karmin Dahl, you are in this category).

  To all who have or will reviewed my work, whether it be a glowing review or not.

  ……and lastly to all those who read this and enjoy it.

  Chapter 1

  The walls of the advance bunker trembled as the captured siege weapons pounded at the thick titanium-steel reinforced walls. Tiny motes of concrete dust floated down from the ceiling, overtaken by the larger fragments also shaken loose by the impacts of the high power weaponry.

  “How did they get hold of the batteries?” yelled a voice from the other side of the bunker as Hostilius Corvus sought shelter under a table, due to the sheer power of the batteries now arranged against his Headquarters.

  The sheet-ice offered little shelter to the troops marching through the almost horizontal snow whipping at their thermo-uniforms. Despite these uniforms being specifically designed for the Hell-Worlds gripped in eternal winter on some of the more extreme outposts of the Empire, they offered scant protection to the comfort of the soldiers that wore them. The worst of the elements were held away from the body, for if they were not then the entire squad would have been dead roughly twenty miles previously. The fact that the thermo-uniforms did at least keep them alive was barely touched upon by the sub-vocal, and sometimes not so sub-vocal, mutterings of the soldiery attired in them. As always with the common soldier the common complaints were still in evidence from the dawn of the profession: lack of pay, women, decent rations, booze and of course pre-eminent in this case, the cold. The energy required to power the suits to a more comfortable temperature would in itself lead to an increase in the pack weight, thus slowing the soldiers down further - this in turn would lead to a requirement for more energy. In fact the current temperature of the suits was the only one that would allow for a protracted march between the city and the transport hub. The slow trudge across the ice showed little evidence for its passing. The wind howling around the hunched figures took the snow almost as quickly as it hit the ground. The drifts that resulted from this phenomenon were some seven miles to the east of the city and the hub, and were the same height as some of the mountains on Sol Invictus itself. These would build until the high-speed winds caused by the high rotational speed of the planet were blocked and the paths of the tempest were changed. This would result in differing wind patterns and a new build-up of drifts; the old ones slowly compressing under their own weight to become new plateaus of sheet ice. The sheet ice was tinted a blue colour due to the high copper mineral content of the water on the planet. Whilst the reclamation of the copper from the frozen water was uneconomical in terms of energy, the mining of the minerals that had so partially dissipated in the water was not so prohibitive. The mining had opened up the subterranean space to utilise for shelter and industry. Soon entire generations on the Hell-World of Albina 7 would have had no reason to see the sky or stars. Already specific adaptations among the residents had started to emerge. Their irises were, among the original lines of the planet, unable to contract to blot out the normal levels of light on a temperate planet such as Sol Invictus. As travel at night along the planet’s surface was impossible due to the temperature, the very ice itself became something of a prison guard for the residents of Albina. Their weakened irises would, more easily than their off-world counterparts, lead to snow blindness and thus they would be unable to reach the transport hub. The transport hub was isolated and only reachable by an enforced march across the sheet ice; the hub was the only transportation off world. Raw materials from the mines were collected by automated machines. The automation was necessary as the speed of the transport machines was so low due to the weight of the loads. A human driver would be frozen to death well before the transports reached their destination. As well as the energy savings this afforded, it made escape from Albina almost impossible.

  The Hell-Worlds were to all intent and purposes a slave labour camp for all those adjudged by the Empire to be sinners and criminals. They were put to work for the good of the Empire in conditions that would have shamed even the Egyptian and Roman dynasties famous for their uncaring attitudes toward the workers on their major projects. The Empire itself would sooner be rid of these people, marked as reprobates, but the demands of the Empire for raw materials saw a greater use for those that could be so abused. The energy demands for such a colony filled with willing and protected workers whose spiritual being was not in doubt would have been a price the Empire would not have paid. Heating and other such luxuries would have severely curtailed the energy available for interplanetary travel upon which the Empire placed utmost importance for, on the basis of expansion, it maintained order and the status quo. In the caverns of Albina rude shacks had been erected with only the meagre geothermal warmth derived from the depths of the caverns themselves keeping the populace alive at all. The energy investment in the colony had been immense for the deposits of copper and other conductive metals were immense and could be used for the technical requirements of much of the Empire’s computing needs. Prior to the deeper caverns utilising the geothermal energy food had been transported to the surface; the subzero temperatures offering a preservative during the long automated transportation. As the caverns expanded with the export of conductive raw materials, room became available for geothermally heated hydroponics bays. These were little more than basic mass-producing pods that provided high-energy foodstuffs of little nutritional value. The workers were not expected to last more than a year due to the frequent illnesses and cave-ins. The Hell-Worlds were a death sentence but were perceived by many at sentencing as better than the pyres of the Committee of Doctrine. After their transportation to the Hell-Worlds, many changed their minds and resigned themselves to their imminent deaths. Only the lesser criminals were ever offered the Hell-Worlds - apostates or adherents to other faiths were always submitted to the pyres sooner or later. Due to the large volumes of these poor souls they were often interred in death camps first, many dying of malnutrition and disease before they had a chance to be fed into the carnivorous mouths of the furnaces, which they had often built themselves.

  The squad that trudged ever onwards towards the transportation hub thought not of the suffering of their fellow man beneath the surface where they had been standing guard, but merely of their own discomfort. They had endured sparse meagre rations and bitter cold, albeit the worst kept from their bones by their thermo-uniforms. They were merely glad to have this assignment ended and looked forward to a more hospitable climate. Their indifference to the suffering around them was little more than a reaction to their conditions. The Empire had pervaded every aspect of life to promote the worship of Sol Invictus, the state religion of the theocracy. No other religious observations but those of the state were permitted. Each of the inhabitants of Albina 7 had been judged in what they saw as a fair trial and were now beneath contempt. Contact was discouraged and only indifference or brute cruelty to the inhabitants was seen as acceptable activity for the Patriarchal Guard of which they were all me
mbers. Distaste and loathing came into all of them upon seeing the sub-humans eking out their pitiful existence. Still the harsh winds whipped at them, their regimental cloaks cracking in the sideswiping winds, the cold mirroring their indifference to the crimes of the Empire. Their tracks disappeared almost as soon as they were made, echoing the intransigence of the squad’s impact on humanity itself.

  Although the snowstorm blocked any sight past a few yards, one of the infrequent breaks in the weather gave a view of the transportation hub a mere two miles ahead of the squad. The bright lights were a contrast to the dark entryway to the subterranean mining complex. Piercing points broke through the blizzard drawing the eye higher and higher to the spires of the transportation complex. It was almost like an Ice-queens castle compared to the troglodytes’ caves that they had been stationed in for the past few months. The towers were the grey of titanium-steel; almost impenetrable armour that indicated this was the most important structure on the planet. Through this structure all non-indigenous supplies and personnel were brought to the planet’s surface. This was no mere spaceport but an entire structure given over to a massive undertaking - the transformation of matter to energy and back again. This was the secret to interstellar travel. It consumed a vast amount of energy for each item transported to or from the planet. As matter was converted to energy it was transported to another planet and converted back. The towers rose at the four corners of a massive transparent dome that encased a large courtyard. The peak of the dome was linked to the four towers via thin lines akin to that of a spider’s web. The lines however glowed with a blue ethereal light that only just pierced the snowfall. Activity was only visible within the courtyard itself as all the windows were mirrored. The mirroring was designed to reflect much of the harsh glare of the ice sheet and thus protect the eyes of those that lived and worked within.

  “Come on lads, two more miles before a warm meal and berth.” A harsh yell came over the com-link to the squad from their sergeant. As a non-commissioned officer the Sergeant was the first bastion of morale and discipline. As an experienced Sergeant, he knew that in such cruel conditions the idea of a warm meal and comfort would appeal to his squad and have more power than threats or cajoling.

  A weak response in reply was almost drowned out by the crackle in the com-link caused by the atmospheric conditions.

  “If you don’t want a warm meal and a bed for the night then I can always suggest to the Lieutenant that you would prefer to make camp here and march the rest of the way in the morning” bawled the Sergeant. The Lieutenant smiled inwardly, knowing that there would be no chance of either the Sergeant making that suggestion or him giving the order. He also knew that the squad would immediately respond more forcefully to ensure that neither of those possibilities became necessary.

  “No Sir! Warmth sounds good Sir!” came an early reply, now much louder than the com-link background interference.

  “Halberdier Servilius! Do I look like an Officer to you? I work for a living laddie” The harsh retribution made the rest of the Squad smile now for Servilius Cornicen had answered too quickly and without thought. The rest of the squad was now off the hook and Cornicen would now bear the brunt of any specific bawling. They would, for the rest of the journey, be subject to generalised abuse but nothing directed at any sole member of the squad save Servilius.

  “No Sarge! Sorry Sarge!” came the quick loud reply from Servilius ineffectively hoping to stave off any further attacks.

  “There will come a time when I’m not around to wipe your arse for you Servilius, and what will you do then, eh? I try and teach you reprobates some kind of discipline and what do I get? You call me an officer! I will drag you back out of each and every assignment alive if it’s possible, and you call me an officer! I don’t have it in me to be an Officer, and that’s the truth.” The tirade on the subject of Officerhood continued for both of the two remaining miles. It was all Lieutenant Gratius Aquilinus could do to stop himself from laughing for much of the gruelling remainder of the journey. For all of the blustering he knew that Sergeant Curtius Aculeo was in fact making the same type of mistake that Servilius had. By being insulted at the honorific of Sir, implying he was an Officer, he was in fact insulting Officers. Lieutenant Gratius shook his head and decided to let it go, Sergeant Curtius had much in his character that was a problem but he would never knowingly, and soberly, insult an Officer. The manners of an enlisted man were too deeply ingrained into him after his 21 years of service. He had been in the Patriarchal Guard for longer than some of the squad had been alive, and that experience was essential.

  With more and more rebellions on Hell-Worlds the experience of the troops was in short supply. There were insufficient numbers of experienced troops for certain types of worlds, and, once committed, if another world of the same type tried to rebel only inexperienced troops would be available with only small numbers of specialists sent to aid them. The expansion of the Empire and its technology had made available more and more types of terrain and thus more tactical options than had previously been obtainable. So the experienced troops were spread out in the hope that the skills were transferable. According to his record Sergeant Curtius had been involved on almost every type of world in the Empire. This was an impressive achievement given that life expectancy in the Patriarchal Guard was clocked at a little over seven years. The normal tour of service required for citizenship was ten, so those that joined hoped to beat the odds. That was not easy with those like Sergeant Curtius taking up much of the luck needed by a raw recruit. Lieutenant Gratius realised that here were more inexperienced troops in this squad than he would have liked, the war machine of the Empire took them younger and younger each year. With birth rates growing, the one resource that the Empire produced in vast abundance was Human Life, and as such it was expendable in a way that energy and mineral resources would never be. Even food was in short supply, probably as a result of the ever expanding populations. Human life as a result was cheaper than almost anything on the Empire’s markets. Lieutenant Gratius had grown up on a temperate planet to middle class parents who were citizens and had purchased a small commission for him a few years before. It had cost them much of their savings but this basic investment had gained him entry to the Officer class and once his term of service was discharged he would be viewed with honour and potentially given a political role on some minor world somewhere, allowing him to live out his life in relative comfort. If he managed to get promoted beyond the lowly rank of Lieutenant, the rewards would be greater, but his chances of surviving any action that would result in a field promotion were negligible. As the Empire expanded to ever more mineral rich and hostile worlds the technical advances required to keep the colonists alive got more and more advanced and the raw materials available on those worlds made more complex and deadly weapons available. Lieutenants were still posted along with their squads and were not of sufficient rank to be spared front line service for command. So far he had been lucky, Calidius Squad, his squad, of the 107th Battalion had been lucky under his command, no major postings, guard duty for a year on Albina 7. This had mainly consisted of keeping order, nothing more than a policing posting. The conditions had meant that the chances of rebellion were negligible due to the lack of ability to survive independently. While geothermal energy had provided hydroponics bays and the basic supplies needed the ability to manufacture weapons was minimal and the chances of escape to the transportation hub were negligible. There would be no hope for survival should a rebellion occur. The Empire would pull back and let the technology wear out before launching a major offensive on tired and starving rebels with little offensive capability. That was the advantage of the Hell-Worlds as effective penal colonies. They had little prospect of independent survival and could be pacified with minimal losses. The inhabitants of the colony knew this as well as the soldiers did and kept themselves to themselves knowing their only chance of survival lay in not agitating the Empire any more than that which had resulted in them being sent h
ere. Before that the squad had been reserves in a containment of a rebellion on Geminius Prime, a world with two suns. While the squad had seen no combat in the fierce fighting that had managed to contain the rebellion and subsequently starved it into submission, they had seen the evacuation of the survivors, malnourished, gaunt and dejected. They had appeared skeletal, for while the planet had been the basis of a farming colony the initial overwhelming assault of the Empire had pinned the rebels into their city. Their crops had been bombarded by field artillery to remove their ability to withstand a siege. The resulting starvation and disease due to the accompanying destruction of the irrigation supply had brought down all rebelling cities within three weeks and the Patriarchal Guard had done little but sit back and shoot anyone attempting to leave, until the message of surrender had come in via the com-link. The Empire seemed like a compassionate commander, but the objective was less to do with conserving troops as it was to inspire terror in prospective rebels. To be shot in a clean fight may seem heroic in a fight for freedom, but to be slowly starved to death watching your loved ones and friends slowly getting thinner and thinner, sicker and sicker was a horror to be reckoned with. The psychological impact of that course of action was to deter other rebellions. It was cheaper and more cost effective to let a rebellion continue for three weeks than to have to ship troops around putting down fires.

  The transportation hub looked considerably closer now, so large that the neck had to be craned back to the point of discomfort just to see the top of the dome. The entire back had to be arched to see the tops of the towers. There was now a faint sheen of light visible from behind the mirrored windows. The complex itself could now be seen even when the wind and snow increased to their soul-battering climax. It was a heartening sight for the men as it meant that their march was coming to an end and the prospect of a warmer posting was closer. On most planets the main complex of the colony would house the various entertainments of the colony, restricted to those not convicted to enjoy them. On Albina, where the transport hub was so distant from the colony’s caves the entertainments for the transportation staff was maintained here. This meant that the squad had endured mind-numbing boredom for the past few months. The posting was longer than most due to the difficulty in getting to and from the colony, and the squad were looking forward to some well earned R&R. Lieutenant Gratius hoped that the enforced inactivity would not mean that the combination of theologically discouraged alcohol and female company would go to his men’s heads. He had spoken up for Sergeant Curtius on a number of occasions saving him from the Hell-Worlds and negating his sentence to demotion. Sergeant Curtius, however, always seemed to make his way back up the ranks, destined to remain at the rank of Sergeant. He was one of the most experienced and skilled NCO’s that Aquilinus had ever served with and hoped that he wouldn’t have to demote him again. Some of his squad were greener than the jungle world of Lactuca 3 and so would need to be warned about the dangers of an R&R after protracted inactivity. Still a warm meal, bivouac and the prospect of a good nights sleep safe from the call to action were all too welcome.