The Phoenix Conspiracy (8 page)

She was cute while angry and Calvin
gave way to a broad smile.

"And wipe that stupid grin off your
face, Lieutenant Commander." She snapped, then suddenly closed her
mouth and stood at attention, realizing she'd crossed a line. But
her anger didn't bother Calvin. In fact, he thought she'd finally
reached the heart of the matter. It hurt her pride that she had to
report to, and take orders from, someone a full rank below her and
three years her junior. Especially when that person seemed to break
all the rules and do everything he wasn't supposed to. He wondered
if she knew he was only a half-citizen as well.

But Calvin didn't feel threatened.
Everything he had he'd earned, and he trusted himself even if she
didn't. "Are you finished, Summers?"

"Yes," she said calmly, letting out a
sigh of relief. "Except for one more thing. You really need to call
me Commander, not Summers. That's a very important
protocol."

Calvin resisted a chuckle and reclined
in his chair.

"Didn't that feel good?"

"What?"

"Letting it off your
chest."

"A little, I suppose. But it was a
mistake."

"But it felt good?"

"A little."

"Good. I don't need any officers
walking around with pent up anger like ticking time-bombs," he
spoke gently. "I want you to know you can speak to me freely at any
time. In fact, I hope you do. It's important for me to know what my
crew's feelings are." He paused to let that sink in.

"Now, as for your concerns. I'm sorry
that the transition from a disciplined navy attack cruiser to an
Intel Wing stealth frigate is hard because of my command style.
But, you'll have to adapt to it. While I may do things a little…
differently, in this squadron I'm allowed that right as long as I
get the job done." He was only half telling the truth; he too was
subject to protocols and regulations but in his mind he'd convinced
himself otherwise.

"Yes, sir." She was quieter now, but
he still saw subtle defiance in her eyes.

"Now another protocol is to follow the
orders of your commanding officer, and to do so absolutely. And I
order you to call people by their names instead of their ranks. If
you don't know their names, you will make it your duty to learn
them at your earliest convenience."

"What?" She was stunned.

"So now you have conflicting orders.
Follow the protocol to maintain ship formality or follow the
protocol to obey your commanding officer. Which commandment you
break is up to you."

She looked irritated again but she hid
it quickly. "Well, as you say, sir. Protocols aren't very important
to you. That means I don't really have to follow your
orders."

Was there a sense of humor inside her
after all? Calvin smirked. "That's better. Now if you want a short
break to see to your quarters and arrangements that's fine. But I
expect you back on the bridge in an hour."

"That isn't necessary. I am prepared
to do my full shift."

"Oh, okay, good. Well then you're free
to go."

"Thank you, sir."

She left and the door closed behind
her.

Calvin let out a small
moan.
What am I going to do with
her?
The last thing he needed was a
protocol zealot, especially if she found out he wasn't entitled to
nearly as many liberties as he took. And if she knew he had to make
reports to Fleet Command she might send a few of her own and get
him in trouble. For all he knew, she was here for that exact
purpose, to keep him in line.

"Blah..." he said, unable to
get himself to pull the documents back out for study. Instead he
turned on his desk and played a game of chess against the computer.
And lost. As usual. "
Cheater
." He glared down at
it.

"Would you like to play again?" The
computer asked. It startled him, since he thought it was
muted.

"No. Shut up." He turned it off just
as Shen's voice crackled over his speaker.

"We've pulled free from Praxis One and
we're in open space. Also, Miles is on his way to the
bridge."

"Good,” said Calvin and headed he for
the door.

He and Miles entered the bridge at the
same time from opposite sides.

"Hey man, I'm really sorry. I owe you
big, Cal. Real big," Miles's voice boomed as he hurried to his
post. Calvin couldn't help but laugh. Seeing Miles' red face was
almost worth the small fortune.

"It's fine, it's fine," Calvin made a
calming motion with his hands.

"I'll pay you back, I swear!" He got
to his station but didn't sit down.

Sarah spun her chair to face him. "So
what happened to that 20,000q you were going to win,
hotshot?"

"Hey..,” said Miles. "No sass from
you."

"The word is you lost 30,000q. That's
like buying four cars, brand new."

"No, no, no. It was much less than
that. End of discussion."

Calvin smirked. "It was 29,905q. I
just paid it."

"Well... the game was rigged anyway,"
Miles looked flustered.

Shen spoke up, "the controller told me
you lost it on eight consecutive hands, increasing the bet with
each one."

"Yeah eight hands, and all of them
rigged. Isn't that unfair? I mean it's bad enough to rig one hand,
but eight? Give a guy a break."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sarah rolled her
eyes and spun back to her station. "Miles, you never
change."

Just then Miles noticed Summers
Presley, who'd been silent. He pointed to her. "Who the hell is
she?"

Calvin shrugged. "I dunno, I think
she's a stowaway."

Summers cleared her throat. "I'm
Commander Presley, your executive officer. Now take your station,"
she said, sounding unimpressed. Miles looked dazed so she snapped.
"On the double, mister!"

His eyes darted to Calvin who nodded.
Miles took his seat, looking disgruntled. "Aye,
Commander."

"All right," said Calvin. "Now that
everyone's acquainted, let's get out of here. Sarah, plot a course
to Aleator and standby for a jump of eighty percent
potential."

"Ready, sir."

"Now."

Sarah fired up the engines and the
view from the windows became black.

"Accelerating, we'll reach eighty
percent in just over two minutes—standard heading. ETA, six
hours."

"Perfect. Now that that's done, I'll
be in my quarters. Summers, you have the deck."

Chapter 7

His room was cluttered with boxes, the
same boxes he'd put off unloading back on the station when he
thought he was getting a few weeks of vacation. But while his
procrastination to unpack them had paid off there, he had no reason
to delay unpacking them here. Except for pure, simple laziness. He
shifted them out of his way and took a seat on his bed, letting his
head rest in his hands.

"Blah...what am I gonna
do?"

A thousand thoughts
scrambled his mind. He was the miracle boy of the Fleet, the
youngest, brightest CO in Intel Wing, or so he liked to think.
Officially … he was second or third behind, of course, the
legendary Captain Lafayette Nimoux. But aside from him, and
possibly one other, Calvin’s success got the most attention within
Intel Wing circles. And some people, Calvin was sure, saw him as a
real contender for the unofficial role of
best agent
. After all, his latest
work had gotten him not only another gleaming Silver Star and a
phantom-class stealth warship, but also the opportunity to handpick
most of his primary crew. One that came with certain expectations.
He
had
to deliver.
That meant making sense of this Raidan situation which, as of now,
wasn’t adding up.

First there was the fact that Asari
Raidan went rogue in the first place. It didn't fit his background
at all. He was a distinguished fighting captain with decades of
loyal service. Why did he give it all up just to attack a handful
of alien ships? How could that possibly be worth it?

And then there was the issue of how he
managed to escape, and steal a first-rate dreadnought in the
process. The Harbinger had almost a thousand crew. There's no way
he simply charmed them over. But Calvin also thought it unlikely
that Raidan could have taken the ship by force. Where would he have
gained an army to do so, and where would he have hidden it? And how
did he anticipate needing to capture the Harbinger enough in
advance to make the preparations? Unless it wasn’t Raidan but
someone else who did it, perhaps to liberate Raidan or else capture
him for himself.

The simplest explanation was that the
Harbinger’s crew was sympathetic to Raidan and they’d planned to
rescue him all along. However the odds were not good that so many
people in one place just happened to take Raidan’s side by
coincidence. More likely people joined the ship, officially or
discreetly, after it became clear the trial was taking place on
Praxis One.

According to reports, a third of the
Harbinger’s crew changed at Praxis One, which was neither uncommon
nor enough people to guarantee a swift capture of the ship.
Especially since, ostensibly, the newcomers were mostly technicians
and engineers rather than marines and Special Forces. That and he
could find no significant connections between any of them. Some
were related to each other, others came from the same schools, that
sort of thing, but ultimately there wasn't much to implicate they
were working together on some kind of grand scale.

And once again, who could have
anticipated—far enough in advance—the need to take control of the
Harbinger in order to rescue, or capture, Raidan?

So far the files Intel Wing had sent
him hadn't proven very useful. Mostly just boring. But if there
were a shred of a clue buried somewhere inside them, Calvin was
determined to find it. Because he just had to know how Raidan and
whoever he worked with managed to steal a ship like the Harbinger
and make it and all hands vanish with hardly a trace.

One other thing stood out to Calvin.
The Fifth Fleet seemed unnaturally interested in the Harbinger
case. Yes, it had been one of their ships that went missing so of
course they'd be all over it. But why were they this bent on being
the ones to capture him rather than begging for Intel Wing's
assistance? Intel Wing had resources and training designed to deal
with this kind of thing. Why did the Fifth Fleet want to keep them
out of it as much as possible? Maybe to recover some of the dignity
lost by having a condemned prisoner steal a dreadnought. Or maybe
it was deeper than that. Or, Calvin sighed, maybe it was nothing at
all.

He found it difficult to concentrate
with Summers Presley aboard. Yes, she was attractive and
stimulating, but more importantly she was someone hovering over his
shoulder. Second-guessing his every move. He'd never had to play
defense on his own ship before. And since her eyes were the Fleet's
eyes, he would have to tread extra lightly. If only he still had
Anand...

He paced his room feeling restless as
his mind spun circles, trying to make all the pieces fit together.
Guessing at possible explanations for Raidan’s actions, his escape,
and what his next move might be.

Why was he going to Aleator? It was a
system on the edge of the Empire, outside the jurisdiction of any
major power or government. A haven for thieves, cutthroats,
pirates, criminals, mercenaries, and swarms of people trying to
make a quick fortune. Aleator was under no one's control, except
the Roscos, a family of criminals Calvin knew all too well. Too
much of his own family history was involved with them. And because
of that he didn't want to go to Aleator. He’d go because he had to,
but he didn't have to like it.

Eventually he found himself unlocking
his safe and withdrawing the bottle of equarius. As he did, he told
himself he wasn't going to take any, he was just going to hold it,
and look at it, and think about it. Deeper inside he knew better,
but chose to ignore the voice of warning… which was more of a
whisper anyway.

He sat back down after grabbing a
bottle of water, then snapped a pill in half and downed it. Knowing
the effects wouldn't be felt for several minutes. Until then, he
tried to empty his mind by imagining the void of open space all
around.

***

His breathing was slow and deep. Each
exhale carried the urge to smile at everything, and nothing.
Thoughts were scattered like shifting sands adrift on a playful
pond. And he cared about nothing. The swirling joyful apathy filled
every breath and second. He was removed from it all and couldn't
stop smiling, feeling bodiless. Silently amused for no reason at
all.

...until the loud noises came. What
was it, gunfire? His mind ached as the thunder boomed again, like
ancient cannons. He felt a wave of dizziness and in his momentary
free-fall he lurched upright and saw the spinning fixtures of his
room. A darkened shadowy blur of complete vertigo. He was falling
up. Desperately he grabbed for something, anything, and clutched
the headboard of his bed.