The Phoenix Conspiracy (33 page)

He paused. "... but, if we isolate all
the comm systems and lock them out, that tactic won't work. And
instead it'll give Raidan a false sense of security."

Calvin waited, wondering if the Major
would buy it. He didn't know how convincing he sounded over the
comm line, but he was satisfied that his story was the best he
could come up with in so little time. He couldn't help but notice
Shen roll his eyes and crack a smile.

"All right," said the Major. "So why
haven't we been doing this before now?"

"Because we didn't know about it until
now," said Calvin. "In fact, if you check the comms records you'll
see we got a message from Intel Wing a few minutes ago. They were
giving me this new intelligence." It was true that the ship kept
track of when a transmission came and how long it lasted, but no
data as to the contents of the message were ever recorded. Since,
almost always, it was for select ears only. Calvin was the only
person on the ship who knew what the message really had been
about.

"Understood, HQ out," said the Major.
The call terminated and Calvin breathed a sigh of
relief.

"I take it that's not
quite
the real reason,"
said Shen.

"What makes you say that?" Calvin
smiled.

"Because that kind of technology
doesn't make any sense," Shen sat back and folded his hands behind
his head. "I know it's cutting edge and experimental blah, blah,
blah, but," he shook his head slowly, "it wouldn't
work."

"OK you're right," Calvin admitted.
"Here's the real reason. The Fleet, or someone, has its hooks deep
inside Intel Wing, and they’re willing to give us up in order to
keep us from getting to Abia. Whatever Raidan wants us to find
there, someone else obviously doesn’t. When I reported that we
decided to head to Abia they told us to make port at
Xerxes."

"
Xerxes
?” asked Miles. "That place is
a rotting hell hole." He reclined his chair and put his feet up on
the console.

"And if we go there, they'll take this
ship apart, interrogate us, and hold us there until they're
convinced none of us are bad assets."

"But we
are
bad asses."

"Miles, not now," snapped
Calvin.

"Oh come on it can't be as bad as all
that," said Sarah. "Are you sure?"

Calvin nodded gravely. "I'm
sure."

"It makes sense," said Shen. "From
their perspective. If whoever is calling the shots wants Raidan
reigned in because he knows something they don't want to get out,
and if that something is in Abia, then they'd be motivated to stop
investigators—like us—from getting there."

"So why'd they sick us on Raidan in
the first place?" asked Sarah.

"Here's how I see it," said Calvin.
"They definitely want the Harbinger taken down, it's a liability
for someone. We were hired to find it and help mitigate that
threat. But during that process, we became a threat
ourselves."

"Because we didn't stop the Harbinger
by launching into some bozo suicide attack?" asked
Miles.

"That and because we're asking too
many questions. Our going to Abia instead of Zendricun," said
Calvin. "Proves to someone that we are more interested in solving
the mystery than taking Raidan down. Now, if they do have something
to hide, and there is a vital clue in Abia, then we are a serious
threat because we are trained. Moving us to Xerxes is a way of
mitigating us. And then whoever is pulling the strings can divert
other resources to handling Raidan. We were a convenient tool
yesterday. But today, we're part of the problem."

"So why don't we just play nice and
then go to Abia later?" asked Miles. "You know, fake em out. Go to
Zendricun, maybe stay a few days, have a few drinks, and then sneak
over to Abia when no one's looking."

Calvin laughed. "Thanks for cheering
me up."

"I wasn’t joking," said Miles, sitting
up. "Why do we have to go to Abia now?"

"Because whatever is in Abia might not
be there later," said Calvin. “Besides it’s too late now, we’ve
shown our cards.”

No one spoke for a few seconds. Then,
just as Shen opened his mouth, the elevator door slid open and
Summers stepped onto the bridge. "Here is your mysterious
datadisc," she said.

"Thanks," said Calvin. He moved to
take it from her but she kept it out of reach.

"It's blank," she said.

"What?" he asked, trying to think of
some excuse for why it might still be important.

"I figured since you trusted me to go
all the way down to get it, that implied I had clearance to see
what was on it. But it's blank. And not just erased blank; it's
never been formatted." Her eyes probed his and he knew she saw
through him.

He snatched the disk from
her hand. "The data isn't on the disc, it's
in
the disc," he said dismissively,
as if she were stupid. When, in reality, nobody really understood
what he meant. Including himself.

He went into his office and pretended
to look the disc over carefully until his door slid shut. Once he
was alone he locked the disc in a drawer and collapsed in his chair
with a sigh.

Other ships would be looking for him
now. And all his faceless, nameless enemies knew he was going to
Abia.

***

Summers tried once more to
contact the Fleet with the terminal in her room but, for the sixth
time, she only got as far as the screen that said:
"I'm sorry, this function has been disabled: code
101-C
." She'd used every single Executive
Officer bypass she knew to remove the block, but Calvin had higher
clearance than she did. The computer would not budge.

She felt like slapping the console a
few times, but had just enough discipline to keep it together. So,
instead, she took a deep breath, marshaled her intellect, and began
brainstorming how to circumvent Calvin and contact the
Fleet.

Since Calvin had gone to such lengths
to keep the Fleet from contacting her, she had to do whatever it
took to contact them. And find out what Calvin was trying to
hide.

She didn't buy Calvin's ridiculous
story that outside contact was a security threat. It was a
bold-faced lie. Calvin had obviously blocked it out for his own
purposes—just like Raidan had. And if that's what ended up stopping
her from catching Raidan and fulfilling justice... she'd go
completely ballistic!

Of course... if Calvin were
somehow
unfit
to
command the ship, Major Jenkins had the power to override his
command codes. And Calvin’s standing orders could be revoked. But
how to arrange that? It wasn't an issue of making it happen. She
wasn't going to injure him. That was something out of Raidan's
playbook. No, Summers would follow the rules; since, in the end,
the rules were designed to prevent this sort of thing from
happening—they would allow a way for her to stop a deranged
commanding officer from chasing ghosts across the universe at the
expense of the mission.

Calvin had shown bad judgment on the
bridge. And he'd shown up with signs of confusion and mental
exhaustion. He'd been drinking, she was sure of it. And in that
kind of condition he was not fit for command. And yes, that would
explain his poor decisions. He's not right in his head. He needs
help.

Before she knew it, she was on her way
to the infirmary. With every step she further organized her
arguments, giving them a brief polish so they'd be ready for the
chief physician, Dr. Blair. Then he could declare Calvin unfit and
Summers would take command. Once she had control, she'd
re-establish contact with the Fleet and get the ship back on course
to track down Raidan. It was not only the logical thing to do, it
was the right thing to do.

Arriving at the infirmary, she found
an empty, sterile room with a bored looking medic twiddling his
thumbs and staring absent-mindedly from his chair by the door. Upon
seeing her, the young man jumped to his feet, brown hair bouncing
over his eyes. "Commander," he said, snapping to attention. She
returned his salute.

"I need to see Dr. Blair right
away."

"He's in his quarters," the medic
pointed to a door. "He's not on shift."

"I need to see him,
on the double, mister
,"
said Summers, adding an edge to her voice. She didn't know what
Calvin had done to these people, but for some reason they only
seemed to listen if she sharpened her tone and repeated
herself.

The man paged Dr. Blair. His rough
voice crackled over the speaker. "Just what the hell are you doing,
boy? I'm trying to sleep!"

Summers wasn't impressed.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young medic
said. "But the XO is here to see you."

"If she's bleeding then patch her up.
If not, tell her it can wait 'til morning... err afternoon.
Whatever the hell time it is when I get up."

The medic glanced at Summers, clearly
unsure what to do. Summers let out a quiet sigh and waved him
aside. "Mister Blair," she said into the comm. "I need to speak
with you right away; that's an order."

"Can't you just speak to me over the
comm? I mean that's what you're doing right now, isn't
it?"

"Not good enough."

"Fine, fine, just... let me put some
pants on."

As the seconds ticked by
Summers found her patience wearing thinner and thinner and again
her mind spun circles at how ridiculous this whole ship was. 'Intel
Wing is the pride of the military'...
hardly
. Public transit was more
orderly than this flying circus.

"OK, what is it?" Dr. Blair asked
after poking his head out the door. She'd only seen him a few times
and once again it stood out to her how old he looked for a man in
his fifties.

"We should speak in private," she said
walking toward his door. Her intonation made it clear this was an
order and not a request. Dr. Blair looked startled for a second and
then hustled inside.

"Yeah... just let me put a few things
away real fast."

Summers pushed the door open and
caught a glimpse of what had to be the strangest starship apartment
in the military. It was half bathroom half bedroom with a small
liquor cabinet and a tiny refrigerator. The place smelled of old
cologne and... some kind of fruit, and the few dressers and only
table were covered with clothes, books, and random odds and ends.
Clearly Dr. Blair wasn't used to entertaining guests.

As Summers closed the door
behind her, she saw Dr. Blair hurriedly cram a stack of magazines
and who knows what into a dresser drawer then slam it shut. Summers
folded her arms thinking
I don't want to
know.

"So how can I help you, Commander?"
Dr. Blair put on what was obviously a fake smile and then waved for
her to take a seat. She declined.

"I'm going straight to the point,
Doctor," she said. Perhaps approaching a subject like this slowly
and gingerly was better, but she'd never had any skill at beating
around the bush. Why bother trying now? "It is my recommendation
that Calvin Cross be relieved of command. He is unfit."

The doctor looked taken aback; Summers
had expected this. She waited quietly for it to sink in.

"What... what for?" His voice was
weak. He still sounded shocked but there was something else too, a
hint of anxiety.

"Because Mister Cross has violated
direct orders from the Fleet—he did not engage the Harbinger. And
now he’s cut off outside communication, and is sending the ship
completely off mission." She tried not to raise her voice but
couldn't help it.

"Now, now, I'm sure everything's fine.
I'm not in the chain of command so I really can't arbitrate these
kinds of issues. I'm sure Calvin knows what he's doing. He's won
his share of medals and all that."

She felt her face get hot but she
managed to keep calm. "Calvin showed up on the bridge today hung
over—like some kind of alcoholic! And it affected his performance.
His slow reaction time gave the enemy ample opportunity to destroy
our ship."

"Yet here we are," Dr. Blair said
calmly. "So what happened?"

"We got lucky," she said. "But next
time, who knows. For the success of the mission and the safety of
the ship, Calvin must not be allowed to retain his command. In his
condition, he's putting everybody and everything in
jeopardy."

"You said he was like an alcoholic,"
said Dr. Blair. "I happen to know that Calvin doesn't
drink."

For a moment Summers second guessed
herself. She really didn't know that Calvin was an alcoholic. But
she did get the distinct impression he was hung over. "It was in
his face and in his eyes, and his reaction time was very slow. He
complained about noise on a quiet bridge..." she wracked her
memory. "I'm sure something wasn't right about him."

"But you don't actually have any
evidence of any kind?"

“Circumstantial…”