The Phoenix Conspiracy (27 page)

"In order to protect your
information I need to be logged into
your
account. I don't have your log
in information specifically. So please, if you don't mind," he
waved toward the key prompt, "the longer we wait the more danger
your stuff is in."

The officer didn't take the time to
think this over. The urgency in Shen's voice—made believable by his
own anxiety, was convincing enough. Shen soon found himself
perusing the local Network. His sabotage program had been
discovered and wiped out and the server was working fine. Of
course, the officer hovering over his shoulder didn't know that.
And, even though it’d been purged, it would still do the job of
hiding his tracks once the technicians did a proper restore. With
luck, no one should notice that any data was copied.

Shen did a search based on a few
simple parameters. The most useful mechanism for this was to check
everything for its time stamp and access-modification dates.
Everything that seemed to plausibly fit in the Harbinger's window
of time, when they'd boarded the station, Shen copied over. It took
awhile and as he sat waiting for the data to upload, he felt even
more nervous. The image of soldiers or actual technicians scouring
the corridors trying to find the saboteur who'd knocked out their
servers frightened him. Seeing Shen sitting here would flag the
right people's attention if they were looking.

"Do you mind shutting the door?" asked
Shen. "I'm a little cold and that vent is giving me goosebumps." He
was lucky that a significant amount of cool air was flowing through
a large vent just outside the office.

"All right," the officer said and he
closed the door. Shen figured that bought him a little more
time.

As the last of the data copied over,
he checked the maintenance logs to see what the Nighthawk's status
was. It had been refueled but wasn't cleared for departure yet even
though the engineering liaison had returned to the ship. Apparently
the Chief Engineer of the Nighthawk wasn't yet satisfied the ship’s
systems had all the kinks worked out yet. No doubt Calvin was
having Andre keep making bad reports until Shen was back
aboard.

The computer beeped as the data
finished moving over. Shen ejected the drive and put it in his
pocket. "Well it looks like we saved your data, and now your
computer is secure," he saluted, put on a fake smile, and walked
out.

"Thanks," the officer called behind
him.

"Don't mention it."

When he knew he was out of sight he
sped up, carefully ducking to the side when he passed others in the
main corridors. No one seemed to be overly alert, or looking for
him. But he still didn't stop until he was back in the support bay.
As he approache6d the Nighthawk, which was still connected to the
bay via a jetway, someone called out to him.

"You there, technician, what are you
doing next to that ship?"

Shen couldn't think on his feet quite
as well as he would have liked. "I don't know," he said, feeling
his face get warm.

"What do you mean you don't
know?"

Shen felt the urge to sprint onto the
ship and not look back, but he knew that was foolish. Instead he
faced the man down. "I mean, I don't know why but I have orders
from deck 16 to deliver this report to the ship's liaison." He held
up his drive.

"Oh okay," the engineer said. "But the
Nighthawk's liaison has already boarded the ship."

Shen knew this already. "Then I'll
have to go aboard."

"Do you have clearance for
that?"

"If I don't, I'm sure their security
will turn me away. But I have to at least try to follow my orders."
He stepped into the jetway leading to the ship's hatch and felt an
enormous wave of relief.

***

When Shen's message came to the
bridge, Calvin happened to be there. His eyes were burning and the
long wait had relaxed him to a very bored, almost deliriously tired
state. But he managed to shake himself awake.

"Did your mission succeed?" He
asked.

"Affirmative, I'm back aboard. Where
do you want me to send this data? There's an awful lot of
it."

"Send it to the lab," said Calvin.
"And get some rest. There's more than enough there to keep several
people busy analyzing it for hours if not days, and I want you to
keep focused on your other assignments. Especially your
investigation into the ships Raidan destroyed, including this
latest casualty."

"Will do. And I'm not very tired so
I'll get back to it right away."

"Fine with me," said Calvin. "Just
make sure you're nice and alert for White Shift in..." he glanced
at the clock. "Eleven hours."

"Yes sir," said Shen and the
communication ended.

"So what was that about?" asked
Rose.

Calvin smirked. "It looks like we got
our hands on the data the Harbinger stole, after all. That should
give us some clues about what it's up to, I hope."

"I just hope we don't take any fallout
for this."

"Shen's very good; I'm guessing Brimm
One will never even know." Calvin stood up. "When we're given
clearance, detach us from this base and get us heading toward Iota
at a good speed. Once on our way, contact them and ask the status
of their defenses. The Harbinger should be arriving before long and
you’d better send them a warning in case Brimm didn’t."

"Aye, sir."

"If you need me, I'll be in my
quarters trying to sleep."

Calvin left. He thought of the first
time he'd turned his bridge over to the command of less experienced
officers and how hard that had been. And he hadn't slept well as he
imagined them at the controls making choices that could mean life
or death for him as he lay powerless below. But over time, he'd
gotten past that paranoia and knew that a fresh crew, no matter how
green, was better than a seasoned one that'd been pushed to
exhaustion.

So, as long as his senior staff was on
the bridge when they finally encountered the Harbinger, he'd be
fine.

As he approached his quarters he felt
the tempting, almost urgent, allure of equarius build up inside
him, increasing with moment. Almost exponentially. He told himself
he wasn't going to take any, that he was just flirting with the
idea because the anticipation of equarius made him excited. That he
didn't have to actually take it to enjoy it. But, the more he
thought about it, and the more he felt the craving flow through his
veins like an electric current, he realized he was going to do it,
no matter what he told himself.

After all, he had eleven
hours.

Chapter 17

His sleep was haunted by visions of
terror.

Heart thundered as he raced down an
endless corridor of charcoal grey. All around him were nightmarish
images of people in the throes of death. Blood painted on every
wall and door. Corpses everywhere. People reduced to mutilated
empty husks bleeding themselves pale. Frail as shadows. It choked
him. And he froze in his own cold sweat, writhing until he escaped.
Trinity. Trinity. Trinity. Christine!

Panting and convulsing, he awoke in
his own dark bedroom with icy shivers. His sheets lay in a
crumpled, tangled mess on the floor. He sat up in a start, feeling
light-headed as his eyes blanked over and, for an instant, he was
sure he would pass out again. But the fear and reality of the whole
experience gripped him with a fierce surge of energy. Forcing him
alert. And in this heightened state, Calvin couldn't blink away the
images. He hated them! The blood and wounds, the claw marks, and
worst of all William’s empty eyes rolling back into their sockets.
One last frozen expression on his face. Like a soul lost forever in
a state of eternal stasis. What had meant everything to him
yesterday suddenly meant nothing.

And Christine. He could hear her
whispers in his ears. Her laughter by his side. He reached over for
her but found only the cold empty side of his bed.

He wept silently and thought of death.
It stared him in the face and he felt his strength vanish as he
imagined the blank dark mask of the reaper and his shimmering
indiscriminate scythe. An enemy that can never be beaten no matter
how much money, force, and strategy is deployed against
it.

The idea of such a final and
hopeless conflict frightened him—
consumed
him. And, as he stumbled to
his feet—legs trembling ever so slightly, barely keeping him
balanced, he found the bottle of equarius and turned the lid—his
trembling hands barely able to open it.

No matter what it cost him, no matter
what effect it would have tomorrow, he needed peace of mind now.
And to hell with everything else.

Here's to the
dead
. He chased down the pill with half a
bottle of water.

***

Summers sat at the command position of
the Nighthawk's bridge. White Shift began twenty minutes ago and
everyone was present, except for Calvin. When he didn't show right
away, she had Sarah contact his quarters. At first he didn't reply,
but when he finally did, he sounded groggy, snappy, and short. He
insisted he was on his way so they left it alone. That was ten
minutes ago.

Now she sat in quiet anticipation as
they closed in on Iota System, at last estimate they were only a
few minutes out. What made Summers curious, though, was that for
all eleven hours of their journey they hadn't heard much from Iota.
Red Shift had contacted the station awhile ago, warning them of the
Harbinger’s approach, and they’d confirmed they were deploying
defenses and would be on standby. And then … what? Almost nothing.
They’d checked in at scheduled times, telling the Nighthawk their
status was unchanged. But now, as the Nighthawk tried to contact
them again, no reply came. Just silence. If the station had been
attacked, they hadn’t sent out an alert of any kind. Very unusual,
unless the Harbinger didn’t go there after all... She pursed her
lips.

At long last the door whisked open and
Calvin walked onto the bridge. He looked horrible. Messy tangled
hair, wrinkled clothes that probably hadn't been changed since the
day before, and eyes that were so bloodshot they almost glowed. As
he approached, his movements were sluggish and he seemed unawake.
Summers had seen people act this way before and wondered if Calvin
was just tired or if he was actually hung over. She suspected the
latter.

When Calvin approached, Summers
relinquished the command position and Calvin collapsed in the chair
with a huge sigh. He rubbed his temples for a few seconds before
closing his eyes and resting his head in his hands.

"Why is everyone being so loud?" asked
Calvin to no one in particular. Everyone looked confused since no
one was making noise, other than the quiet keystrokes and computer
sounds of normal operations.

"Look at the sad state of you," said
Summers. "You're in no condition to command the ship."

"Oh put a sock in it," he snapped. She
felt her anger boil. And then she couldn't contain herself;
commanding officer or not, this was ridiculous.

"
You're hung over, aren't you?
Probably drank all night, didn't you? Well that's
no
way for an officer to
behave."

He glared at her. "I
don't
drink," then he
rested his head in his hands once more.

"You all right, mate?" asked
Miles.

Calvin didn't answer, instead he asked
another question. "What is our status, Sarah?"

"Point oh seven two clicks from Iota
and closing in. ETA five minutes."

"Alert status?"

"Condition two, all systems standing
by," said Shen.

Summers looked back at Calvin who
still had his eyes closed and head resting in his palms.

"That's good," he said slowly. "Any
word from the system?"

"None, sir," said Sarah.

"Contact them, give them our position,
and ask their status."

"Can do," Sarah spoke into her headset
and typed something on her computer. A few seconds later she turned
back around. "No response."

Calvin finally lifted his
head and opened his eyes. "
What
?" He muttered. Then, more
loudly, "what about the colony?"

"Again, no response."

"That doesn't make any sense," said
Calvin.

"We’ve been unable to contact them for
some time," said Summers.

Calvin didn't say anything. And,
seeing his acutely slow state, she offered a suggestion. "We could
contact the Fleet and see if they've heard anything."

Calvin nodded and waved his hand.
"Good idea, do that."

As they waited for Sarah, Summers
stared out the window into the blackness of space. Anything to keep
her eyes off their sorry excuse for a CO. Being tardy and
out-of-uniform was one thing, which Calvin had made into habit, but
showing up unfit for command—because of drinking or drugging—was
something else entirely. She would report this, if his dilapidated
state didn't get them all killed first.