The Phoenix Project

by Kris Powers

  “You were present on the bridge when it was reported that the enemy force numbered one hundred and twenty ships?” Maria’s lawyer asked.

  “Yes,” Ben Phelps replied.

  “Had she made a decision as to her battle plan at that time?”

  “No, at that point we were at a stand—off. Our orders were to ensure the Coalition battle group did not attempt to run the blockade.”

  “And if the deadline passed?” Dixon asked.

  “We were told to wait for instructions.”

  “When did you receive your orders?” Dixon asked, while he paced the bright oak walled room.

  “It was just as the deadline passed.”

  “These orders instructed you to do what exactly?”

  “Our orders were to protect the outpost at all costs.”

  “Did Maria give the order to fire?”

  “No,” Dixon replied.

  “Did she wait for them to fire first?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she gave the order to fire?”

  “Correct.”

  Maria looked to her right at the prosecutor and waited for his first objection.

  “By this time had she formulated a battle plan?” Dixon asked.

  “Yes, she had.”

  “Objection: Speculative,” Myers said, pretending to keep his attention on a fan of links in front of him.

  “Your Honor, some leeway?” Dixon asked.

  “Depends, Counsel, will this all be just speculative?”

  “No Your Honor,” Dixon replied.

  “Proceed.”

  “At what point did she formulate a countermeasure to the offensive?” Dixon asked.

  “As soon as the enemy advanced on our position.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “She told me the enemy commander was using a very old battle plan and that we already had him over a barrel: he just didn’t know it yet.”

  “Objection. Is this the Council’s proof?” Myers asked, looking up from his collection of links.

  “Sir, I just require a few more questions,” Dixon said.

  “Leeway’s starting to run out, Commander.”

  “May I continue?” Dixon asked.

  “Go ahead. A few questions, and that’s it.”

  “What was her order after her comment?” Dixon asked.

  “She ordered the Excalibur to the front of the lines.”

  “An unusual command to order the flagship to the front line,” Dixon said.

  “Objection, Your Honor: leading the witness!” Myers exclaimed, getting to his feet.

  “Alright, Commander Myers. Sit down. I’m pretty sure this is going somewhere,” the judge said. Myers resentfully complied and allowed the defense to continue.

  “What was her next order?” Dixon asked.

  “She ordered all fighters to launch and move to the forward lines.”

  “Thank—you Commander,” Dixon said. “Could these orders have been made for some other reason than for a strategic one?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “She had this formation ready before the battle?” Dixon asked.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Would you call that a snap decision?”

  “No Commander,” Phelps replied.

  “Just one more question, Commander. Would you say that Admiral Peterson has an ego?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Excuse me?” Dixon asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Everyone has an ego, Commander.”

  Maria smiled from her seat. Phelps tipped his head towards her in response.

  “Sorry, Commander. Would you say Admiral Peterson has an inflated ego?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “No more questions, Your Honor,” Dixon said and returned to the defense council’s desk.

  “Cross—examine, Commander Myer’s?” the judge asked.

  “Delighted, Your Honor,” Myers said as he jumped to his feet.

  “Contain your exuberance, Commander,” the judge said while the prosecutor approached. Myer’s smug smile occupied his face as he walked up to the witness stand.

  “How long have you known the Admiral?” Myers asked.

  “About two months now,” Phelps replied.

  “Would you say you’re an expert on her behavior after your long association?”

  “I guess not,” Ben replied. “I have not known her very long.”

  “Yes or no, Commander,” Myers said.

  “No.”

  “No further questions,” Myers said and sat down.

  Peter was busy recalibrating one of the warhead’s numerous power relays in a continued attempt to bring the machine to life. His earpiece beeped the unique signal indicating his true superiors needed him. He looked up to a worker nearby who was also working on the malfunctioning system.

  “I’m getting a private message. I’ll need to take it in my quarters.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “No, just a sick relative. I’ll take my break early and answer it just in case,” Peter said. The mechanic nodded and took his place at the relay station.

  Peter walked at a quick pace to the lift and descended down several floors to the crew quarters beneath the dome. Once he arrived, he unlocked the voice print to his terminal and switched to an encrypted channel. Alexander’s irritated expression filled much of the screen.

  “You took your time.”

  “I can’t sit in my quarters all day waiting for your calls, you know,” Peter said.

  “No matter, I have new orders for you.”

  “Yeah, what is it?”

  “The particle warhead you’re working on,” Alexander said.

  “Yes?” Peter asked now that his interest was kindled.

  “I want you to plant a lock command in it.”

  “Be more specific, that could mean anything,” Peter said.

  “I want you to reprogram the computer with a planted command that would deny everyone access, except for you.”

  “Well, it is my baby.”

  “What?” Alexander asked with a squint of his white eyes.

  “Nothing, sure “lock” command, got it.”

  “That easy? No complaints, no “Why am I going out of my way” arguments?”

  “Why am I going out of my way?”

  “Always a smart ass,” Alexander replied, “but you are being unusually cooperative, Peter. Is there something I should know?”

  “You’re a subservient whelp.”

  “Pot calling the kettle black. Alliance use of this weapon must be avoided at all costs, understood?” Alexander asked.

  “Understood.”

  Alexander deactivated the screen. Peter continued to stare at the black screen even after Alexander’s image disappeared from it. A blank stare occupied his face while he considered what his orders meant.

  Might the Council use the weapon through his control?

  His control.

  The idea of such a massive and formidable device with a planted control like this was staggering for him. The computer controlling the warhead was on an isolated system to prevent any outside attempts at what he was just ordered to do. The command interface had a double redundancy in its command codes so that at least three senior level officers had to be present in order to activate it. The idea was that no one person should have control over that much destructive power.

  He had access to that computer right now.

  After he was finished he would have the ability to level the surface of the planet with a single command. The idea brought a shiver of exhilaration up his back, and a slow megalomaniacal smile spread across his face. A disturbing thought forced the smile away. He would have that kind of power if they could get that great creation to finally breathe.

  Peter left his quarters with a firm determination to redouble his efforts.

  Lathiel and Ranik watched the evening’s recap of events in the living room of their VIP quarters. Lathiel saw Rani
k on the screen for a few moments in the middle of his testimony.

  “I think I looked pretty good,” Ranik said with a mug of coffee in hand. He had grown a taste for it having found the supplied granules in the kitchen and, with some effort, had figured out how it was made. He preferred plenty of cream in it with a small amount of sweetener.

  “You always think you look pretty good,” Lathiel said. He watched the testimony from the fifth day of hearings. He took a sip from the whiskey Elliot had given him at the party.

  “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” Lathiel said of his cousin’s caffeine laden refreshment.

  “It’s not bad with this dairy in it. What’s your irritation about anyway?”

  “This isn’t making us look good,” Lathiel replied. He stared at the screen that showed Ranik giving a long lecture concerning the politics of the Ferine Assembly.

  “We are what we are,” Ranik said, gulping back more of the hot coffee.

  “That’s not the problem. It’s what they perceive us to be.”

  “What do you think they perceive?” Ranik asked in imitation of his friend.

  “I wonder if this caffeine is having some kind of effect on you.”

  “What kind of effect is it having?” Ranik asked with a sideways smile.

  “Never mind. I’m worried about how their International Network is presenting us.”

  “Why?”

  “They seem to be implying that we’re trying to execute some kind of hoax. You saw that man, Phillip Bell, in the hearings,” Lathiel said.

  “Strange little man. He can’t be more than five foot six inches.”

  “Besides his height, he was treating us as if we were deceiving him,” Lathiel said.

  “I noticed. As I said, a strange little man.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you Ranik?” Lathiel asked.

  “I get it; half of them don’t trust us.”

  “Yes, that half not only doesn’t trust us, they want us in the ground with our ancestors.”

  “Are you sure?” Ranik slurred.

  “That’s enough coffee,” Lathiel said and grabbed the mug from him. He stood up from the couch, marched to the kitchenette nearby, and dumped its contents into the sink.

  “Hey!”

  “Here,” Lathiel said and gave him his glass of whiskey.

  “Aah!” Ranik said after a deep draught of the liquor. Lathiel poured himself a new glass and sat back on the couch with Ranik dropping in the seat next to him.

  “We’ve got to look into this caffeine,” Ranik said, sipping from his glass.

  “Back to the point, Ranik. They don’t want to hand us flowers.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I’m wondering if we should leave,” Lathiel thought aloud.

  “Leave? I’m just starting to get to know everyone.”

  “So they’ll know what to put on your gravestone?” Lathiel asked.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “With Elliot, Madison, and Joshua, no,” Lathiel said and set his glass down on the oak coffee table. He grabbed the remote and lowered the volume on the screen.

  “What’s wrong with Nadine?”

  “Stop thinking with your striped penis,” Lathiel said.

  “Something wrong with your spotty one?”

  “Get the caffeine out of your head.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Ranik demanded. He sat up with a shroud of caffeine on his eyes.

  “You haven’t noticed the difference between their two governments?”

  “Aren’t they the same?” Ranik asked. He was more astute now that the whiskey was counteracting the coffee.

  “We have only one government and it’s very different from theirs. We’re used to a single clear voice.”

  “They have two. That’s a problem?” Ranik asked.

  “It is when they’re polarized. Nadine is part of a very suspicious herd.”

  “We were once,” Ranik said, thinking of their distant forbearers.

  “They do remind me of our ancestors as well. The Coalition seems so suspicious and devious.”

  “The Alliance though,” Ranik said picking up his glass of Rye Whiskey and presenting it as the solidification of his point.

  “They’re militaristic, but they have more similarities to us than differences. They’re more organized than we are.”

  “So are armies,” Ranik said.

  “So are alliances.”

  “You want to ally with half of a race?” Ranik asked,

  “The Alliance is closer to forty percent of their race.”

  “So we’ll side with the minority?” Ranik asked, looking at his cousin.

  “I’m not saying that, I’m just speculating about the future.”

  “Yes. Certainly. But if this doesn’t come down to an alliance with half of an entire race but approximately half of it, who would you choose?”

  “This is about your trust in Nadine,” Lathiel replied.

  “What of it?”

  “She might be trying to play on our ignorance of their culture.”

  He harrumphed and took a swig from his glass, emptying it. “I don’t think so.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I trust her,” Ranik replied.

  “Why?”

  “Stop talking like a Human, Lathiel. I just know. Nadine’s a good woman,” he said and got up for another glass of whiskey.

  “I’ve got the last of it.”

  “To the Ruby then,” he said, patriotically.

  “The rest of them are different.”

  “What?” Ranik asked as he placed a bottle of Ruby brandy down on the coffee table. He poured a full glass of the glowing liquid.

  “The Coalition.”

  “Yes, the Coalition,” Ranik said, heartily and sat down.

  “They are suspicious of us.”

  “They do have a reason to be,” Ranik said.

  “That’s true, but this suspicious?”

  “Also true,” Ranik replied revolving the brandy around in his glass.

  “We do have to ask ourselves what to do if these hearings find against us.”

  “You mean reparations?”

  “I mean reprimands,” Lathiel replied.

  “A political do your time or a real “This is your sentence”?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “Not an outcome I would like,” Ranik said.

  “How would our ancestors judge us?”

  “They’d probably hang us for our offenses, perceived or not. I heard they preferred to have people sentenced to death garroted.”

  “And we were just talking of similarities to our ancestors,” Lathiel said.

  “Only on the Coalition’s side.”

  “Yes and there are seven Coalition members on a twelve member panel.”

  “Hmm,” Ranik said, revolving the glowing crimson brandy in his glass. “That still doesn’t mean we just leave.”

  “It is an option. They could never catch us with our fold drives and they would face at least a ten year journey if they tried to follow us.”

  “There may be nothing left to find in ten years,” Ranik said, watching his image relate the story of their first discovery of the wormhole.

  “Yes Ranik, I know.”

  “All the more reason to make friends and stay,” Ranik said.

  “I suppose so, but aren’t we taking our chances?”

  “On what front?” Ranik asked.

  “The Nevargh on one side and revenge on the other.”

  “Fury to the left and fury to the right with only a dark, narrow road between,” Ranik quoted.

  “That sounds familiar, where does it come from?”

  “It’s Jusrick’s Firesong from the ancient times,” Ranik replied.

  “I never knew you were so well read.”

  “One of my many pastimes.”

  “It seems an appropriate passage,” Lathiel said.

  “I hope this turns out better.”


  “There was a second part to that line, wasn’t there?”

  “It goes: Fury to the left and fury to the right with only a dark, narrow road between that led to our sorrow,” Ranik quoted.

  They sat in silence and watched the recap of Ranik’s testimony on the screen.

  The plans for the new Alliance fleet boasted some ten thousand ships arranged in a new configuration, emulating the improvements in store for the nation. There would be ten fleets divided into ten divisions. Those divisions would be divided into five wings with each wing having four squadrons. To date this new approach to fleet organization is still in use.

  The Coalition’s preference for a large fleet of frigates over the Alliance’s smaller fleet of battleships showed their belief that space tactics were moving towards smaller, more maneuverable, ships. Cruisers and destroyers of the old fleet would be retrofitted and returned to service in supporting roles for their newer cousins. The tall carriers were slated for decommission and would never serve again in either fleet.

  A New Century, A New Navy

  by Robert Tenor

  Chapter XII

  Elliot kept a meal warm in the food processor while he waited out the ten minutes until Nadine was expected to arrive. She had suggested the date to get to know him better. Elliot could hardly refuse now that he had such an intimate knowledge of her. He sat down and turned on the INN. Presently, they were speaking of one of the panel members, a Coalition representative named Nancy Wright. She was a member of MERA of all things and an adjutant to Louis of the Twelve. He saw no indication of any abilities of her own and believed her to be more of an administrative cog in their machine. The biography seemed to support his supposition. Although she was a quiet person in nature, she knew how to climb the ladder of her hierarchy.

  The sound of the biographer’s droning voice was interrupted by the beep of a communications signal. Elliot sighed at the intrusion so close to dinner. He gave his voice authorization for the high level clearance signal. The dark, aging features of Fleet Admiral Nelson appeared on the screen.

  “Admiral, good to see you,” Elliot said.